Hollywood, Hollywood where are thou Hollywood? The magical kingdom seems to be losing its luster. For one, the Sunset Strip is a parking lot. No action. No life. The raging fires probably did not help the tourism. Seems like every wanna be starting something actor moved to Atlanta or Austin to make subpar B movies. I even hear whispers that LA is dead. Dead, Dead? But from the ashes rise from the Phoenix fire called entertainment.
The truth is the studios have gone nowhere. All the major ones are still here, even though the Pacific Palisades are gone. If they change the zoning laws, it will be back soon—stronger and more modern than ever.
The threat of AI has been squashed for now, but who knows? Everyone, thank Fran. The rich are always trying to save a buck on production while raising ticket prices for the common man. Let’s be honest, they have been green screening in filmmaking for a very long time. No one complained about the quality, so the next step is the newest technology.
As for now, the actors are working, but only the stars. The non-marque thespians are back working regular nine-to-fives like the rest of the lunch pale stiffs. But it takes three to four, nine to five, to survive in this city, where even Angeles sports name brands.
The influencers had their tiny run in the city that worships plastic surgery and sunshine. Enjoying their fifteen minutes of fame at the downtown hotspots. What’s new? What’s in store for the city I love? The city I call home.
Are the artisans still moving west to pursue their dreams, or have they taken a detour, where the rent seems more reasonable? The Haves will always have, and the Have Nots must save or buy a bus ticket to a cheaper local.
The media pundits say Hollywood is dead. I disagree; she is in a slumber state waiting for the next shiny, happy thing to inspire the hypnotized masses to swipe their Google Pays.
Is the Indie dead? Has streaming become the next blockbuster? Will Elon make it so movies can be placed on a chip and inserted into our skulls?
Stay tuned.