This summer’s glowing box office numbers have put smiles on Hollywood’s corporate faces, albeit with a hint of concern. The message is clear: The mythic summer blockbuster is alive and well, but is someone missing from the party?
On one level, the soaring return of Universal’s Jurassic brand and Warners’ Superman brand represent triumphs in Hollywood archeology. Meanwhile, the tech giants are in hot pursuit: F1 marks a brilliant breakthrough for Apple, and Amazon MGM will soon be unfurling a new Bond installment.
However, in the past, the “summer hits” that stirred cinephiles were as much a voyage of discovery as a branding mission. The “must see” movies of previous summers included American Graffiti (1973), Dog Day Afternoon (1975), and Stand By Me (1986). These films were surprises, not pre-sold commodities.
Even The Godfather (1972) and Jaws (1975) arrived amid confusing rumors. Both faced delays and budget overruns, enduring post-production crises under filmmakers with limited studio experience. Their meteoric success, however, set Hollywood on a new course: Why not aggressively create the summer blockbuster rather than wait for the unexpected?
In their quest, studios began to stumble: in their zeal, they realized they were occasionally making the same movie repeatedly — space epics like Deep Impact and Armageddon in 1988 opened the same week with similar plots. The blockbuster derby had run out of ideas.
So the hits of summer 2025 raise the big question: Who will develop and finance the next cycle of prospective surprises? And how will the public discover them?
A search through the current list of non-branded openings and their showtimes requires patience. While a few releases create buzz on the festival circuit, most arrive behind a curtain of anonymity. Disaster looms.
When I set forth on my personal voyage of discovery this week, I wasn’t hoping for a new Graffiti, but The Life of Chuck seemed a likely target. It’s based on short stories by Stephen King, whose novels became hits like The Shining and Stand By Me.
Its director is Mike Flanagan, a 47-year-old filmmaker known for genre-bending films like Hush and Absentia.
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Chuck itself was picked up for distribution by Neon, which last year championed Anora, a mind-bending hit.
Chuck is not Anora but it takes brave chances. Its narrative is told backwards in three acts, with the third coming first. Chuck himself is a bland accountant with one prize secret: He is a superbly talented dancer. Even as a boy he stole the show—when and if he chooses to dance, which he rarely does.
Indeed, Chuck, the repressed dancer, doesn’t have a very interesting life but one which—surprisingly—has a cosmic ending it would be inappropriate to disclose.
I admire Neon for distributing Chuck since there are no big names to sell, no special effects to highlight, and little jeopardy. Not much plot either.
But when I left Chuck, I heard people arguing, “What was it about?” They were not exactly blown away but nonetheless moved.
We all know why F1, Jurassic World Rebirth, and Superman were made: To fill theaters and replenish earnings—sufficient, one hopes, for one of the production entities to be willing to grapple with a Chuck.
Because whatever Chuck’s message may be, its existence is symbolically important.
