Hearing the word “reboot” can be a bit of a downer, to be honest. And it’s not even that the word itself is heavy or anything. It’s just that “reboot” brings to mind the fondly remembered and often gutsy artifacts from the distant past inasmuch as it is a code word for the regrettable practice of taking something we love and remaking it with none of the former’s individuality.
Look at what’s been done to the sci-fi classic “The Day the Earth Stood Still,” for instance! And many a classic anything (film, comic book, etc.) has been discoed up as cover for a fresh cash grab. If anything, I’d like to think of reboots as being consigned and deserving of the dump that any cover version should occupy.
The nostalgia of classic sci-fi films is like an old friend, one who reminds you of who you are and where you came from. But what happens when that friend is thought of as being remade in a way that strips away the essence of their character? It’s a little disheartening to imagine, and there seems to be, in some quarters, a fear that this might signify something more than just creative laziness on the part of filmmakers, something that might allude to a broader cultural apocalypse, a longing for authenticity in an age increasingly dominated by sterile perfection.
Consider the 1990 version of Total Recall. The film, starring Arnold Schwarzenegger at the height of his powers, is a unique blend of action and mind-bending concepts. I remember the scene where Quaid yanks the tracking device from his nose.
It was so messy and human, I found it visceral in a way that made my stomach churn. The tactile Martian landscapes felt real. I could almost reach out and touch the grit and grime.
In contrast, the 2012 remake, while boasting cutting-edge special effects, felt too polished and too competent. It lacked the raw, visceral feel that made the original captivating. Somehow, it seemed to miss the mark on what a sci-fi action film should embody: a kind of unexplainable weirdness that leaves the audience questioning reality.
The 2014 RoboCop reboot exemplifies nostalgia meeting disappointment. I fondly remember the original, with its mix of criticism and science fiction, as being deeply resonant with my audience. And by “audience,” I mean both my childhood self and the society that served as the original’s viewer base.
The original was not just a “kid’s movie” in my memory. Instead, it served as both family-entertainment and society-critic. With that dual identity, the story was a plot possible rich in layers.
And also quite plausible: a society whose police forces are partially militarized, with robots patrolling the streets, is not that far-fetched a proposition when you think about it. The 2008 remake of The Day the Earth Stood Still seems to serve up its message as a series of action beats that replace the original’s meaningful narrative with mindless entertainment. I remember catching bits of the original 1951 version on TV as a kid, and I recall its message with great clarity: Sure, humanity might be violent and paranoid in the face of the strange and unknown, but we’ve got what it takes to rise above our baser instincts—even when some pretty serious alien and robot figures are telling us we don’t.
If the 2008 version has a message, it’s delivered under a barrage of action beats and scenes that trade the original’s quiet tension for a series of explosions. These films are being modernized, but a tendency exists to get rid of the aspects that rendered them timeless. In the original, Klaatu’s warnings to humankind packed a weight that felt authentic, if somewhat stiff.
The same can’t be said for Keanu Reeves’ portrayal in the remake. His performance had more of a robotic quality, if that’s even possible, than the role of a dispassionate and slightly creepy extraterrestrial demands. Why would Hollywood think that audiences today don’t appreciate a character who delivers a message that is important enough to not be cloaked in ambiguity?
It makes one’s head spin to contemplate. Star Trek is another story. I recognize the controversy, but I must say that while J.J.
Abrams’ 2009 reboot drew many new fans into the fold and delivered a stunning visual experience, it felt like something crucial was missing. For those of us who came of age with the original series, the reboot didn’t have the right stuff. The original magic wasn’t in its effects or its action—but in its deeply philosophical musings and social commentary.
Each episode left me pondering not just what it meant to be human in a rapidly changing world, but also what it might mean for us as individuals and societies to explore the very human frontier of the unknown and to grapple with moral, ethical, and even legal questions and conundrums. The reboot feels more like a product of studio demands than a genuine exploration of the human experience. Looking at things a little more hopefully, we have Blade Runner 2049.
I must say, this film is one of the stronger modern attempts to uphold a classic. Denis Villeneuve’s vision pays homage to Ridley Scott’s original while trying to carve out its own identity. The visuals are first-rate, and the film seems like a thoughtful extension of the original narrative.
However, it still doesn’t quite capture the same flavor and feel that made the first Blade Runner a landmark in sci-fi cinema. The sequel, while close, seems to land in second place in a contest of aesthetics. The opportunity for true innovation is lost with these reboots, and that’s what frustrates me most.
I have nothing against revisiting classic tales; I just wish that filmmakers would take them on with the kind of reverence and intent that’s necessary for any great storyteller. Mad Max: Fury Road stands as a prime example of how to do this properly. George Miller took the “kind of stuff you use to start a campfire” spirit of the original Mad Max films and molded it into a sound, solid, and even great narrative that had as much urgency and relevance as the other great narratives of its time.
And it didn’t replace anything; it just evolved the hell out of what came before and utilized what Sanford Meisner might’ve called “the right kind of dynamics.”
Regrettably, numerous reboots seem similar to someone trying to reproduce your childhood house but first knocking it down and replacing it with an imitation that doesn’t have the kind of neat details, quirks, and memories that made your earlier house special. These efforts often overlook the kinds of little details that give a story its depth and texture. We remember the half-broken door that swung mysteriously open or the ghost in the closet when we think back to Halloween in elementary school.
Special moments like these are what our imaginations are made of. Without anything like these moments, reboots feel empty and lifeless, lacking the authenticity that makes them resonate with fans. I know my perspective might come off as the bitter ramblings of a die-hard sci-fi fan, but I assure you it’s simply my opinion.
I don’t yearn for a golden sci-fi age; I believe in the beauty of preserving these classics in the classic Sci-Fi way. The past can remain relevant if we allow it to. As a keeper of cinematic history, I want you to live and die with the shock and awe I experienced during those formative years, to understand why these stories took hold of my imagination and why they have— for some, only partially, but for me, fully— the quality of timelessness.
When I think about the world of contemporary reboots, I want to impress upon Tinseltown the importance of taking a thoughtful approach. This is especially true for beloved classic works that have served as touchstones for many, many years. Fifty years ago, if a work was good enough to be on that kind of sacred pedestal, it could practically guarantee a place in the college dorms of future generations.
Today, even more so with the advancements of digital technology, if a work has “made itself known,” that “old property” really needs to be “respected” when Hollywood comes a-knockin’ for concepts to mine. The next time I hear about yet another planned reboot of a beloved sci-fi classic, I’ll likely roll my eyes and mutter under my breath about Hollywood’s apparent lack of fresh ideas. Yet, I find myself with a flicker of hope—that someone, someday, will finally get it right.
Until that day comes, I’ll relive the magic of my VHS collection as I await the moment when sci-fi as it once was can coexist with the moment when someone, someday, will finally get it right.
