Destroyers of the Formula: On Four of the Biggest Box Office Hits of 2026

Originality need not come at the expense of accessibility.

 By Pouya Aghelizadeh

The defining difference between the new generation of box-office films and their formula-driven predecessors lies in how they treat their audiences. Conventional blockbusters often rely so heavily on familiar conventions that they merely carry the story to its conclusion, leaving seasoned moviegoers with the uncomfortable feeling that they have been sold a product rather than offered an experience. It's as if the filmmakers' only objective was to lure audiences into theaters with names like Michael Jackson or Meryl Streep, only to abandon them inside an unimaginative spectacle. Like an inattentive host at an extravagant party, the film offers little beyond its famous guests, inviting viewers to entertain themselves—or quietly leave if nothing captures their interest.

The new generation of filmmakers, by contrast, also embraces recognizable cinematic conventions, but they do so with a fundamentally different understanding of their audience. Rather than treating viewers as passive consumers, they regard them as equal participants in the cinematic experience. As a result, their films constantly introduce moments that defy expectation—moments that refuse to fit neatly within established formulas.

Two of this year's most remarkable commercial successes, Obsession and Backrooms, perfectly illustrate this shift. Both films deliver moments of startling unpredictability reminiscent of David Lynch—not as niche arthouse flourishes reserved for devoted cinephiles, but as experiences presented to mainstream audiences in multiplexes around the world. This represents Hollywood's latest strategy for reinvention, a transformation the industry seems to undertake at least once every decade in order to survive.

This time, however, the motivation extends beyond creative renewal. Hollywood is simultaneously responding to an increasingly uncertain future shaped by artificial intelligence and the industry's urgent need to reduce production costs without sacrificing audience engagement. The goal is simple: keep cinema alive as a cultural event worth leaving home for.

Nothing demonstrates the effectiveness of this approach more clearly than the economics behind these productions. Both Obsession and Backrooms were reportedly produced for less than one million dollars each, yet each has generated more than $400 million at the global box office.

At the opposite end of the spectrum stand the increasingly outdated formulas of lavish productions built almost entirely around star power. In Michael, the legacy of Michael Jackson alone serves as the film's principal marketing engine. The Devil Wears Prada 2, meanwhile, relies not only on the return of major stars such as Meryl Streep, Anne Hathaway, and Emily Blunt, but also on brief, almost ornamental appearances by Lady Gaga and Lucy Liu. Coupled with direction that is frequently uninspired—and at times surprisingly weak—these choices create the lingering impression of an expensive advertising campaign rather than a satisfying cinematic experience.

What both films ultimately reveal is the same underlying weakness: beneath their glamorous surfaces lies storytelling that rarely rises above the superficial.

MICHAEL

At the heart of Michael lies a familiar father-son conflict that unfolds from the singer's childhood. Around this heavily dramatized relationship, the film reconstructs some of Michael Jackson's most iconic performances. Yet these recreations rarely possess more than a fraction of the power of the originals. The film seems to assume that simply watching a big-screen recreation of the Thriller music video is reward enough—as though the theatrical scale alone can justify revisiting moments that remain far more compelling in their original form.

Ironically, what ultimately rescues the film from complete mediocrity is the same element that has sustained countless musical biopics over the past decade: the strength of its lead performances. Talented actors once again compensate for dramatic shortcomings, just as they did in films such as Elvis and Bohemian Rhapsody. For many viewers, charismatic performances are enough to overshadow structural weaknesses in the screenplay and direction, and Michael benefits from exactly this phenomenon.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3zOLzsbOleM

THE DEVIL WEARS PRADA 2

The Devil Wears Prada 2 suffers from a different—but equally fundamental—problem. Its narrative is so thin that every new celebrity appearance raises the same question: what persuaded this performer to join the project? Beyond the return of its principal cast, the film parades recognizable faces with little dramatic purpose, reducing even major personalities to decorative cameos.

The shortcomings extend beyond the screenplay. The direction often lacks authority, and even the visual execution betrays an uncertainty of purpose. During sequences set among Italy's historic landmarks, awkward editorial choices and abrupt cuts repeatedly interrupt the audience's engagement with the locations themselves, preventing the film from fully exploiting one of its greatest production assets.

Ultimately, The Devil Wears Prada 2 resembles a fashion exhibition populated by celebrities rather than a coherent dramatic work. It rushes through every familiar cliché—the ambitious woman seeking influence through a wealthy man, the confused romantic subplot, the inevitable redemption of an authoritarian personality—before hastily presenting its parade of recognizable faces, from Lady Gaga to figures from the fashion world. Once this showcase is complete, the film reaches its conclusion, leaving audiences temporarily overwhelmed by the constant stream of images and celebrity appearances.

Only after leaving the theater does another realization begin to emerge: beneath all the glamour and spectacle, very little of genuine dramatic substance has actually taken place. The experience feels less like watching a film than consuming an extended promotional event—one that mistakes celebrity recognition for cinematic storytelling.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e9HXmMnUEdE

OBSESSION

Obsession, by contrast, announces its intentions from the very beginning. The film carries the unmistakable imprint of a new generation of filmmakers—one less interested in reproducing familiar cinematic language than in questioning it. Its radical perspective is immediately apparent, yet what makes the film so compelling is not radicalism for its own sake, but the simplicity with which it is expressed.

A striking example is the sequence built around the rehearsal of a couple's first date. Combined with the film's sudden, almost disorienting cuts and its remarkably immersive sound design, the scene establishes a rhythm that sustains the audience's attention throughout the entire narrative. Rather than relying on spectacle, Obsession generates tension through carefully controlled cinematic language, allowing even its quietest moments to feel emotionally unstable.

Part of the film's extraordinary commercial success may lie in its willingness to confront contemporary relationships as they actually exist, rather than through inherited cinematic conventions. Today's audiences seem increasingly interested in seeing intimacy examined without the reassuring formulas that have long dominated mainstream cinema.

In this respect, the psychological frameworks associated with filmmakers such as Adrian Lyne and Paul Verhoeven no longer seem entirely adequate for depicting the emotional realities of a younger generation. Their explorations of desire, obsession, and erotic power were shaped by the cultural anxieties of another era. Obsession, however, approaches these subjects from an altogether different perspective.

Instead of romanticizing destructive relationships or presenting obsession as irresistible passion, the film explores how superstition, projection, and artificial expectations gradually corrupt emotional intimacy. It portrays relationships not as idealized fantasies but as fragile psychological constructions, constantly threatened by the illusions people impose upon one another.

This contemporary perspective may well explain the film's remarkable reception. Audiences appear eager for stories that analyze modern relationships without resorting to outdated moral frameworks or melodramatic conventions. Rather than providing comforting answers, Obsession invites viewers to recognize themselves within the uncertainties of contemporary intimacy—a quality that feels both timely and surprisingly rare in commercial cinema.

The result is a film that demonstrates how originality need not come at the expense of accessibility. On the contrary, Obsession suggests that mainstream audiences are increasingly willing to embrace formally adventurous storytelling, provided it remains emotionally honest and cinematically engaging. In doing so, it challenges one of Hollywood's oldest assumptions: that innovation and commercial success cannot coexist.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gMC8kkwbIQQ

BACKROOMS

Among the four films discussed here, Backrooms stands apart as the most distinctive achievement. Drawing on the legacy of cult works such as The Blair Witch Project, Twin Peaks, and Ring, it constructs an atmosphere that invites exploration rather than passive observation. Yet its greatest accomplishment lies not in its references to genre history, but in the subtle precision with which it leaves crucial mysteries unresolved.

Rather than offering definitive explanations, the film deliberately plants unanswered questions in carefully chosen moments, transforming the viewing experience into something that continues long after the credits have rolled. Backrooms refuses to end inside the theater; it lingers in the audience's imagination, encouraging interpretation, discussion, and repeated reconsideration.

The conversations the film has already inspired about the nature of the Backrooms themselves—and about their possible function as manifestations of the unconscious—suggest that it has achieved something increasingly rare in contemporary commercial cinema. It operates beyond the boundaries of its own narrative, generating a broader cultural and philosophical dialogue. When a film continues to reshape the way audiences think rather than merely entertain them for two hours, it acquires a genuinely extra-textual life.

The idea that the Backrooms gradually externalize the unconscious of those who enter them is perhaps the film's most remarkable artistic achievement. Throughout the history of cinema, filmmakers have repeatedly attempted to visualize the hidden architecture of the human psyche, but such ambitions have often remained confined to experimental or arthouse traditions with limited audiences. Backrooms accomplishes something far more difficult: it translates a profoundly psychological concept into the language of popular cinema without sacrificing either accessibility or intellectual depth.

Its production methods reinforce that philosophy. Although the film features recognizable performers, its overall design rejects many of the conventions associated with expensive studio filmmaking. Apart from its meticulously conceived production design, it dispenses with elaborate technical spectacle, complex camera choreography, and time-consuming set pieces. In one particularly memorable sequence lasting nearly five minutes, the film relies on nothing more than a single actor and a handheld camcorder. Yet the result remains utterly absorbing on the big screen, demonstrating that cinematic intensity depends less on scale than on creative conviction.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LTHlnIN9Bdk

If these four films reveal anything about the current state of Hollywood, it is that the industry appears to be approaching a crossroads. One path continues to rely on increasingly exhausted formulas, celebrity branding, and inflated budgets. The other embraces a generation of filmmakers willing to rethink both storytelling and production itself—creating films that are more adventurous, more economical, and ultimately more rewarding.

One can only hope that this emerging wave of filmmakers continues to redefine mainstream cinema according to the sensibilities of its own generation. If so, the future of the medium may not depend on nostalgia or spectacle alone, but on the courage to reinvent cinematic language for contemporary audiences.

Only then can we continue to say that cinema is alive—not as a relic of the past, but as an art form continually rediscovering itself for the world we live in today.