The Homegrown Approach

The revival of taste will not be led by the studios. They are conditioned to mitigate risk, and right now risk mitigation means established IP. Sequels, prequels, and remakes of anything familiar.

Familiarity sells. Familiarity scales. Familiarity tastes sweet. Sure, it might be a wretched

Frankenstein of the story we once loved, but so long as there’s an eye or an ear in there we recognize and can relate with, we’ll pay our $20 to check it out.

Revival will not be done by the platforms. Their incentives point toward speed, volume,

retention. Algorithms reward what is consumed quickly and repeatedly, not what is wrestled with or revisited over time. And as I mentioned previously, the chicken or egg problem is still a major factor here—until subscribers stop binging the same series, same spin-offs, same cinematic universes with superheroes and intergalactic brothels… well, you get my point. As is true for the studios (and yes, the big platforms are studios themselves, now), the O’Jays old adage remains an industry covenant: you got to give the people what they want.

And so, I am equally convinced that revival will not come naturally from audiences alone. Most people are tired. The Gen-X father grabbing fast food between shifts. The millennial mother buying the shelf-stable snacks that are affordable and convenient.

They are not villains. They are exhausted. Quick calories get them through the day. Quick entertainment gets them through the night.

Candy is efficient.

So if change is coming, it will not arrive from above. It will have to move laterally.

It must come from artists and creators who recognize the problem and decide not to participate in it blindly. From filmmakers who take narrative risks even when they know it will not trend instantly. From musicians who write beyond the algorithm’s preferred length. From playwrights who trust language again.

It must come from small, intentional acts.

Host the movie night and revive something durable. Invite friends to the small concert in the park. Support the modest local production of Hamlet or The Crucible. Talk afterward. Discuss what worked and what challenged you. Help one another digest what you are consuming.

Not through lectures. Not through cultural scolding. Through invitation.

A dietitian does not shame the exhausted worker; he walks alongside him. A good trainer doesn’t mock her client’s weakness; she builds strength patiently.

Taste can be rebuilt.

If it begins anywhere, it begins locally. In living rooms. In small theaters. In café conversations that take art seriously again. And if it begins at all, it may yet grow into something larger—not an organized revolution, but a quiet renaissance of appetite.

Instead of waiting for supermarkets and supply chains, start growing the good stuff yourself.

Plant a small but deep garden. Sow quality not quantity. Then let your neighbors taste and see that it is good.

If enough gardens appear, fruit may yet reclaim its place in a culture so accustomed to candy.