There was a time when Hollywood could trip over its own ego and still land on a pile of cash.

Now, despite the Botox and the bravado, it resembles a once-grand casino where the chandeliers still sparkle but the slot machines are unplugged. The velvet rope remains, though no one is waiting behind it. And while the industry keeps insisting it’s merely “evolving,” the rest of us can hear the hospice nurse adjusting the morphine drip.

Hollywood did not die suddenly. It was struck years ago by a Mack truck named Reality. Instead of admitting it needed trauma care, it opted for cosmetic surgery. Endless remakes. Sequels of sequels. Cinematic universes bloated like a Thanksgiving parade balloon that nobody remembered to anchor. Meanwhile, audiences wandered off, muttering something about originality and refunds.

The creative stagnation would have been survivable if paired with fiscal sanity.

We are talking Hollywood and the death walk it’s currently on.

I’m proud to say that God willing, we will make a serious dent in this area of pop culture, reclaiming some of it.

How this correction hasn’t already occurred is beyond me. For decades, Hollywood has run like a crackhead trust-fund recipient.

See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.