The Fifty-Dollar Movie Ticket
Hollywood, Beijing, and What It Means for Investors Over Fifty-Five
Podcast script  ·  Truesdell
When I was growing up, a movie ticket cost a couple of dollars. You walked into the theater on a Saturday afternoon, you bought a box of popcorn, and you settled in. It was not a special occasion. It was a Saturday. That model is gone.
This spring, Regal Cinemas sold opening-night seats to Dune: Part Three for fifty dollars apiece in their 70-millimeter IMAX house. Premium tickets now average eighteen dollars nationwide. They run as high as thirty in New York and Los Angeles. A standard adult ticket on a regular screen is about thirteen dollars. The dollar matinee is a memory.
That price gap — from a couple of dollars to fifty — is the story I want to walk through with you today. It is a story about how the theater business has changed. It is a story about the kinds of movies Hollywood is making and is not making. It is a story about the quiet competition the Chinese government has been running against American culture for the better part of twenty years. And it is a story about where I think an investor over fifty-five ought to be paying attention right now.
Part One: Why the Ticket Got Expensive
Every spring, the theater industry gathers in Las Vegas for a convention called CinemaCon. Cinema United, formerly the National Association of Theatre Owners, runs the event. About six thousand industry professionals from more than eighty countries attend. The 2026 convention was held in April at Caesars Palace and was described as the largest in the organization's history.
The Wall Street Journal sent reporters to cover it, and the price story came through clearly. Theater attendance in the United States is down more than a third from pre-pandemic levels. Fewer people are going to the movies. But the people who do go are spending more. AMC's chief executive told reporters that the average customer now spends about nine dollars on concessions per visit, nearly double what it was before COVID. Premium large-format screens — laser projection, immersive sound, big screens — now make up a growing share of total box office. Theaters have learned what the airlines learned twenty years ago: charge the loyal customer more, dress up the product, and call it an experience.
Not everyone in Hollywood is happy about this. Tom Rothman, chairman of Sony Pictures, used his CinemaCon platform to argue that ticket prices have climbed so high that going to the movies has become a special-occasion purchase rather than a routine one. He wants prices to come down. The theater owners pushed back. Their answer was straightforward: the studios are producing about twenty-five percent fewer films than they did before the pandemic. With fewer titles to fill the calendar, the economics force higher prices on the films that do release.
Both sides are right. Fewer movies, higher prices, fewer customers, more spending per customer. That is the business today. For the consumer over fifty-five who remembers when a movie was an ordinary weekend habit, the change is real. The casual matinee is gone. What replaces it is a planned outing — closer in cost and feel to a nice dinner than to a Saturday afternoon at the mall.
Part Two: What the Movies Used to Stand For
I want to step back from the dollars for a moment and talk about the films themselves, because the change there has been just as significant.
For a long stretch of American history, our movies carried a point of view. They did not preach. The good ones never preach. But they had a backbone. John Wayne made The Green Berets in 1968, in the middle of an unpopular war, and he put his name and his face on a picture that took the soldier's side. Conservatives have argued for decades that Hollywood lost that nerve somewhere along the way, that the studios in Burbank grew uncomfortable with flags, with uniforms, with anything that looked too much like national pride. There is some evidence for that complaint.
But every so often, the older tradition reappears. Top Gun: Maverick is the clearest recent example. Tom Cruise climbed back into the cockpit, the Navy lent its aircraft and its carriers, and the film grossed almost a billion and a half dollars worldwide. Audiences applauded in the theater. The Top Gun franchise has been a quiet patriotic anchor for nearly four decades now, and that is not an accident. There is a market for these stories. There always has been. People will pay eighteen dollars or thirty dollars or even fifty dollars when a film delivers something they recognize and want to support.
That is the lesson I think the studios most need to hear. The audience is not gone. The audience is selective. When the product is good and the message is honest and the experience justifies the price, the seats fill. When it does not, they do not.
Part Three: The Long Game Out of Beijing
Now I want to spend some time on a story the Wall Street Journal has been reporting this spring that I think every American investor and every American moviegoer ought to understand.
In January, a Chinese animated film called Ne Zha 2 was released in China. It is based on traditional Chinese mythology — a story about a young hero who battles demons. By every measure, it is a sophisticated production: strong special effects, broad comedy, dramatic action. It is, in essence, China's version of a Marvel film. In its home market it earned one-point-two billion dollars. That is more revenue than any American film has ever generated in a single country. It surpassed the domestic record set by Star Wars: The Force Awakens in 2015.
On its own, that is just a successful movie. But the background matters.
In 2008, DreamWorks released Kung Fu Panda. It was an American animated film built around Chinese cultural material — pandas, kung fu, ancient temples — and it was a major hit inside China. According to the Journal, officials inside the Chinese Communist Party watched that success carefully and drew a strategic conclusion. An American studio had used Chinese culture more effectively than Chinese studios themselves. The Party decided to fix that.
What followed was a deliberate, long-term effort. The Chinese government invited American directors to teach Chinese crews. Chinese studios studied Pixar and Marvel in detail. State money flowed into domestic animation. By 2016, Chinese films were regularly beating American films at the Chinese box office. That trend accelerated during the first Trump administration as trade tensions widened. Today, the heads of major Hollywood studios plan their budgets on the assumption that the Chinese market will contribute essentially nothing. Recent Disney releases — Mufasa: The Lion King, Moana 2 — barely registered there. Ne Zha 2 dominated. The shift is real, and it is structural.
The asymmetry between the two markets is worth describing clearly. In the United States, Ne Zha 2 can play in any theater that wants to book it. No federal agency reviews the film. The Chinese Embassy ran a trailer on a billboard in Times Square, and no one in Washington tried to stop it. That is consistent with the American principle of free expression. We do not censor incoming culture, even from competitors.
Inside China, the situation is the reverse. Every film shown in Chinese theaters — American, Chinese, or otherwise — passes through a Communist Party censorship process. Scenes referencing Taiwan, Tibet, or Hong Kong are routinely cut. Marvel films have been delayed for months. Top Gun: Maverick reportedly faced scrutiny over a flag patch on Maverick's jacket. China admits roughly thirty-four foreign films per year, and its domestic releases receive the best calendar dates and the largest screens. That is not a free market. It is a managed one, designed to favor state-approved content.
There is one piece of good news in this picture. T...