It’s like the cinematic equivalent of the Emperor’s New Clothes…
This video is probably going to annoy you and talk smack about a film you really like. So… sorry?
You ever watch a movie, sit through the credits, and then suddenly realise… nothing actually happened? Like, you just spent two hours watching a guy stare out a window while synth music played, and now people are telling you it’s a masterpiece? Yeah. It’s becoming a problem and I think it needs to be talked about.
These are the movies that don’t so much tell a story as they do gently hover near the concept of one, hoping you’ll be too mesmerised by the pretty lights to notice nothing’s actually happening. They look incredible, sound incredible, and yet, when you try to explain why they’re good, all you can come up with is, “The vibes, man.”
Take Drive, for example. It was sold to us as a high-octane action thriller, but most of the time, Ryan Gosling just sits silently in dimly lit rooms, looking like he’s waiting for his cue to blink. Yes, there’s violence, and yes, there’s a car chase or two, but most of it is just Gosling brooding in his cool scorpion jacket like an extremely well-dressed wax figure. There’s a moment where he and Carey Mulligan sit in a car listening to synth-pop, and we’re supposed to believe that’s the height of emotional connection. Sure, it’s a pretty scene—but if you swapped out the soundtrack for an ad jingle, you’d quickly realize there’s nothing actually happening. And this stings to say as I actually really like Drive. Regardless of anything else, that soundtrack is banging.
Then there’s Lost in Translation, which is basically an extended luxury hotel promo where Bill Murray and Scarlett Johansson exchange melancholic glances while doing absolutely nothing of consequence. Are they in love? Are they just lonely? Or is this just a very long, very expensive tourism ad for Tokyo? The film’s entire emotional climax is a whispered line of dialogue we never get to hear—a genius move, because it lets everyone pretend something profound was said when, realistically, Murray probably just muttered, “Try the room service” or “I hate Mondays.”
And let’s talk about The Neon Demon, which is what happens when a music video decides it wants to be a movie but forgets that movies usually involve a plot. The king of vibe films, Nicolas Winding Refn, took a blender, threw in high fashion, eerie lighting, and characters who speak in long, stilted pauses, and then forgot to hit the “story” button. The film thinks it’s making a statement about the beauty industry, but let’s be honest, it’s mostly just beautifully lit scenes of Elle Fanning looking vaguely ethereal while people stare at her like she’s a particularly haunting painting.
Then there’s The Revenant (God, this is really going to annoy some people), which is less of a film and more of a survival challenge where we’re all forced to endure Leonardo DiCaprio’s misery as some form of sado-masochistic voyeurism. Yes, the cinematography is breathtaking, but that’s because Emmanuel Lubezki shot the entire thing like a nature documentary where the main subject happens to be a man getting repeatedly pummeled by the elements. It’s a movie where the most exciting plot point is “Man eats raw bison liver,” and people convinced themselves it was a masterpiece because watching Leo suffer for three hours made them feel like they, too, had achieved something. But hey, he finally got his Oscar for it so what do I know?
And of course, we have Blade Runner 2049, a film so in love with itself that even the androids seem tired of existing. I can already envisage your pitchforks as I say this. It’s visually stunning, sure, but it spends so much time contemplating its own importance that by the time you get to the third lingering shot of Ryan Gosling staring into the void, you start wondering if you are, in fact, the replicant. It’s a film about the human soul that is, ironically, completely emotionally detached. It takes the existential musings of the original and stretches them to near-parody levels, proving that even in a dystopian future, people will still find time to sulk in the rain for dramatic effect.
The defenders of these films will tell you they’re “meditative” or “atmospheric,” which is a polite way of saying “slow and emotionally vague.” They reward passivity, inviting audiences to project their own interpretations onto what is essentially a beautifully framed blank canvas. The kind of people who champion these films tend to mistake ambiguity for depth, as though refusing to say anything clearly automatically makes something profound. In reality, these movies are just underwritten, overdirected, and too self-serious to realize that a cool color palette isn’t a substitute for storytelling.
But the greatest trick these films pull? Convincing their audiences that if you don’t like them, you just “don’t get it.” This is the ultimate cinematic safety net—if a film is obscure enough, it becomes impervious to criticism. “You didn’t connect with the story? Well, maybe you’re not supposed to.” The truth is far simpler: some movies are just a vibe, and nothing more. And, in my opinion, that’s not enough.
Well, if this doesn’t end my career on YouTube I don’t know what will. But what’s your favourite ‘vibe’ film? Please let me know in the comments below, and please for the love of God be kind to me, or I’ll cry. And while you’re down there, don’t forget to like and subscribe for plenty more videos on all things film and TV, check out our video game channel UDS Gaming, and you can always visit upsidedownshark.com to keep up with everything else we’ve got going on.
Until then my name is Tom, this has been UDS and we’ll see you next time. Bye!
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Tom Baker
I like Star Wars, heavy metal and BBQ Pringles.
