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Hollywood, once the guardian of cultural imagination, now bears a share of responsibility for Silicon Valley’s unchecked influence on society. In a candid column for The Hollywood Reporter, screenwriter and producer John Lopez looks back at how the film industry surrendered its storytelling power to tech, and how that silence shaped troubling cultural consequences.
A legacy of glamour and creative authority
For decades, Hollywood was more than an entertainment machine—it was a cultural lighthouse. It knew how to turn massive wealth into meaningful stories, driven by risk, emotion, and a deep sense of artistry. It wasn’t just about big budgets or box office hits. There was prestige, curiosity, and creative danger that attracted not just audiences, but also the ultra-rich seeking something more enduring than another zero on their bank account.
Hollywood used to be a place where serious artists and serious money collided in interesting ways. It had the power to shape dreams and define aspirations. What you saw on screen often translated into values, trends, even public discourse. John Lopez frames it well: Hollywood was like a “casino of prestige and glamour”, where one could play for cultural impact rather than just financial gain.
But when tech billionaires began to rise, and the culture around them started to shift the world, Hollywood somehow forgot that it once set the tone. It welcomed new money but forgot to hold the gate. To read Gwen Stefani headlines magical 2025 Disney Christmas Parade
Missing the chance to teach storytelling
Throughout the 2000s and 2010s, a new class of wealth began to reshape the world: Silicon Valley’s tech giants. Lopez points out that instead of guiding these new moguls with no particular love or understanding for stories, Hollywood largely just took the checks.
There was a moment, he argues, when Hollywood could have elevated this odd bunch of hoodie-wearing disruptors. It could have taught them what makes stories stick—why emotion, nuance, and human fallibility matter. But it didn’t. It sold prestige but forgot the purpose. And so, the algorithms moved in.
It’s hard to argue with him here. As a viewer, I feel it—the way some of today’s streaming content often feels synthetic. So much now seems built not on instinct or truth, but on trend reports, audience feedback, metadata. Of course, there are exceptions. But the flood of content often lacks signature, surprise, soul.
Tech’s cold interpretation of creativity
Platforms like Netflix and Amazon leaned into data-driven programming, stripping risk and texture from the creative process. Even Apple, which Lopez spares slightly, has begun to dip its toes into similar waters. In this system, creativity gets flattened. Important nuances get lost in the hunt for content that performs, rather than resonates.
What we’ve seen over the past decade is a subtle shift from stories told by humans to content packaged by machines. Series and films start to feel more like products than art. Easy to click. Easy to forget. For a viewer like me, that’s frustrating. Because while it may be good business, it’s rarely good cinema. To read Toho expands into Europe with bold anime distribution moves
What’s left out when algorithms take over? Lopez suggests:
- Emotion that isn’t easily categorized or predicted
- Characters who are deeply flawed, not simply likable
- Unresolved plots or ambiguous endings
- Films that challenge mainstream narratives
- Projects that simply take creative risks, even if they fail
None of these track well on a spreadsheet. But they’re vital to cultural progress.
Silicon Valley and the myth of the messiah
Lopez pushes even further: Left on their own, tech leaders didn’t just replicate Hollywood’s mistakes—they created their own stories, often drawn from science fiction’s darkest corners. Instead of learning from artistic visionaries, they modeled themselves after machines, messiahs, or worse.
He describes today’s tech folklore as a fantasy of gods and end-times. From AI saviors to apocalyptic metaverses, the narrative has shifted away from humans and toward systems. You can see this in how companies talk about their own work—as divine mission, not just code and capital.
This isn’t science fiction at its best. It’s science fiction stripped of self-awareness. And Hollywood, which once had the power to guide that dreaming, stood aside. While social media platforms fueled outrage and AI systems grew unchecked, film and TV largely remained silent or complicit.
A pivotal moment: The Social Network
Lopez points to 2010’s The Social Network as a missed opportunity. Directed by David Fincher and written by Aaron Sorkin, the film arguably mythologized Mark Zuckerberg as a tragic antihero. It portrayed ambition and moral compromise, sure, but it also contributed to the seductive genius narrative that still surrounds many tech founders today.
It’s a film I admire. But looking back, it’s hard not to share Lopez’s regret. What if Hollywood had leaned harder into critique instead of coolness? What if it had taken the chance to ask sharper questions about power, connection, and responsibility?
This becomes even more relevant now that actor Jeremy Strong has said he would approach a future portrayal of Zuckerberg very differently—less detached intellect, more consequence. It says a lot about how the cultural moment has shifted since 2010. Back then, we admired disruption. Now, we’re starting to feel its cost.
A loss of imagination, on both sides
Underneath it all, Lopez is talking about failure—not just of Hollywood or Silicon Valley, but of collective imagination. He says we built data centers instead of dreaming better dreams. That hits home.
Hollywood stopped inspiring innovation that had heart. It stopped exporting visions of community, empathy, transformation. If those who build our future are raised on cynical or empty stories, we end up with the world we have now: optimized, fragmented, and increasingly lonely.
I keep thinking: movies used to prep us for empathy. And not just the big ones. Small indie films, tightly written series, human-driven narratives. When they disappear, or are overwhelmed by algorithms, something quiet but profound gets lost.
So yes, as Lopez says, it didn’t have to be this way. Maybe it still doesn’t. But the wake-up call has already sounded, loud and clear.
