The Illusion of Classic Status: Why Popularity Isn’t Enough
Let’s start with a controversial take: Most movies labeled “instant classics” are just well-marketed trends. Take Curry Barker’s Obsession—a film that’s been hailed as the next Exorcist by some corners of the internet. Personally, I think this comparison reveals more about our shrinking attention spans than it does about the film’s actual merit. The truth? Popularity is a lousy proxy for timelessness. And if we’re not careful, we risk conflating viral hype with cinematic legacy.
The Box Office Mirage
Here’s what everyone’s talking about: Obsession made $1 million on opening weekend, then exploded into a summer phenomenon. By July, it’d outgrossed The Exorcist (adjusted for inflation). Redditors are already drafting its Oscar acceptance speech. But let me ask you this: When did we decide that money talks louder than meaning? If financial success alone crowned classics, Avatar would be screening in the Louvre. In my opinion, the real question isn’t how much a film earns, but why it resonates years later. The Exorcist terrified audiences in 1973 because it weaponized Cold War-era anxieties about faith, family, and female autonomy. Obsession, meanwhile, cashes in on TikTok-era relationship paranoia. One explores universal dread; the other sells T-shirts.
The “Relevance” Trap
Barker’s film is undeniably a product of its time. It critiques parasocial obsessions in the Instagram age—a topic as obvious as it is urgent. But here’s the catch: Being topical isn’t the same as being profound. What many fans praise as “genius social commentary” feels more like a YA novel’s moral. Wanting to date someone because of their curated persona? Groundbreaking. Let’s not forget that Hereditary (2018) used demonic cults to dissect generational trauma, while Get Out (2017) turned microaggressions into a blood-soaked allegory. Compared to those, Obsession’s “message” is a bumper sticker: Don’t idealize strangers online, dummy. A detail that I find especially interesting is how the film’s themes were already tired by 2023—see Companion or The Dandelion—but Barker polishes them with enough jump scares to fool critics into calling it “fresh”.
Why Gen Z Can’t Save Cinema (Yet)
Let’s give credit where it’s due: Obsession is a technical marvel for its budget. Inde Navarrette’s performance is haunting, and the viral marketing—night-vision audience reactions, TikTok polls—was masterful. But here’s the generational elephant in the room: Gen Z’s “first horror love” isn’t a badge of honor. If you’ve only seen Smile and Talk to Me, of course Obsession looks revolutionary. From my perspective, though, this reflects a worrying trend: Younger audiences conflating novelty with innovation. When The Exorcist came out, there was literally nothing like it. Today, we’re drowning in horror content. Barker’s film isn’t pioneering; it’s repackaging. And that’s fine! But let’s not mistake a clever TikTok campaign for the birth of a classic.
The Timelessness Test
What separates Citizen Kane from The Social Network? Both dissect power and loneliness. But Welles’ film asked, What does it mean to be human in a world ruled by media empires? Fincher’s masterpiece updated that question for the digital age. Obsession, though? It asks, What if we made *Her but Bear was kind of a creep?* One thing that immediately stands out is how little Barker dares to explore. The film’s villain isn’t a cursed doll or toxic masculinity—it’s Nikki’s Instagram profile. This isn’t commentary; it’s finger-wagging. Classics don’t just reflect culture; they refract it into something eternal. The Wizard of Oz (1939) spoke to Depression-era escapism and still resonates because it’s about finding home. Obsession will feel dated the minute Gen Z moves on from TikTok duets.
A Deeper Problem: Our Craving for Instant Validation
Let’s zoom out. The obsession with labeling Obsession a classic reveals a cultural sickness. We’re so desperate for shared experiences in the streaming era that we’re grasping at straws. Moviegoing isn’t dead—it’s just fragmented. But by declaring every buzzy film a “phenomenon,” we’re infantilizing cinema. Personally, I think the real story here is how Obsession succeeded where others failed: It weaponized FOMO. Its scares are designed for reaction videos; its themes are simple enough for hot takes. It’s the cinematic equivalent of a viral tweet. And while I’ll admit the film has moments of cleverness (the cursed doll’s design is genuinely unsettling), its soul is as hollow as Bear’s empty DMs.
Final Verdict: Let Time Be the Judge
Here’s my unpopular opinion: Obsession isn’t bad—it’s just not important. And that’s okay! Not every film needs to be 2001: A Space Odyssey. But if we’re going to debate classics, let’s stop confusing resonance with revenue. True greatness isn’t declared; it’s earned through decades of relevance. In 50 years, will film students dissect Bear’s toxic wish or Nikki’s influencer persona? Unlikely. But they’ll still be unpacking The Exorcist’s demonic symbolism and Rear Window’s voyeurism. Why? Because classics don’t just capture a moment—they create new ways of seeing the world. Obsession merely mirrors what’s already on our screens. And that, ironically, is why it’ll fade.
