The evolutionary psychologist Gad Saad once described woke as a mind virus. For the past decade, Western intellectual and cultural institutions have contributed to the emergence of a strange, psychogenic disorder. Its victims were trapped in an intelligence-draining hive mind, characterised by mass hysteria, persistent fear of confronting offence, and a rejection of facts, logic and objective reality.

Once a source of escapism, movies became a vehicle for activist writers to deliver what has come to be known as ‘the message’. This period was marked by an overemphasis on identity politics and a flagrant disrespect for the integrity of source material. We are now entering a new era, one that I believe will have a different, yet equally detrimental impact on the entertainment industry. Welcome to the world of slop.

The term ‘slop’ refers to something that appears big, showy, and exciting at first glance, but in reality feels like a simulacrum, a copy of a copy. It’s the cinematic equivalent of a shrug, requiring zero talent, leaving no impression on the viewer, and having the cultural impact of a sex offender’s funeral. It is watchable but never quite worth rewatching. Slop is never a passion project, driven by an ambitious young director: no one involved really cares. Don’t ask questions – just consume the product and brace yourself for the next reheated serving.

The rationale is to create material just for the sake of selling something. This approach works on the assumption that mainstream audiences won’t mind overused tropes and cliches, and that some might be too young or stupid to notice them. There is a reason why this content exists – studios often don’t grasp what made a certain intellectual property so beloved in the first place or why it resonated so widely. They also struggle to truly understand their audience or choose the right people to lead the project. Your Honour, on behalf of the loyal fans who’ve endured more crap than a festival toilet, I’d like to present Kathleen Kennedy at Lucasfilm as Exhibit A – because sometimes the real crime isn’t in the galaxy far, far away, but behind the executive desk!

We are to blame for this. According to a YouGov survey from 2023, 57 per cent of Australians watch TV while browsing their mobile phones. Instead of sitting down to watch a movie, the vast majority of us do so while also checking social media or texting friends. This has grown so ubiquitous that the televisions in our homes are no longer our first priority – they are second. We live in a ‘second screen’ society.

Second screen engagement has become a common part of entertainment consumption – instead of pushing back against it, studios now design content around the assumption that audiences won’t be engaged or fully paying attention. Storytelling relies on pacing, subtle cues, character development and emotional build-up, all of which are ruined if the audience is constantly glancing down at another screen without absorbing the plot, themes and ideas.

Everyone is drawn to shiny objects, and slop’s fascination extends beyond youngsters. You log on to Netflix and select a recommended new movie. You endure two hours of apathy, scratching your head over a plot that feels more like a dare than a story, but the voluptuous blonde presence of Sydney Sweeney makes it hard to look away. By the one-hour mark, literally nothing has happened, so you decide it’s the perfect time to reignite a Twitter feud with an ex during an endless exposition dump. But just as you’re distracted you glance up and catch a dramatic single-shot action scene that feels like it could be the grand finale.

Is it over yet? Nobody knows, and let’s face it, nobody cares. Welcome to post-woke Hollywood: a soulless parade of recycled franchises served up by creatively challenged producers who think nostalgia is the cheat code to your wallet. Art? Forget it. It’s corporate slop, algorithm-approved, and guaranteed to leave you existentially hungry.

Think about the Russo Brothers. The name has some credibility because of Stranger Things. They directed The Electric State, a new Netflix movie rumoured to have cost $US320 million. The film stars Millie Bobby Brown from Stranger Things. Despite the plethora of A-listers, the film was panned by critics as a nonsensical boring movie. Basically, it’s a bunch of ridiculously overpaid Hollywood actors sleepwalking their way through the script while an endless swarm of clunky CGI robots awkwardly hog the spotlight like they’re auditioning for a low-budget sci-fi blooper reel. For this price, you could’ve made Terminator 2 three times and still had change for Godzilla Minus One.

Slop serves merely as adjunct entertainment, providing a backdrop while viewers engage in constant doom-scrolling on their smartphones. The experience rarely disrupts the monotony of passive consumption, with the occasional plot points or action sequences momentarily redirecting fleeting attention. Characters, often devoid of depth and genuine connection, seem designed solely to compete for the viewer’s attention, which inevitably returns to the alluring glow of their hand-held screens.

The market is adapting to meet our new lifestyle preferences. On average Australians spend around six hours per day on digital devices. Johann Hari argues in his book Stolen Focus that our addiction to smartphones has made it harder to concentrate on long-form narrative content, whether it is a novel, a film or a television series.

You’d think that with the death of woke, we could move on. But no. We are regressing, abandoning adventurous and ambitious storytelling for a sterile world orchestrated by visual muzak. It’s the TV equivalent of the terrible background music you listen to in doctors’ surgeries and mall elevators.

We’ve immunised ourselves against this mind virus by combining realism with the indisputable wisdom of our wallets. The revealed preference flushed the chain on this particular clogged toilet, releasing its effluent into the sewers. ‘Go woke, go broke!’

My advice? Use the same strategy: ‘If you don’t pay, it goes away.’