Take me to your leader… of this strip club.

The Hidden: B-

Socrates: Glaucon, my dear friend, I am curious about this film we’ve recently viewed together, The Hidden. It appears to be an amalgamation of borrowed elements from other movies, yet I enjoyed the film while you did not. Tell me, in your view, what is the essence of this cinematic creation on which you base your logic?

Glaucon: Socrates, it is a tired blend of familiar concepts. It borrows the premise of “Good Guy vs. Bad Guy from Another World” from my favorite film The Terminator and the idea of “Who’s the Monster in the Room?” from my other favorite movie The Thing. These elements, combined with mediocre production quality akin to Chuck Norris movies from this era, form a somewhat mindless experience that lasts for a full 90 minutes, yet I must admit I found it difficult to look away, which I cannot explain.

Socrates: Fascinating, indeed. But what strikes me as curious is that despite its conscious replication of other films, The Hidden garners widespread respect and praise. From esteemed critics like Roger Ebert to the faceless reviewers on Amazon.com, the film is spoken highly of. Do you not find it perplexing that a work that, as you believe, strips away the depth and meaning from its source material is celebrated as a solid film? How can you explain this paradox, Glaucon?

Glaucon: Indeed, Socrates, The Hidden deliberately replicates the plots and tropes of The Terminator and The Thing, yet it lacks the deeper allegorical and philosophical messages present in those films. While one may argue that these aspects were superficial in the aforementioned works, they were at least present and readable to some extent. The Hidden, however, revels in the futility of its own repetitive violence.

Socrates: Ah, an interesting observation, my friend. It appears you believe that The Hidden indulges in gratuitous destruction without offering any profound reflections on the human condition. I would like to return to this point in a moment, but if I may inquire further, could you shed light on the facets of the film’s premise – this tale of a parasitic alien criminal who possesses human hosts – that inspired your condemnation?

Glaucon: This is easy, Socrates! This alien parasite displays impulsive behavior, akin to the uncontrolled desires of the human Id, going on a rampage through the lens of a cheaply produced film. Possessing various hosts, the creature behaves in an extremely destructive and distressed state, as if consumed by the effects of methamphetamine. The campy depiction of a spree of grand theft auto, armed robbery, and assault is not art. The violence is meaningless and we’ve seen it in hundreds of other films before. It is not original. 

Socrates: I see. I recall that this alien parasite indulges in hedonistic destruction, slaying characters who embody the stereotypes of the 1980s, while also partaking in activities such as feasting on steaks and pilfering boom-boxes through a lens of stylized violence that resembles episodes from other works. Verily, it appears that originality is absent within this film, yet, it possesses a certain degree of amusement which you concede when you admit you cannot look away as the film plays. Glaucon, I must inquire: do you truly believe that the absence of originality diminishes the value of this film? And do you then, by extension, believe that the absence of originality in any work of art diminishes the value of that art?

Glaucon: I do, Socrates. 

Socrates: I believe you must now see how you are wrong. While I understand the importance of originality in art, I believe it is also crucial to consider the role of the demands of the audience. Is it not true that the greatness of a work lies not solely in its originality, but in its ability to fulfill the needs and desires of its viewers?

Glaucon: Pray tell, how can a film lacking originality still be considered great?

Socrates: Consider this, Glaucon. The Hidden, though borrowing heavily from other sources, manages to captivate its audience through familiarity. Is any great art truly original, or does it owe a debt to the art that came before it? 

Glaucon: Great art is original.

Socrates: Well then your favorite movie must therefore be original art in order to be great. Is The Terminator the first movie ever about robots? Or the first movie with the foreboding threat of apocalypse? Is it Arnold Schwarzenegger’s first starring role? Is it the first film about time travel?

Glaucon: No.

Socrates: And is The Thing the first movie about a man-killing alien? Is it the first horror movie built on isolation and paranoia? Is The Thing not a complete remake of an already existing film which itself is based off of a short story?

Glaucon: I think I am beginning to understand, Socrates. Great art can be original. But by drawing upon established tropes and delivering them in a manner that satisfies the desires of its viewers, it fulfills a specific need within the cinematic landscape. But are you suggesting, Socrates, that the value of a work of art lies in its ability to cater to the public? Is there not room for innovation or organic creativity?

Socrates: Ah, Glaucon, you raise a valid point. Indeed, innovation and creativity are important aspects of artistic expression. However, we must not disregard the impact of meeting the public’s desires and, vitally, how a filmmaker’s receptive observations of the time in which they live informs the way they see fit to satisfy these desires. 

Glaucon: Go on…

Socrates: Great works of art can be born from striking a delicate balance between originality and familiarity, between creativity and satisfying the audience’s yearning for certain elements. In the case of The Hidden, you have explained how the film’s own overt commitment to a lack of originality makes it uniquely original in and of itself through its quite deliberate intent to deliver concentrated dosages of most beloved elements of previous works of art. Is this not what many great works of art do? Just how The Terminator and The Thing borrow from works that came before them, they do so in their own unique ways that are in tune with the public, making them original. 

Glaucon: So, Socrates, you argue that greatness can be achieved by recognizing the needs of the public and fulfilling them effectively? And that this effective fulfillment is itself a work of original art?

Socrates: Precisely, Glaucon. The greatness of a work lies not solely in its originality but in its reception to the needs of the public. It is through this symbiotic relationship between artist and audience that true greatness can be attained. Perhaps this is what you could not look away while we viewed the film!

Glaucon: Your words shed new light on the matter, Socrates. The value of a work of art should be assessed not only through its originality but also by its resonance with the public, especially if this is done with such deliberate force that the result could be called original. It is in this balance that we find the true essence of greatness.