Hollywood Necromancy

Hollywood no longer creates. It exhumes.

The screen has become a morgue. Franchises stretched into three-hour embalming rituals. Comedies clawed from the grave, embalmed in streaming gloss, forced to swing again for cash. You laugh, you sigh, you scroll — but the ritual works, because the ticket was sold.

This isn’t storytelling. It’s séance.

The economics are simple: estates, studios, and tech firms convert the dead into revenue streams. James Dean is an asset. Marilyn Monroe is a trademark. Even actors who still breathe are embalmed and looped — leased back to us like trademarks that never expire.

Every reboot strips the soul thinner. Every digital resurrection flattens legacy into content. Necromancy is marketed as immortality, but it’s liquidation — a balance sheet in drag.

And the audience consents. The séance only works because the crowd wills it: clapping for corpses, summoning shadows, paying for repetition.

You’re not watching the dead. You’re watching your fear of death monetized.