England's First Post e-zine writes that "Veteran directors are showing their younger peers how to tell stories." But it unintentionally illustrates why movies have increasingly lost the ability to do just that--tell stories. Or as I wrote in January of 2006:

Over four years ago, on the weekend before 9/11, John Podhoretz explained a big reason why modern movies by and large stank: it's the writing, stupid, to paraphrase James Carville. During Hollywood's golden era, moviemakers knew that while they could craft iconic images, they weren't the best source of original narratives:

Since the movies are a visual medium, most of the energy and enthusiasm of moviemakers derives from a command of the camera and an ability to manipulate images. What they don't know very well - what they've never known very well — is why one given story is better than another given story.

So they tend to steal their stories from elsewhere. And in the first half-century or more of the movies, that meant they turned to other media for material — to books and theater, primarily, and to the kind of stories they told. Novels and plays derive their power entirely from character and plot. Add a strong visual storytelling sense to a strong narrative line, and you have something wonderful and new.

But something happened around 1950. Movies increasingly began to draw their inspiration from other movies. The young French directors of the famous late '50s "new wave" were inspired by hack Hollywood filmmakers, not by Shakespeare or Balzac or Dickens. In the 1960s, their American stepchildren burst forth: Francis Ford Coppola, George Lucas, Brian De Palma, Peter Bogdanovich, Martin Scorcese, Steven Spielberg, and others.

These men could do things with a camera nobody had ever been able to do. They had seen every movie ever made and had broken those movies down frame by frame, turning themselves into the Noam Chomskys of film — the world's foremost experts on the grammar of visual storytelling.

They brought a new snap and dazzle to film. When that was combined with both a new freedom in subject matter and new technological developments, the medium became exciting again, in the late '60s and early '70s — in a way it hadn't since the advent of television. And the movies they turned out earned more money than anyone had ever dreamt possible.

The problem was that all these brilliant moviemakers knew was the movies. They weren't well-read — most of them didn't attend college, or if they did, they studied only film — and they didn't seem to feel at all humbled by their own ignorance. As a result, they understood classical storytelling only through the bastardized versions offered by Hollywood. It was like fourth-generation xeroxing. Stories and characters grew weaker as their original sources grew increasingly distant and hazy.