The Lego Movie Effect: The Birth of the Film Dadaist Movement
There is a trend in Hollywood. It starts with The Lego Movie.
The Lego Movie was revolutionary. It was one of the first instances in modern film memory that a blatant commercialist endeavor to launder money from the pockets of young moviegoers and disgruntled parents in the audience not only succeeded in the box office, but also managed to establish its own identity separate from the big-name corporation that produced it. Since its initial release, The Lego Movie withstood the tests of time to become an integral part of the 2010s nostalgia alongside Flappy Bird and Party Rock Anthem.
Why? Where did Trolls, another notable toy franchise, fail where The Lego Movie triumphed? The Lego Movie not simply understood itself as an extension of a plastic product, but embraced it.
The Lego Movie is constantly engaging in self-referential humor. You don’t need to be a Lego-fanatic to know that Lego has a steely grip on every franchise, every celebrity, and every location in existence. Lego Batman? Sure thing. Lego Ninjago? Of course! Lego 2002 NBA All-Stars? Most definitely. The film doesn’t want to immerse the audience in the story. It wants the audience to feel included in it, poking fun of recognizable figures to expand one’s imaginations and perceptions of the real world. To these ends, the film is filled with meta-jokes alluding to non-Lego products as well: For instance, Terminator (”Come with me if you want to not die” said by Wyldstyle), Krazy Glue (The “Kragle”), and Henrik Ibsen (who wrote “The Master Builder”).
Unlike most other films, The Lego Movie does not tell its story through natural progression. Instead, it relies on the principles of dramatic irony to prop up its plot and satirical humor. The audience uses these references to guide our understanding of the messages, meaning that the story that we come to understand is much different than that the characters supposedly take away.
Thus, as the film condemns big business that exploits consumer culture through an impersonal, generic, “one-size-fits-all”-styled branding, the film’s protagonists urge the audience to reject these models and embrace individuality, innovation, and creativity (by buying Lego products). Ironically enough, the creation of The Lego Movie itself is a result of the very corporate culture it denounces.
In a way, The Lego Movie has not just paid homage to Dadaist artists like Hugo Ball, Rene Magritte, and Marcel Duchamp, but has incidentally sparked a newborn Dadaist movement, at least in the Western film world. The movement carries a whimsical essence through its references to well-known figures, responding to the establishment’s descent into chaos with a unique form of nonsensical expression. (In this case, consumer culture.)
Take a look at this infamous Marcel Duchamp’s work, a symbol of the Dada movement. It’s the Mona Lisa, one of the most iconic paintings in the world, with a scribbled-in goatee and mustache on a cheap postcard reproduction. Worse still is the vulgar name of the piece, L.H.O.O.Q., a gramogram for the French phrase “Elle a chaud au cul.” The translation? “She has a hot ass.” The defacement of a regarded piece among French art patrons sparked a major scandal in the art world. This was Duchamp’s very intention: To rebel against the bourgeoisie appeal to traditional beauty in a humorous manner.
Following the debut of The Lego Movie, these Dada undertones are present in many movies centered around franchises, several of which have become some of the most highly-acclaimed films of this decade.
The Spiderman tale, for example, which has undergone numerous retellings with Toby Maguire, Andrew Garfield, and Tom Holland, not to mention the dozens of animated adaptations. There’s lots of things that sets the Oscar-winning title Spiderman: Into the Spiderverse aside from its predecessors. (Most notably, the fact that our beloved arachnid protagonist is not Peter Parker but rather Miles Morales.) However, one notable difference in tone for this adaptation comes from its effective use of meta-humor, which is especially evident in the comic-book style opening, paying homage to the elements that different adaptations have offered to the franchise since the web-slinging hero’s debut — from 80s Theme Song to the Toby Maguire’s legendary dancing to the infamous lopsided Spiderman popsicle — all while presented in his signature witty quips.
Or take the more recent Barbie movie, whose meta-commentary on feminism has cemented its place in film history by garnering a record-shattering $1 billion in the box office. The film uses meticulously-chosen product placement of the Mattel doll to sell its hot-take on consumerism and feminism (pun unintended!). Although it takes a much more serious tone than The Lego Movie, it similarly uses the face-value struggle between Barbies and Kens to convey a subtextual message about a brand that exploits the ideals of inclusivity and social progress to sell another plastic figuring — all the while simultaneously promoting the Barbie franchise.
This dissonance should be completely nonsensical. After all, the irony of telling a story that contradicts the creation the art itself seems counterproductive. Who is to say that this isn’t another Lorax situation where negative externalities of the production (for instance, the film marketing team promoting environmental sustainable SUVs with the image of the tree-hugging Lorax and simultaneously denouncing the confusion of environmentalist messaging and the pursuit of profit) contradict the lesson at the end of the film?
The simple answer is that this kind of filmmaking is purposeful nonsense. Not just something accidental sprung out of niche references to the real world. Instead, filmmakers bring meaningful nonsense to their work by ridiculing societal norm. After all, the very idea of challenging constructs that have become embedded into our culture is an artist’s joie de vivre.
