And keep in mind, this wonderful decade clocked blockbusters at about $60-$70 million a pop. Meaning that these untested and super-niche premises were being made for the 2016 equivalent of the new Wonder Woman film. Time warp to 2014, and the same Fear And Loathing director is scraping together $8 million for his latest movie. And it's not just Gilliam -- both David Lynch and John Waters, legendary cult film directors, are also struggling to get their current films properly funded. And if these intensely revered crazies can't cobble together a work of art, imagine what it's like for new filmmakers. Thanks to the ease of digital cameras, the indie market is more saturated than a flooded sponge factory. There are currently 7,000 American film festivals accepting submissions -- all for the best-case scenario of getting lost in the shuffle on Amazon or Netflix.

Because thanks to a combination of inflation and scarce home movie sales, studios simply can't afford to make riskier mid-budget films. That means filmmakers have to either make a $100 million+ box office explosion or hope to Christ that their concept can be shot for hobo scraps and loose change. And if you think this won't affect your love of superhero movies, remember that this is exactly why the marginally strange Deadpool had to beg for 10 fucking years for their "meager" $58 million budget.

20th Century Fox
That extra $7 million they had to cut really improved its profitability.

Think about all this for a second, because it means that somewhere out there, the next Indiana Jones-style adventure is collecting dust in some asshat's drawer because its risk-to-reward ratio is imploding like a dying star. It's no wonder that ...

He didn't retire. Ol' Frank has been making movies well into the 2010s -- but you probably didn't even realize it, due to Coppola hanging up his shiny Hollywood beard for an indie mane instead. Or as he puts it: "I was looking at the The New York Times, seeing all the current movies, and it occurred to me that they all looked like sort of sausages ... Now that I'm old and it doesn't matter and I'm sort of independent, I really don't want to make a sausage ..."

While that sounds like something you'd jabber while smearing a Redbox with bratwurst, it represents a common frustration for a lot of old-school mainstream directors quietly abandoning Hollywood. You might've thought directors like John Woo fell into some kind of abyss, but he actually fucked off to make films back in China.

Lion Rock Productions
And to get away from John Travolta.

And this isn't merely a problem for older directors, either. Alfonso Cuaron (of Gravity and Children Of Men) is going back to Mexico for his next film. Michel Gondry, the director behind Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind, has also been making films on the DL in exchange for his artistic freedom. As are veterans like Joe Dante and John Landis -- two '80s directors you probably had no idea still made movies.

It boils down to this: Thanks to the aforementioned death of mid-budget films, if you're a director with any kind of artistic yearning, you either need to be rich enough to fund your own films or get the fuck out of Hollywood. Luckily, there's a third option.

The Guardian
"Look, Netflix bought a cartoon about a talking horse with depression. Just them a shot."

Everything that used to be right about film studios can now be said about television and internet content. They allow for mid-range budgets, embrace original ideas, and aren't afraid to do something artistically distinct. And for that reason, we now have TV and streaming shows being run by Spike Lee, Martin Scorsese, Guillermo del Toro, David Fincher, Steven Soderbergh, Gus Van Sant, and that flesh-scarecrow Woody Allen. In a strange way, the small screen is now the idea-grabbing cowcatcher on this train of cinematic ingenuity. It's too bad we're nearly all out of bovine ...

CGI is a double-edged sword. One one hand, it's enabled skilled directors like David Fincher and James Gunn to meticulously craft their worlds. On the flip side, folks like James Cameron are barreling so far off the rails that they're now riding Doc Brown's cosmic time train to the planet Gibberish.

20th Century Fox
Here's an artist's rendering of what such a planet might look like.

But to understand Cameron's evangelistic attitude toward finding the next "groundbreaking new technology," you have to look at what made him famous in the first place. Because like many directors from his era, emerging visual effects gave him the power to show audiences something they'd never seen before.

Films like Terminator 2 and Jurassic Park weren't just great stories, but goddamn visual pioneers. Space battles and monster grapples had existed for decades, but the visual advancements of the '70s through the '90s gave them a realism nobody had ever seen. They were pictures painted with colors that never existed before. And while CG has since incrementally improved from the laughable Jumanji monkeys to the incredible mo-cap ones in Dawn Of The Planet of The Apes, the progression is far less dramatic than the first time a real fucking dinosaur came lumbering onto the big screen.

Universal Pictures
"Like this, but again, and again, and ..." -- every person since then

In other words, while skilled in their own right, directors like George Lucas and James Cameron had the added benefit of being visual bushwackers, imprinting their names on these historic cinematic moments. Jon Favreau might have made a CGI masterpiece with The Jungle Book, but no one is going to praise him for discovering that technology. And the era of being able to do whatever you want makes it harder and harder to stand out visually. After all, what specialness does Tim Burton have when you can replicate his style on a laptop? Even Spielberg himself admitted that had he made Jaws today, it likely would have been ruined by CGI's lack of limitations. And so anyone trying to stand out has to move backwards instead, making practical-effects-heavy blockbusters like Mad Max: Fury Road and Star Wars: The Force Awakens. Because if you haven't noticed, nostalgia is totally in. And that means ...

Imagine being the artistically frustrated lead singer of a KISS cover band in a world exclusively demanding to hear "Rock And Roll All Nite." Nostalgia is the hottest goddamn thing -- look at the countless articles misguidedly praising it as the reason Stranger Things is a hit (instead of the acting and directing and writing). But the problem with this is that while everyone loves a good cover band, no one remembers them after the fact. Exclusively doing other people's art doesn't inspire future artists. So while we might love JJ Abrams now, his directing absolutely will not stand the test of time unless he starts thinking for himself. Nor will anyone making a cookie-cutter Marvel film, for that matter.

This is going to sound insane, but as it stands now, the only way to truly make an impact is to symbolically teabag the audience's expectations. That's because ...

This is why, despite having all the narrative coherence of a Prodigy music video, DC films are artistically miles above Marvel. You heard me. Zack Snyder is a better director when it comes to understanding and challenging the fundamental cinematic language of cinematography, editing, and directing.

Here's an example. Let's say you have a scene where a bomb goes off in a government building and you want to show the effect that has on the world. How would you convey that without any dialogue?

Warner Brothers Pictures

We start on a close-up of the chair exploding, then the room exploding, then the hallway outside the room exploding. Every time, the fire engulfs the screen as the source of it slowly moves from left to right -- giving the quick cuts a feeling of progression. Then we see the building explode, followed by the protesters outside reacting, followed by the people watching it on TV. In seven shots, the event ripples outward in a way that tells a very large story.

Now let's see how Marvel handles the same thing.

Marvel Studios

We get a wide shot of the truck bomb. Two medium reaction shots, followed by a few other quick reaction shots. And finally a couple more wide shots to most efficiently portray the action. It's aggressively standard, brightly lit, and framed as traditionally as possible. Because as Every Frame A Painting recently pointed out about the franchise's completely unmemorable music, Marvel films are made for safety and efficiency. Each film is designed to fit into a larger episodic franchise, like an episode of a TV show, making it so that no single one can visually stand out in any extreme way.

Even Doctor Strange -- a film with amazingly unique visuals -- still presents those effects with the same commercial cinematography, standard editing, and safe orchestral score the MCU always uses. It's like your old elementary school portrait: There might be some high-priced wicked lazer shit in the background, but it's still the same dimensions and composure as the rest of the class.

Marvel Studios

Marvel Studios
All that Escher shit in the background, and it's still framed like an episode of NCIS.

And the weirdest part is that I still prefer the Marvel films. Because like most audiences, I'm not watching these films solely for their artistic merits, but rather to escape the never-ending sorrow-gorge that is my waking life. And Marvel is objectively way better at solid narratives, fun characters, and broad entertainment. Only there once was a time where a film could be both fun AND cinematically complex, thanks to all the Spielbergs of the world who are slowly fading away.

It boils down to this: Every director exists on a spectrum between "artistically unique" and "universally appealing." On one end, you have your David Lynches and Terry Gilliams, and at the other are the JJ Abrams and Joss Whedons. Neither side is bad or good, but it's always been my opinion that the best directors exist somewhere in the middle. But now that studios either have to make billion-dollar successes or shoestring indies, that Venn diagram between commercial successes and artsy snobbery has been breaking apart, forcing anyone hoping to see dinosaur murder AND cinematic inspiration into a Sophie's Choice.

Macall B. Polay/HBO
Or a Game Of Thrones fan.

And yes, due to its moderate budget, Sophie's Choice would never get made today without adding some action setpieces and getting Brett Ratner to direct.

David is an editor, columnist, and gloomy-gus for Cracked.com. Cheer him up on Twitter.