What makes a movie franchise truly iconic? It’s a question that’s as subjective as it is fascinating, and recently, two Hollywood heavyweights—Ben Affleck and Jon Bernthal—found themselves debating the answer. Their choices, however, reveal something deeper than just personal taste. They highlight the tension between innovation and nostalgia, between reinvention and reverence for the past. Let’s unpack this debate, not just as a trivia game, but as a lens to examine what defines cultural legacy in cinema.
Affleck’s pick, the Bourne franchise, is a masterclass in subverting genre expectations. But here’s what really intrigues me: it’s not just the action sequences or the moral ambiguity of Jason Bourne that made this series stand out. It’s the way it forced Hollywood to confront its own clichés. Remember when the first Bourne film came out? The industry was still clinging to the idea that spy thrillers had to be glossy, formulaic, and devoid of emotional depth. Bourne shattered that. It was raw, gritty, and human—a template that would later influence everything from James Bond reboots to the gritty realism of modern action films. Yet, what’s fascinating is how few people acknowledge this. Most just see it as a ‘good’ series, not a revolutionary one. That’s the tragedy of cultural memory: we often forget the trailblazers who paved the way for what we now take for granted.
Then there’s Rocky, Bernthal’s choice. It’s a franchise that defies logic. How do you turn a film about a working-class underdog into a decades-long empire? The answer lies in its emotional resonance. Rocky isn’t just about boxing; it’s about perseverance, identity, and the myth of the American dream. But here’s the twist: the first film was explicitly designed to be a one-off. Sylvester Stallone’s script was so raw and unpolished that the studio initially rejected it. Yet, the public’s embrace of Rocky’s underdog story forced Hollywood to double down, creating a franchise that’s now synonymous with resilience. This irony—of a film that refused to be a franchise becoming one of the most enduring—says something profound about audience desire. We crave stories that mirror our struggles, even if they’re fictional. Rocky’s legacy isn’t just in its sequels or Creed spin-offs; it’s in the way it’s become a cultural shorthand for grit and determination.
But wait—what about the other contenders? Star Wars, with its mythic scope and generational appeal? The Marvel Cinematic Universe, which has redefined blockbuster filmmaking? Or the Alien series, which terrified audiences while pushing the boundaries of sci-fi horror? These franchises have their own claims to greatness, yet they’re often overshadowed by the nostalgia of older fans or the commercial success of newer ones. What many people don’t realize is that the ‘greatest’ franchise is less about numbers and more about impact. Star Wars, for instance, created a language for storytelling that permeates pop culture today. But does that make it the ‘best’? Or is it simply the most influential? The line between influence and legacy is thin, and it’s where the real debate lies.
Let’s also consider the elephant in the room: Friday the 13th. Yes, the source material mentions it as a personal favorite, but why? Because it’s a perfect case study in how a franchise can thrive on simplicity. It’s not about high-concept plots or cinematic innovation—it’s about primal fear, cheap thrills, and a killer logo. And yet, it’s survived decades of slasher fatigue. That’s a testament to the power of a strong brand, even if the content itself is... well, basic. It raises a deeper question: does the ‘greatest’ franchise need to be ‘great’ in the traditional sense, or is it enough to be unforgettable? I’d argue the latter. After all, who can forget the iconic jump scare of the hockey mask? Or the way it turned a simple premise into a cultural phenomenon?
Ultimately, this debate isn’t just about movies. It’s about how we measure value in art. Do we prioritize innovation, emotional resonance, commercial success, or something else entirely? The truth is, there’s no single answer. What makes a franchise ‘great’ is as much about the audience’s perception as it is about the creators’ intent. And in a world where streaming platforms and AI-generated content are reshaping the industry, the definition of a ‘great’ franchise might evolve even further. But one thing is certain: the conversation will never end. Because as long as we’re obsessed with stories, we’ll keep debating which ones matter most.
