In recent years, it seems that “multiverse movies,” movies about characters traversing a multiverse, have taken over the film industry. Everything Everywhere All at Once, both the DC and Marvel superhero series, and the wildly popular animated series of Spider-verse movies. At first, these may seem inconspicuous, just a fad for new movies that will pass as quickly as it came, but I disagree. I believe that the prominence of these multiverse stories, along with their sudden and unexpected rise, signals some of the worst problems with the film industry today. 

It might be difficult to remember a time when every summer blockbuster wasn’t a multiverse-spanning superhero movie that ties in characters from 20 years ago, but the multiverse trend is brand-new, and has risen in a very unexpected way. Before 2018, while multiverse movies were not unheard of, it wasn’t until the release of Spider Man: Into the Spider-Verse, and its following massive success, that the idea entered the public consciousness on a large scale. 

Since then, the concept has exploded. Major studios quickly realized that audiences responded well to nostalgic crossovers and high-concept storytelling that used the multiverse as a narrative shortcut. It was no longer necessary to explain why a certain character was dead or recast, or why different versions of a character existed, because somewhere in the multiverse, anything was possible. This narrative freedom, while seemingly liberating, has become a crutch. Rather than writing compelling, self-contained stories with meaningful stakes, filmmakers have increasingly relied on the multiverse to prop up familiar IPs, reintroduce old characters, and wink at the audience for recognizing past versions of a franchise.

Marvel’s Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness and Spider-Man: No Way Home are perfect examples. Instead of building tension through character development and plot, these films rely heavily on cameos and surprise appearances. It’s thrilling, at first, to see Tobey Maguire and Andrew Garfield share the screen with Tom Holland. But once the novelty wears off, we’re left with a story that depends more on audience recognition than emotional depth. The multiverse becomes a gimmick.

And this issue is not confined to superhero films alone. Even Everything Everywhere All at Once, while much more inventive and daring in its use of the multiverse, plays into the same cultural moment. Though that film is arguably more introspective and original than anything coming out of the major studios, it still reveals just how deeply the multiverse has taken hold in our collective imagination. When even indie films and art-house cinema are turning to this concept, it’s clear that we’re not dealing with a passing trend, but a full-scale narrative shift.

So what’s driving this obsession with the multiverse? On one level, it seems to be a natural evolution of franchise storytelling. As cinematic universes expand beyond the limits of traditional sequels and prequels, studios needed a mechanism to bring disparate threads together. The multiverse solves that problem. It allows creators to acknowledge every iteration of a franchise, reward loyal fans with Easter eggs, and reboot properties without fully starting over.

But on a deeper level, the multiverse trend feels like a symptom of cultural exhaustion. In a time when the future feels increasingly uncertain. We are plagued by climate anxiety, political instability, and the rapid pace of technological change, and retreating into nostalgic what-ifs is comforting. What if the past had gone differently? What if we could revisit our childhood heroes? What if we could see every possible version of ourselves? The multiverse, in this sense, is less about storytelling and more about coping. It’s a reflection of a society overwhelmed by the complexity of its present and paralyzed by its fear of the future.

It’s also no coincidence that this trend emerged alongside the streaming boom and the proliferation of “content” over “cinema.” When studios are churning out dozens of shows and movies a year to fill an algorithmic demand, the multiverse offers an easy shortcut to intrigue. Why develop a new idea when you can remix an old one, give it a multiverse twist, and market it as fresh? The problem is, this strategy might bring short-term gains, but it undermines the integrity of storytelling itself.

We’re beginning to see the consequences of this approach. Audiences, once thrilled by the possibilities of multiverse storytelling, are now expressing signs of fatigue. Each new installment feels less impactful than the last. The stakes feel artificial when death is reversible, when time and space are malleable, when nothing is permanent. It’s hard to care about what happens in a story when any event can be undone by a multiversal loophole.

There’s also a growing sense that these stories are talking more to themselves than to us. Films increasingly reference other films, characters comment on their own narratives, and the logic of the plot often takes a backseat to internal franchise continuity. It creates a feedback loop that rewards superfans but alienates casual viewers. The barrier to entry grows with each release, and what was once accessible entertainment now feels like homework.

And perhaps the most insidious aspect of multiverse storytelling is how it shifts the emotional burden onto the audience. When a film relies on nostalgia or prior knowledge to deliver its emotional payoff, it’s essentially asking viewers to do the heavy lifting. You’re not moved by the story because it earned your emotions, you’re moved because you remember how you felt when you saw that character in that movie from 2005. The multiverse doesn’t just recycle stories; it recycles feelings. And after a while, recycled feelings begin to feel hollow.

This isn’t to say that multiverse stories are inherently bad. Some, like Everything Everywhere All at Once, manage to explore profound themes of identity, connection, and choice through the lens of alternate realities. But for every film that uses the multiverse meaningfully, there are a dozen that use it as a marketing gimmick. The danger is that audiences will become numb.

If the film industry wants to avoid this fate, it needs to recalibrate. Originality and emotional sincerity must be prioritized over brand synergy and cross-universe cameos. Studios must resist the urge to endlessly repackage the past and instead take creative risks that invest in the future of storytelling. That means greenlighting new ideas, supporting emerging voices, and trusting that audiences are capable of engaging with stories that don’t rely on multiversal scaffolding.

The multiverse, when used thoughtfully, can still be a powerful tool. But when used carelessly, it becomes a sign of creative bankruptcy.. It’s time for Hollywood to wake up from this multiverse-induced stupor and remember what made movies magical in the first place: not infinite possibilities, but singular ones, told with care, honesty, and imagination.