See the Movie, Ride the Ride, Play the Game: Did a 1997 Book Predict Modern Franchise Fatigue?

How Janet H. Murray’s “Hamlet on the Holodeck” foresaw the multimedia labyrinth of modern entertainment — and why it matters for storytelling today.

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I recently finished reading Hamlet on the Holodeck: The Future of Narrative in Cyberspace, written by Dr. Janet H. Murray and published in 1997. The book explores how computers have and will shape storytelling. While I originally approached it through the lens of narrative design, I quickly found myself comparing Dr. Murray’s predictions to the broader entertainment landscape in which we live today.

Murray makes many insightful forecasts — some fulfilled, others not yet realized. Surprisingly, the most prophetic wasn’t about digital interactive media, but about the entertainment industry at large.

In a discussion of “movie rides” (theme park attractions based on popular films that immerse riders in the cinematic world), Murray warns that the expansion of these forms of entertainment ‘raises the discomforting specter of a universe of entertainment products that advertise one another. See the movie! Ride the simulator! Play the game!’ (1997, p. 51). She cautions that such a model may ‘produce an entertainment paradise for fifteen-year-old boys’ but would ultimately ‘mean an emotionally impoverished narrative form’ (1997, p. 51).

That ‘universe of entertainment products’ is precisely what we now inhabit. Popular titles have become a multimedia madness of interconnected content, each piece pointing toward the next.

Take the MCU. Every Marvel project sets up more shows and films, ad infinitum. Watch Ms. Marvel and it leads into The Marvels, which requires familiarity with Captain Marvel, WandaVision, and probably most of the Infinity Saga. Insert nearly any Marvel project, and you’ll find a similar web of dependencies.

Not only do all the shows and movies interlink with each other, but they also connect to other Marvel expansions. The Guardians of the Galaxy movies practically double as advertisements for the Guardians of the Galaxy — Mission: Breakout! ride at Disney California Adventure and Cosmic Rewind at EPCOT. The films and the rides also promote the original comics, other crossover films (Infinity War, Endgame, Thor: Love and Thunder), and the Marvel’s Guardians of the Galaxy video game.

We see this feedback loop extend even further. Marvel collaborates with other franchises, expanding its reach. A major section of Fortnite’s storyline was housed within a Marvel x Fortnite crossover comic series. If a player wanted the full picture of Fortnite’s narrative, they had to engage with Marvel’s IP. Don’t know who the characters are? Then you’re nudged to watch movies, read comics, and dive deeper into the Marvel machine. Entry points are everywhere, but true understanding demands omnivorous consumption.

Marvel might be the most excessive example of this phenomenon, but it’s not alone.

Consider Harry Potter, now a full-blown transmedia universe: books, films, theme parks, studio tours, a Broadway/West End play, an upcoming TV series, video games like Hogwarts Legacy, and more. Every medium invites (or pressures) you to experience the others. Enjoy the books? Watch the movies. Enjoy the movies? Now see the characters live on stage. Want to walk through Diagon Alley IRL? Universal Studios awaits.

It’s not just that everything is interconnected — it’s that not all connections are treated equally. Canon itself is increasingly splintered across formats. In the Wizarding World, for example, key pieces of lore exist exclusively in Pottermore entries, theme park experiences, or bonus materials. Want to know what happened to Florean Fortescue? You’ll find that in a now-archived blog post. Curious about Ilvermorny, the American wizarding school? That lore was only briefly referenced in the Fantastic Beasts films, and otherwise lives in online material and park signage.

This fragmentation creates an experience where understanding the full universe requires not just engaging with multiple media, but hunting down pieces of canon that are often ephemeral, unofficial, or inconsistently acknowledged. Not every piece of the franchise is treated with equal care, making it less rewarding — and more exhausting — to engage with the whole.

Harry Potter and Marvel are perhaps biased examples. They are cross-media empires, after all. But their popularity makes them particularly effective case studies, covering every form of media discussed by Dr. Murray. Beyond these two behemoths, the triangulation of theme park rides, physical media, and digital content is widespread in the entertainment industry. Franchises like How to Train Your Dragon, Jurassic Park, Star Wars and nearly every Disney-owned property follow similar patterns. Transmedia expansion is no longer novel — it’s the norm.

Let’s take one final, smaller example: Five Nights at Freddy’s. Originally a low-budget indie horror game, it now boasts multiple sequels and spin-off games, a feature film (with a sequel on the way), novels and graphic novels, and fan-made content legitimized by the creator. The lore is increasingly connected across all media. The games reference the books, and the movie invites viewers back into the games. What started small now has a sprawling yet self-reinforcing franchise ecosystem, all from one guy’s horror game on Steam. It’s a miniature Marvel model, albeit bloodier and cheaper.

Returning to Hamlet on the Holodeck — was Murray right to warn that this model might result in ‘an emotionally impoverished narrative form’? I’d argue yes — with a few caveats.

Advertising disguised as a story still feels like advertising. This is a common complaint in the Marvel community. Vox even released a video titled “Why the Marvel Cinematic Universe Feels Empty”, highlighting how the constant conveyor belt of content diminishes emotional stakes. Nothing feels final when everything is just setup for something else. The narrative becomes less intriguing and more fatiguing.

Another confirmation of Murray’s concerns: as content quantity increases, quality often decreases. Marvel fans are desperate for consistent quality (compare the reception of Captain America: Brave New World with The Fantastic Four: First Steps). Among Potterheads, the The Cursed Child is known as… well, cursed. Andor surprised audiences in part because its thoughtful writing and tone stood out amid the uneven Star Wars television landscape.

Returning to the issue of scattered canon, this too reflects how narrative is devalued in vast webs of content. Even if one dedicate oneself to following every thread of a franchise, not all of it will be meaningful — some becomes retconned, some is abandoned, and some never mattered in the first place.

That said, cross-media empires aren’t always bad. Many people, myself included, find true enjoyment from franchise theme parks, games, and merch. There’s comfort in immersing yourself in a familiar universe instead of constantly learning new ones. Beneficially, multiple entry points make fandom more inclusive. Transmedia formats allow for different kinds of engagement — more immersive, more interactive. You can see the Millennium Falcon in real life. You can play Quidditch in a video game.

There are also some perks to the advertising model. It can be engaging to predict the next installment, or to finally see a favorite character make their on-screen debut (Star Wars, I’m still waiting on Cal Kestis). But when overdone, the model once again feels hollow.

When handled well, multimedia storytelling can make a fictional world feel deeper and more tangible, more alive. Andor depends on viewers having seen Rogue One, but that context enhances the show’s emotional weight. We care deeply about Cassian Andor because we know where his journey ends.

So, what’s the solution to the problems presented by this industry standard? First, let stories exist singularly within a universe — not everything has to connect. Alternate timelines and spin-offs can provide space to explore without overloading the main continuity. Marvel’s multiverse is a perfect opportunity for this — Fantastic Four: First Steps could have existed as a self-contained film set in another universe, without merging into the mainline MCU.

Second, stories should be told for the format they inhabit. If an idea is best suited to a video game, let it remain as a game. That’s not always strict—ought to remain in the medium that makes them feel unique and worthwhile.

It’s not inherently bad to play the game, ride the simulator, or watch the movie. But we should ask ourselves: do these individual pieces tell stories worth telling — or are they just trailers for each other?

Vox vid: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t2qZ2_tp-jY

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