by Bernard Michael Rochford
Hi! I’m Bernard Michael Rochford, and like many people, movies have always been a way to escape reality, into a richer and more dynamic world.
Whether coming home from school, or as an adult, after a day at work as an osteopath in Brisbane, I could think of few better things than getting a bag of popcorn and sitting down for a new adventure. The velvet curtains parted, the lights dimmed, and for 90-odd minutes, I’d be transported—not by spectacle alone, but by storytelling, craftsmanship, and something ineffable I can only call cinematic magic.
Now, sadly, that feeling is slipping away. The reason? CGI – computer-generated imagery.
Don’t get me wrong—I’m not here to shake my cane at modern technology. I’m no Luddite. In fact, I marvelled the first time I saw the T. rex roar in Jurassic Park (1993). It was groundbreaking, not just visually, but emotionally. However, Spielberg not only used CGI sparingly, but he utilised CGI as a supplement for the two full-scale animatronic models of T. rexes he had built, each of which weighs over 9 tons.
Now, let’s compare Jurassic Park to films like the recent Marvel movies, Ant-Man and the Wasp: Quantumania or The Flash. Do I feel transported into a new world? Into an immersive, adrenal adventure? Honestly, no. I feel like I’m watching some partially computer-generated people against an entirely computer-generated screen – which is exactly what is happening.
Actors float through pastel-coloured dimensions, and the action moves so quickly it barely lands. In short, it feels fake. The weight is gone—literally and metaphorically. You never feel like anyone’s really in danger, because none of it looks real. It’s a digital cartoon with human faces (barely) stitched in.
I’d literally rather spend a day doing osteopathy in Brisbane than go to see half the stuff in cinemas right now. Now don’t get me wrong, I love my job, but to think in the ’90s, that I would ever prefer a day at work over the movies because of technology’s advancement, would be mind-boggling.
Contrast that with The Lord of the Rings trilogy (2001–2003). Yes, CGI was used—but amid a sea of practical effects, real New Zealand landscapes, handmade costumes, and miniatures called “bigatures.” Remember the fortress of Helm’s Deep? Minas Tirith? They built that. You can feel the rain, the stone, the steel. It’s immersive, not distracting.
These days, even conversations are CGI-enhanced. Backgrounds, lighting, sometimes even the actors themselves (hello, The Irishman’s de-aged De Niro) are computer-generated.
What was once a tool has become the canvas.
Of course, some might argue CGI is just another evolution of cinema—like colour film, or sound. But there’s a difference. Sound and colour enhanced real performances, real backdrops and real action. Now, CGI replaces them.
I don’t feel tension when a hero leaps from a collapsing building if I know the building, the leap, and even the dust cloud are fake. I felt more watching Die Hard (1988), with Bruce Willis actually crawling through air vents and bleeding on broken glass, than I do with today’s digital acrobatics.
There’s also an emotional cost. CGI tends to sterilise texture. Compare Jaws (1975), where Spielberg famously hid the malfunctioning shark to build suspense, to The Meg 2 (2023), where we’re bombarded with perfectly rendered sea beasts every five minutes. One trusted your imagination. The other assaults your senses.
Now, there are exceptions. Dune (2021) is a recent example of CGI done right—used to enhance, not overwhelm. Director Denis Villeneuve combines real desert landscapes with digital elements in a way that feels cohesive and grounded. Mad Max: Fury Road (2015) also deserves praise—most of its mayhem was achieved with real stunts and explosions, with CGI only used to clean up and heighten, not replace.
So has CGI killed the magic of movies? No. But it’s certainly put it on life support in some quarters. The real question isn’t whether we should use CGI—it’s how.
Used well, CGI is a marvel. It gave us Gollum, the Na’vi in Avatar, the dinosaurs of Jurassic World, and the mind-bending landscapes of Inception. Used poorly, it gives us emotionally empty fight scenes, uncanny-valley faces, and blockbuster fatigue.
I suppose what I’m really arguing for is restraint—and respect for the craft. Magic doesn’t come from pixels alone. It comes from humanity. From the glint in an actor’s eye, the roughness of a real prop, the unpredictability of a live stunt. It comes from directors who know that sometimes, less is more.
I still love going to the movies. I still want to be surprised, moved, taken somewhere. But I also want to believe that somewhere exists. That it has gravity. That it matters.
So, to the filmmakers of tomorrow: don’t forget the roots. Don’t lose the tactile, the tangible, the truth beneath the technology.
Because magic is a delicate thing—and once you digitise it too far, you might find there’s nothing left to feel.
For more thoughts like these, you can visit Bernard Michael Rochford’s website at https://bernardmichaelrochford.com/
Bernard Michael Rochford is a retired Osteopath from Brisbane, Australia, who has swapped spinal adjustments for smoky aromas and silver screens.
After decades spent helping patients heal through hands-on care and holistic treatment, Bernard now enjoys a slower pace; one filled with backyard BBQs and thoughtful cinema critiques. Bernard’s passion for perfectly smoked meat runs deep, often experimenting with rubs, coal and cuts in his home setup, where fire meets flavour in the most satisfying way. But when he’s not tending to brisket or baby back ribs, you’ll likely find him in a darkened theatre, scribbling notes on the latest film release or analysing a trend across the broader film industry.
A firm believer in honest opinions and simple pleasures, Bernard shares his culinary creations and film reviews with a growing online audience. Whether it’s a slow-cooked beef short rib or a slow-burn indie drama, he’s got thoughts. And he’s not shy about sharing them—always with warmth, wit and authenticity.
