Now that awards season is here, longer running times for new films are, too

Adrien Brody stars in the 215-minute film, “The Brutalist.”

One of the best rules for writing I ever read came from Stephen King, and it is baby-simple, seemingly arbitrary — and almost invariably correct.

Whenever you think you’ve finished something, gotten it just right, just perfect — go back and cut 10 percent.

I don’t know that King has always followed that advice himself (you ever try lifting a copy of “The Stand”?). But it’s something I try to keep in mind in my writing. And it’s a rule I wish more filmmakers followed as well — particularly this year, as one new release after another seems determined to test our patience (and, often, our bladders).

Movies aren’t really longer than ever — technically — but it sure seems that way as we get into the fall and winter, and studios trot out their potential award contenders. There is a firm belief, it seems, that bigger equals better, and what might be a respectable drama at two hours magically turns into a timeless classic at two-and-a-quarter. So let that scene run on a little longer. Flesh out that subplot you really didn’t need to begin with.

Paul Mescal in “Gladiator II.”

You can see the proof in the running times of some recent and upcoming films.

“Queer,” 135 minutes. “Megalopolis,” 138 minutes. “Joker: Folie à Deux,” 138 minutes. “Anora,” 139 minutes. “Nickel Boys,” 140 minutes. “Gladiator II,” 148 minutes. “Wicked,” 161 minutes. “The Brutalist,” 215 minutes.

Some of these movies embrace their length (“The Brutalist” even comes with a much-needed intermission). Others try to downplay it (I pity the fans who will get through two hours and 41 minutes of “Wicked” only to realize … um, this was just Part I).

Film fans and critics may kvetch (Roger Ebert used to insist the perfect movie length was somewhere between 95 and 120 minutes). The directors, however, certainly aren’t complaining about getting the extra time (Ridley Scott has promised, or threatened, an even longer cut of “Gladiator II” down the road). But few of the movies I’ve seen so far needed every one of those moments they put onscreen. They’re just long because they can be.

It used to be that, once a movie inched over two hours, it was because it was trying for something truly epic, like in “Gone With the Wind,” “Giant” or “The Bridge on the River Kwai.” Eventually, length actually became a selling point — a way of giving audiences what 60-minute TV shows couldn’t. Even movie comedies — “The Great Race,” “It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World” — were supersized.

Then a series of big-budget, slow-moving musicals came along in the late ’60s, and lost millions. Belts were tightened, and running times pared.

Nathalie Emmanuel and Adam Driver in “Megalopolis.”

They seemed to inch up again during the ’70s, as powerful directors like Francis Ford Coppola fought to get every minute of their vision onscreen. (He’s back, by the way, with “Megalopolis” this year, although its 138-minute length is still more than an hour shorter than his original cut of “The Godfather Part II.”) Other ambitious directors followed suit: Martin Scorsese, with the 163-minute “New York, New York,” Michael Cimino, with the 216-minute “Heaven’s Gate.”

But when those expansive, expensive projects lost money at the box office, austerity — at least by Hollywood standards — returned. Controls tightened, budgets shrank and running times were drastically trimmed. The era of the indulged auteur was over, and the studios fell in love with carefully engineered “product,” a commodity without surprises or — frequently — personality. It’s a passion that has only grown.

Every fall, however, as studios begin dreaming of Oscar nominations, the reins are loosened again, and the mammoth movie reappears. It’s a trend that has only been encouraged recently by the rise of streaming outlets with deep pockets, endless bandwidth and a commitment to post-theatrical runs. (It is unlikely that Scorsese’s 206-minute “Killers of the Flower Moon” or 209-minute “The Irishman” would have been made without their help; it also meant, ironically, that these epic movies would mostly be watched on TV.)

To be fair, sometimes bigger is better. Although it divided critics (and failed to excite audiences), I liked “Megalopolis”; its length was not only the least of its deliberate, over-the-top effects, but of a piece with the rest of them — the extravagant costumes, the delirious set design, the occasionally bizarre acting choices. (I felt the same way in 2022 about another similarly contentious epic, that 189-minute fever dream “Babylon” — the excess wasn’t a problem, but the point).

Cynthia Erivo in “Wicked.”

Still, there are times when I dearly wish directors had taken Stephen King’s less-is-more advice to heart. I haven’t seen “Wicked” yet, but am curious why a musical that ran 165 minutes on Broadway — with intermission — needs to be spread over two films and roughly five hours. (Artistically, I mean; I know the grubby commercial reasons.) And while I loved “Anora,” I would have loved it more if just 10 minutes had been trimmed out of its second-act tour of Brighton Beach after dark.

A rare exception to this vain overindulgence is December’s “The Brutalist.” A movie with the sweep of a good novel, it starts onboard a ship, as a Holocaust survivor makes his way to America; it then takes us on a more than three-hour tour of the next 30-plus years, as he struggles with family tragedies, personal demons and his all-encompassing drive to re-establish his architecture career in a not-always-welcoming postwar America. It’s full of character, incident and imagery, and I wouldn’t cut a minute of it.

Which only reminds me of another famous Ebert quote: No good movie is long enough and no bad movie is short enough.

Unfortunately, no one realizes just how good or bad a movie is until it’s too late.