In 1995, a big-budget dystopian comic action movie was released, featuring one of the most iconic characters ever created: Judge Dredd. It starred Sylvester Stallone at the height of his career and boasted an impressive supporting cast including Armand Assante, Jürgen Prochnow, Diane Lane, Joan Chen, and Max von Sydow. The score was awesome. The effects were top-notch for their time. It even featured James Earl Jones as the narrator.
So, what could possibly go wrong?
Apparently, a lot. The movie bombed at the box office, costing the studio at least $60 million. Adjusted for inflation, Judge Dredd may have lost around $130 million—making it not only Stallone’s biggest flop, but also one of the most notorious box office disasters of the 1990s.
Critics and fans didn’t like it either.
When I first saw it as a kid, I actually enjoyed it. It’s a typical ’90s action flick with sci-fi elements. Since I wasn’t familiar with the comic’s lore, I had no expectations and could just enjoy the ride.
Only later did I discover the comics—and that’s when I understood why so many fans disliked Stallone’s version. A general rule in filmmaking is this: when you’re working with great source material, don’t try to “improve” it. Your job is to adapt it faithfully, staying as close to the source as possible.
But there’s another important lesson to be learned from this film. It’s delivered in the very first scene.
So what’s wrong with this opening?
It breaks the most fundamental rule of storytelling: show, don’t tell. And it breaks another major one: it repeats information unnecessarily to make sure the audience “gets it.”
The real opening begins right after James Earl Jones’ narration, where we see Judge Dredd navigating the megacity and sentencing a criminal to prison.
So why include the narration at all if the next scene shows everything we need to understand the world?
The filmmakers didn’t trust the audience to grasp the setting through storytelling alone. So they added narration to explain the world—just in case even the least attentive viewer didn’t miss the point.
That’s not just insulting to the audience—it’s boring. And boring is the ultimate sin in storytelling.
If you feel you need a narration segment to explain your world, chances are you haven’t shown your world well enough. And if your narration simply repeats what is being shown on screen, it sends the message that even you, the storyteller, don’t believe your scene is strong enough to deliver.
If you don’t believe in your own work, why should your reader or viewer?