It would be too easy—and unfair—to suggest that home theater viewing interests reflect what would or could “succeed” at the movie theater, primarily because viewing context can’t be ignored. Home theater viewers either pay a small monthly fee that they don’t see (Netflix), or agree to a one-time fee that doesn’t involve the exchange of material cash or the physical swipe of a credit card (VOD). They don’t have to leave the comforts of the couch, and if what they’re viewing isn’t working for them, they can immediately find something else to watch. Just because the home theater viewer is interested in Indie movies, sophisticated cable television programming, and documentaries, this doesn’t mean that the viewer is convinced that these smaller-scale experiences are worth having at the local movie theater.

Hollywood’s advertising machine is increasingly less effective at enticing potential moviegoers, because word-of-mouth is increasingly important in our social media age. The latest, greatest trailer might be very accessible, but the first flood of critical and viewer responses to reach Twitter and Facebook are often more important in determining what movies people choose to see. Because the home theater viewer must be especially convinced that a trip to the theater is worthwhile, a film must have at least somewhat positive word-of-mouth from its initial audiences. Disney’s John Carter, for example, is not nearly as bad as word-of-mouth suggested. But it cost a fortune, suffered from an awful advertising campaign, and was deemed a “flop” almost out of the gate. The flop-label stigmatized the film and became something of a self-fulfilling prophecy. Sometimes the established consensus on a film is not so much tied to its quality as it is to its box office results—and, sometimes unjustly, word travels fast that the latter is indicative of the former.

What can Hollywood do about all this? One suggestion is to rearrange the film calendar year. Awards season is the time during the film calendar year when Hollywood pushes relatively smaller-scale films that have more narrative resonance, and to a lesser degree, cinematic achievement. We might dislike the Oscar machine, but it shows that movies can win viewers based on the virtue of a worthy performance, story, or direction.

The kind of films which receive a limited theatrical release earlier in the year—recent examples might include films like Moonrise Kingdom, Beasts of the Southern Wild, or Before Midnight—should receive this kind of advertising treatment and theatrical accessibility on a wider scale, and smaller films with the potential to duplicate their success should be green-lit and better supported. This would be to increase year-round attempts to sell audiences on the quality of films produced on modest budgets. People want to see what’s being celebrated. Hollywood knows this; it just needs to quit capitalizing on it with meaningless cut-and-paste one-liners from any critic who says what it wants audiences to hear. We’re growing less likely to be deceived by false advertising.

As a complement to securing better advertising and theatrical release for smaller quality films, Hollywood should have fewer “tentpoles” and gain a more prescient sense of what could function as a tentpole. Major studios throw several $150-plus million dollar blockbuster darts at the board and hope one out of every ten or so hit the bull’s eye. Instead of trying to score a 10 percent ratio of box office success out of a bloated output, the industry ought to make a more concerted effort to raise its averages by having fewer attempts at home runs when it might produce more (and better) singles and doubles. We need fewer blockbusters and better attempts at giving those few to the next director with Christopher Nolan-level talent (think having two or three Rian Johnsons making their Looper each year).

Additionally, the major movie studios need to better sell the uniqueness of the movie theater experience. It might be that of the available technologies being pushed, IMAX is a better option than 3D. IMAX emphasizes rather than enhances the visual experience, and is not likely to be reproduced in future living rooms. Alfonso Cuarón gives me pause with his delightful and stunning achievements in Gravity, but the ratio of unnecessary, distracting, and positively artless uses of 3D to Cuarón’s Gravity or Scorsese’s Hugo or Lee’s Life of Pi suggests a medium struggling to catch on—and even if it does, home theater televisions now come ready with 3D glasses.

A second point, though—perhaps the more important of the two—is to consider how the movie theater context might allure the home theater viewer in a way that’s not reliant on spectacle or technological advancement. The experience of sitting in a dark theater with not only a loved one and/or friends but also a community of strangers bound together by the likeminded human desire to experience what’s set before them isn’t readily reproduced at home. In what ways can movie studios emphasize and enhance the communal experience of a film in a way that doesn’t rely the latest, greatest spectacular amusement? The home theater facilitates and reinforces experiencing film in isolation, which has its place, but perhaps studios might find unique or time-honored ways to entice the viewer with a sense of participation in the collective experience of a film. And perhaps this participatory sensibility will encourage viewers to move beyond titillation, or the mere expectation that something is going to happen to them (for instance, being “blown away”).