10 Cloverfield Lane operates with a curious form of doublethink. Nearly the entire film unfolds within a bunker, where protagonist Michelle (Mary Elizabeth Winstead) is informed by Howard (John Goodman)—the bunker’s owner—that the outside world has been destroyed. She only recalls being in a car accident, so part of the film’s tension stems from her suspicion that this paranoid, delusional older man is deceiving her. Yet we viewers know something Michelle doesn’t: she’s in a Cloverfield film, which means alien-related chaos is afoot.
This gap between our knowledge and Michelle’s drives much of 10 Cloverfield Lane’s plot, and a decade later, it stands out as an unexplored path. Weeks after its theatrical release, Batman squared off against Superman and Iron Man clashed with Captain America. A few years later, The Cloverfield Paradox arrived on Netflix—so confusing that it ended the franchise entirely. But for a short time, 10 Cloverfield Lane appeared to offer a blueprint for working within an established franchise without producing what amounts to a very costly TV episode.
10 Cloverfield Lane shares virtually no overlap with the original Cloverfield, released eight years prior. It has a fresh cast and is set in a completely new location. Most importantly, it was a drastically different type of film. The original Cloverfield is a found-footage horror movie that revels in the events occurring just out of frame. 10 Cloverfield Lane, by contrast, is a taut thriller set nearly entirely in one spot, where three characters probe each other and attempt to coexist. The only real commonality between the two is their name—a familiar anchor for audiences.
The Cloverfield franchise—though still in its infancy—was built on experimentation, the notion that a franchise didn’t need to be a single type of story, just set in a single universe. That idea collapsed when Paradox showed the model only works if the films are actually good—but 10 Cloverfield Lane’s director, Dan Trachtenberg, seemed to retain the lessons from his sole successful entry in the universe.
When Trachtenberg took on the Predator franchise, he grasped that a single, ongoing narrative isn’t necessary. Instead, he used the Predator brand to tell stories he found compelling. Prey, Predator: Killer of Killers, and Predator Badlands are all vastly different films; the only unifying element is the presence of a Predator.
This is similar to what Rian Johnson achieved with the Knives Out franchise. There are a handful of required elements—in Predator’s case, simply a Predator, a character with a development arc, and plenty of action—and these elements free you up to experiment with the rest of the story.
10 Cloverfield Lane’s release coincided with a flood of Marvel, DCEU, and Star Wars content, meaning this style of storytelling was unlikely to become Hollywood’s dominant approach. Audiences still wanted to follow every chapter of a single story, knowing those chapters would lead to grand, eventful payoffs.
A decade later, Trachtenberg’s approach feels somewhat ahead of its time. We now live in a time where franchise films aren’t automatically guaranteed massive success. Instead, a mix of familiar IP and the perception that the film itself is worth seeing appears to determine which movies thrive and which flop (having a family-friendly angle doesn’t hurt either).
The old franchise filmmaking model still has some influence, but the new DC Universe appears to be borrowing elements from 10 Cloverfield Lane’s approach. These films are more closely linked, yes, but the ultimate goal is to make engaging movies that are interconnected, using the properties as a starting point to tell meaningful stories.
A decade ago, 10 Cloverfield Lane felt like a bit of an experiment, and the Cloverfield franchise’s take on it fizzled out. Today, however, the film serves as a vital reminder: audiences don’t just crave the same thing repeatedly. Sometimes, they want something fresh—and they love it even more when that fresh thing is also good.