#1 ·
I was thinking about this the other day while scrolling through some release calendars, and it really got me wondering about the shifting landscape of how we actually *consume* art. It feels like we’re living through this weird, transitional era where the very concept of a "premiere" is being fundamentally redefined.
For decades, the hierarchy was so clear-cut. You had the prestige of the festival circuit, the exclusive window of the theatrical run, and then, much later, the secondary life on home video or cable. There was a sense of eventfulness to it. If a director you respected was putting something out, you knew there was a specific window of time where you could sit in a dark room with a hundred strangers and experience that vision exactly as it was intended. It felt communal, almost sacred in a way. There was a certain social currency in having seen something "in theaters" before it became part of the general conversation.
But lately, that window is shrinking—or in some cases, it’s being bypassed entirely by a massive, looming shadow. We’re seeing more and more instances where the prestige of a global festival debut is immediately followed by a very brief, almost polite nod to traditional cinemas before a massive streaming platform swallows the whole thing up. It’s as if the theatrical release is becoming a mere formality, a "prestige marker" to signal to critics that this is "important" art, rather than a genuine attempt to engage an audience in a shared physical space.
I have a bit of a love-hate relationship with this. On one hand, I love the accessibility. I love that I can watch a masterpiece from halfway across the world on my couch without spending forty bucks on a ticket and gas. The democratization of high-quality cinema is a beautiful thing. It means niche, soulful, or experimental films that might have died in obscurity twenty years ago now have a global audience of millions at their fingertips.
On the other hand, I can't help but feel like we're losing something visceral. There is a psychological difference between watching a film on a 65-inch OLED in your living room—where you can pause to grab a snack, check your phone, or talk to your spouse—and sitting in a theater where the world is blocked out. There’s a specific kind of focus that a theater demands of you. It’s a commitment. When the medium shifts to "content on demand," I feel like the "art" part of the equation gets diluted. We start treating films like background noise or something to be "cleared" from a watchlist, rather than something to be experienced.
I also wonder about the impact on the creators themselves. If the goal is to build a massive, global conversation through a streaming algorithm, does that change how directors approach their pacing or their visual language? Do they start subconsciously composing shots that look "good" on a smartphone or a tablet, rather than shots designed to overwhelm a massive screen? It feels like the "prestige" label is being used to bridge the gap, but the actual experience of the art is being squeezed into a smaller and smaller box.
I don't want to be the guy shouting at clouds, but I do feel a sense of mourning for the "event" of cinema. We are moving toward a world where everything is available, everywhere, all at once. But if everything is an event, is anything actually an event anymore?
Do you think the convenience of streaming is worth the loss of the theatrical "event" culture, or are we just watching the slow death of cinema as a communal experience?
For decades, the hierarchy was so clear-cut. You had the prestige of the festival circuit, the exclusive window of the theatrical run, and then, much later, the secondary life on home video or cable. There was a sense of eventfulness to it. If a director you respected was putting something out, you knew there was a specific window of time where you could sit in a dark room with a hundred strangers and experience that vision exactly as it was intended. It felt communal, almost sacred in a way. There was a certain social currency in having seen something "in theaters" before it became part of the general conversation.
But lately, that window is shrinking—or in some cases, it’s being bypassed entirely by a massive, looming shadow. We’re seeing more and more instances where the prestige of a global festival debut is immediately followed by a very brief, almost polite nod to traditional cinemas before a massive streaming platform swallows the whole thing up. It’s as if the theatrical release is becoming a mere formality, a "prestige marker" to signal to critics that this is "important" art, rather than a genuine attempt to engage an audience in a shared physical space.
I have a bit of a love-hate relationship with this. On one hand, I love the accessibility. I love that I can watch a masterpiece from halfway across the world on my couch without spending forty bucks on a ticket and gas. The democratization of high-quality cinema is a beautiful thing. It means niche, soulful, or experimental films that might have died in obscurity twenty years ago now have a global audience of millions at their fingertips.
On the other hand, I can't help but feel like we're losing something visceral. There is a psychological difference between watching a film on a 65-inch OLED in your living room—where you can pause to grab a snack, check your phone, or talk to your spouse—and sitting in a theater where the world is blocked out. There’s a specific kind of focus that a theater demands of you. It’s a commitment. When the medium shifts to "content on demand," I feel like the "art" part of the equation gets diluted. We start treating films like background noise or something to be "cleared" from a watchlist, rather than something to be experienced.
I also wonder about the impact on the creators themselves. If the goal is to build a massive, global conversation through a streaming algorithm, does that change how directors approach their pacing or their visual language? Do they start subconsciously composing shots that look "good" on a smartphone or a tablet, rather than shots designed to overwhelm a massive screen? It feels like the "prestige" label is being used to bridge the gap, but the actual experience of the art is being squeezed into a smaller and smaller box.
I don't want to be the guy shouting at clouds, but I do feel a sense of mourning for the "event" of cinema. We are moving toward a world where everything is available, everywhere, all at once. But if everything is an event, is anything actually an event anymore?
Do you think the convenience of streaming is worth the loss of the theatrical "event" culture, or are we just watching the slow death of cinema as a communal experience?