INTRODUCTION
In 2019, Martin Scorsese
lamented the proliferation of comic book films as “not cinema” and was
subsequently lambasted for it. The culture had clearly embraced the comic book
film and studios were more than happy to feed our insatiable glut for those
characters in “tights and capes”.
In a previous
essay on the subject, I (2020) wrote:
We are currently
witnessing the over tilling of the superhero aesthetic, much in the same way it
has been done in the past. Yet, because history rhymes, rather than recited, it
always develops a little differently than before. What has allowed
the superhero genre to have a (strangle) hold on film culture is the way in
which the spectacle of the superhero film fuels the profit motive of the
industry; to the point that every major studio tries to option the next IP that
may even have a hint of a superhero flavor.
Five years later, we have seen an expansion of this
monoculture, beyond just the comic book film, into anything that has some
preexisting Intellectual Property (IP). The
film slate for 2025 is bloated with sequels, or movies based on existing content.
We are now inundated with the ennui of the familiar, as the monoculture has
expanded, it has taken control over the multiplexes. Since the creation of the blockbuster,
we have born witness to a deepening sense of loss due to the slow erosion of
independent theaters, the disintegration of the midrange/tier budget film, the propagation
of streaming services, and specific cinephilic consumption of tech media. In
this brief companion essay to the one already cited, I will catalog the
expansion of the monoculture into general IP and pre-existing content beyond
just the superhero film, tracking the incorporation of social media and the strangulation
of the theatrical experience.
HISTORICAL CONTEXT
Before
we can look at the expansion of the monoculture, we need to first understand
how we got here. Outside of rehashing what was said in my previous piece, we
need to look at the historic industry impact of “blockbuster cinema”, the rise
of media monopolies, the birth of streaming and social media and the fallout of
the COVID-19 pandemic.
The
Rise of Blockbuster Cinema
Taken from the military lexicon that referred
to the class of munitions that could literally level all buildings in a city
block, “The blockbuster”, as an entertainment industry term, is commonly
understood as the phenomena where a film’s ticket line was so long that it
would wrap around the block, signifying the film’s financial success. The
application of the term in this manner started in the late 1970’s. and became known
as “The blockbuster era” of filmmaking. Jaws (1976) and Star Wars: A
New Hope (1977) being among the first to claim the title as society would
come to colloquially invoke it. It was
this populism, and the revenue it generated, that expanded what film studios
thought possible. This began a subtle shift into the development of the sequel
market.
Given
their popularity and financial success, it should be no surprise that either Jaws
or Star Wars (as was the original title) generated sequels. Yet, even
with these two prominent examples we see two different versions of how the
blockbuster contributed to the development of the monotonous monoculture we are
subjected to today.
In
1975, Jaws was an anomaly. A low budget horror film from an up-and-coming
director based on a pulpy popular book published the year before about a shark
that terrorizes a small town. There have been documentaries galore about the film,
cataloging all of the barriers that beset production: From weather and lighting
problems to “Bruce” the (mechanical) shark not working. These setbacks forced
the script to be re-written removing the presence of the Shark or shooting a
scene in a particular way that did not rely on the temperamental technology. The
tension that these workarounds built in the narrative were summarily praised
upon the film’s release; leading to Jaws being considered the first
“blockbuster” film that ushered in the 70’s Era boon.[1] Jaws made 7 million
dollars in its opening weekend and recouped its entire production budget in
just 10 days; becoming the first film to rake in 100 million dollars at the box
office (Morris 2007[2],Neal
2010[3]). The re-releases of the
film in 1976 and 1979 (Non-Star Wars Years) collectively brought in another 133
million. Over its lifetime, Jaws theatrical run including three
re-releases and adjusted for inflation, has earned over 3
billion dollars to date.
The
smashing success of Jaws heralded a shift in the filmmaking industry
where the studios learned all of the wrong lessons and created a monoculture
that is always trying to chase the proverbial shark’s tail. Sometimes they catch
it; most of the time they don’t. With Jaws
opening into 400 + theaters all on the same day, the studios realized that
they did not have to tepidly release the film into different markets, giving the
film time to find an audience. Instead, they could saturate the market and
inundate the audience with a relentless barrage of imagery promoting the film.
This would then be proliferated into our modern monocultural marketing madhouse.
Marketing budgets have ballooned for “tentpole” films over the decades since Jaws
release, sometimes doubling the production budget, and one of the reasons why
many of these films have to make
a billion dollars to break even. Granted, this is not
including a phenomenon called “Studio math” in which the accounting of a film
is significantly altered to gain tax write offs, or make sure the studio
doesn’t go under because of a single flop.
Additionally, prior to Jaws,
the summer was when movies went to die. Jaws’
summer release became the benchmark for “four quadrant films”[4]; ushering in “The Summer
Movie Season” that catered to films that were the popular, people pleasing pictures.
The box office receipts pulled Hollywood out of a 5-year recession and whet the
appetite of the gluttonous studio executives into greenlighting anything that
seemed “Jaws-like” (Ridley Scott famously pitched Alien as “Jaws in Space”) and eventually led to Jaws becoming a franchise.
The
Jaws film franchise spans four films and various theme
park rides featuring the setting and approximation of the first film’s visual
aesthetic. The films are of diminished but varying degrees of quality between
them. With some of the plots being downright laughable[5].
The films have lower budgets, less talented directors (of which there are 4) and
scripts that are clearly trying to rehash and recapture the magic of the first
film. In the end, it makes sense that if Jaws
was the original “blockbuster”, it would also be
the first film that the studio sucked dry of all its novelty for the purpose of
profit. Yet, the original film still being able to attract attention for nearly
50 years (as of this writing) after its initial release, speaks to the film’s indelible
cultural impact, and the studio’s willingness to exploit consumers and
weaponize audiences’ nostalgic emotional investment in the art form.
Unlike Jaws, where
the over emphasis on its sequel(s) was based solely on money, it has been well
documented that The Star Wars Universe was already well
established in George Lucas’s mind when he made Episode IV. In several
interviews he had mentioned that in order to make A New Hope, he needed
to know what happened in the other chapters: to keep people’s relationships intact
without undermining the story. Thus, in making the deal with 20th
Century Fox in the late 1970’s, George Lucas wagered on the success of the
first film by foregoing a director’s salary and instead opting for “points” (a
percentage of the film’s gross), the marketing rights for all merchandise, and the
guarantee of a sequel. Here, George
Lucas protected his original vision for his story by ensuring that he had the
ability to continue it, much in the same way he was inspired by serial cartoon
shorts that previously would play before movies in the theater. Lucas’ sequels were
already planned out. This tactic was unique, given that studios often did not
look past the film they were producing at the time. This is true even if the
storytelling of the first Star Wars was already contributing to the monoculture
through its derivative plot, replication of Cambellian archetypes, and appropriation
of Japanese cinema. Regardless, Lucas secured his trilogy and was deified.
A basic scarcity model of
social behavior is the idea that an object is more valuable because there are
fewer amounts of that object. This is both the problem with and explanation for
Star Wars contributing to the overall monoculture. One of the endearing
values of the original Star Wars trilogy was in its unique rarity.
For 15 years after the release of Return of the Jedi, “Star Wars”
consisted of only 3 films (outside of the expanded Universe novels). This paucity
of content had a two-pronged effect:
1. It
allowed the fan culture to obsessively pour over the available material to the
point of having omniscient knowledge of both the world and the characters.
2. The
ravenous appetite for new material is concurrently tempered by the fandom’s desire
to critique it.
In the aforementioned
essay, I’ve discussed this as the effect of fictional
characters on the development of Sociological Reference Groups. These groups
being the barometers for how individuals judge their own thoughts and actions through
the process of social learning (Cooley 1909)[6]. Basically, because fictional
characters are stagnant, locked into a fans repetitive cycle of consumption without
changing, the internalization of those characters have an indelible effect on
the identity formation of individuals, which can be difficult to unmoor.
Therefore, fictional characters have a way of being the bedrock of fan’s sense
of self (Brutlag 2020). This foundation then needs to be protected. Thus, the overwrought
criticism that devolves into abusive rhetoric, typically in online spaces, is a
mechanism of self-protection. Protecting the content is protecting childhood
Nostalgia. Unbeknownst to the studios and the filmmakers at the time, the
fundamental imprint of this content on the collective psyche began to crystallize
into a monoculture that even they could not control.
The
underline infestation of the quietly gestating monoculture first erupted into a
“fandemic” pustule of pop culture when George Lucas set out to make the prequel
trilogy. The backlash to the new trilogy was foreshadowed by the fan reaction
to Lucasfilm’s release of “The Special Editions” in which Lucas went back into the
original trilogy and updated special effects, adding in deleted scenes while
providing new edits. Lucas also stopped production of the initial cut of the
original trilogy. So, if consumers were trying to find a copy of the original trilogy
for home media consumption, circa 1998 and beyond, they were only finding the
special editions. Fans at the time hated
it, causing them to be skeptical of the quality of the upcoming Episode I. For
many fans at the time, the prequels could not capture the same euphoria that
they felt when they saw the original trilogy. This is partly due to the nature
of fan culture, that, like any drug, the first experience is profoundly
intense, but with greater consumption comes acclimation to its effects.
Secondarily, watching a film as a child has more of a chance to be formative
than watching it for the first time as an adult. Adults and children don’t have
the same experiences, therefore those who went into the prequel’s expecting to
have the same experience as a child were doomed to disappointment.
When
George Lucas made the prequels, he made two miscalculations about popular
culture and the Star Wars fan subculture. Chiefly, he still thought he
had his finger on the pulse of popular culture in 2000, as he did in the 1970’s.
In the 70’s, Lucas was a part of “New Hollywood” a group of young filmmakers
that were on the cutting edge of cinematic techniques that were transforming
the industry. In 2000, while he was still pushing the boundaries of technology,
he was the head of the studio. He had become the establishment. The other
miscalculation was that he still believed that he had complete ownership of his
creation. In the 15 years between Return of the Jedi and Lucas
beginning work on the prequels, “Star Wars” as a piece of pop culture grew
beyond his grasp. “Star Wars” no longer belonged solely to George Lucas. Like
any published cultural product for mass consumption, once it is given to the
public, they own a piece of it. Yet, the impact of Star Wars was so great
on the social psychology of the populace that nothing Lucas could have produced
was going to live up to it.
While the backlash against
the prequels did not upend the franchise in terms of profit, there was a margin
of diminished utility; an economic term to mean that the more you get of
something, the less value it is perceived to have. In this context, this was
the typical experience for the older Star Wars fans.
In a previous
essay I (2016) wrote:
With each new Star Wars
film we get, it seems to reorient
out perception of the previous films. Sometimes, to
fill in gaps, and other times to address criticism decades after the film’s
release.[14] In the wake of this perception
shift is often novelty, mystery, and in some cases actor performances, are
sacrificed all in the name of continuity. To that end, the newer
iterations of Star Wars (especially since being purchased by Disney) spoon feed
the audience colorful forms of childhood Nostalgia that, when it wears off or
is wiped away, reveals an unoriginal story that is not only boring but poorly
crafted
With the release of the prequels and the selling of
Lucasfilm to Disney, the cache of Star Wars as a cultural product waned.
Yet, it didn’t really matter if Star Wars diminished because it had
already become a part of the monocultural Zeitgeist. It became the epitome of a
homogenized monoculture, without taste or value.
Monocultural multiplication of Monopolies
Under
Capitalism, bureaucratic social structural organizations being organized through
routines, fixed jurisdictions, archived communications, and achieved through
impersonal interactions, breeds the development of monopolies (Weber 2019, Marx
1992). Monopolies are often those corporations or organizations that have control
over a good or service at any point in the production or distribution process regardless
of the frontiers. Capitalism being driven by the machinery for the processes of
production, profit, individual control, and the ownership of raw materials lead
to various points of exploitation both in the treatment of workers, and the
price gouging of consumers. Yet, the defenders of Capitalism love to ignore this
inherent hypocrisy of its functioning under the guise of “competition”, because
what they don’t mention is that the competition is not between companies, it is
instead between the corporations. The corporations have the mode and means of
production (They hold the jobs that they need filled and control all the mechanisms
of production) often working together with other corporations for mutual gain.
Thus, the competition of capitalism is workers and consumers competing for jobs
and cheap goods in order to survive. This is because Capitalism does not exist
without a reserve army of the unemployed to keep labor costs low by threatening
job loss of the currently employed. Marx (1992) discusses this through his
understanding of the alienation of workers from each other. Yet, it was Weber
(2019) who understood that the routinization and standardization of products
and behavior within a capitalist society, minimizes the likelihood that people
will revolt against it, because they are conditioned into complacency by
feeling powerless. This inequality gets normalized as “just the way things are”,
and any attempt to change the system, seems insurmountable.
The
Hollywood filmmaking industry has always been run by a collection of monopolies
with a variety of power shifts. In the early days of Hollywood, often referred
to some as “ The Golden Age”, the glitz and glamour of every starlet and
“leading man” hid the era’s totalitarian tarnish. From the start of “the
talkies”, until about the early 1950’s, the industry was controlled by major
motion picture studios at every level; from production to exhibition (theaters).
Studios ran the gamut, including actor contracts, specifically for female
performers. Since most directors and studio executives were men at the time,
this allowed the practice of the lauded pinnacle of the (moving) pictures to be
foundationally misogynistic.
According
to Amaral (2020):[7]
In general, we found that the percentage of
women compared to men in any role was consistently below 50% for all years from
1912 until [the present]… From 1910 to 1920, women actors comprised roughly 40%
of casts. Women wrote 20% of movies, produced 12% and directed 5%. By 1930,
acting roles for women were cut in half; producing and directing roles hit
close to zero.
Under these conditions, female identified actors often
entered into some of the most controlling and abusive contracts in Hollywood
history. Decades before Harvey
Weinstein’s abusively lecherous behavior, it was common for
Studio Producers and directors to have control over female actors lives that
was tantamount to slavery. The normalization of the sexualization, abuse and
assault on women entering the industry, and the price of admission for them to
stay “relevant” was culturally internalized, minimized and deflected with
tongue and cheek accounts of “the casting couch”- the common idea that if a
woman wants a role in Hollywood, they not only have to be comfortable with a
baseline amount of objectification, leering and other smarmy behavior, but they
also have to grant sexual access to their bodies. This image is then parodied
and commodified within itself, becoming a typical scene in mainstream
pornography. Yet, although we condemn the outed directors now, those of the
“golden age” often get a pass because the complete emersion of this sexist
cinematic apartheid made these behaviors invisible. Still, Hollywood
legends like Judy Garland, Ginger Rogers, Rita Moreno, and Tippi
Hedren all reported various amounts and types of abuse from
the system, and it’s raping wolfpack of directors. This is not even including countless
other actors, and those in the industry that did not have the clout to be able
to protect themselves or fight back.
In
1948, the studio system was dealt a death blow. In US v. Paramount, the
Supreme Court broke the studio system; stating that the Studio ownership of
both production and exhibition of films constituted a monopoly. This became
known as “the Paramount decree” and was a landmark antitrust case used as precedent
to halt vertical integration of companies[8]. Vertical integration is when
the purchasing or developing of a product or service causes a lack of
competition in the marketplace. In the case of studios, owning both the process
of production for making movies (the studio) and the process of presentation
(the theater) reduced competition in the industry, centralizing too much power
with the heads of the studios.
The Paramount case was prosecuted
using The Sherman Act of 1890. A landmark piece of anti-trust legislation that
has not been updated or expanded since 1936; regardless of its justification and
continued use in anti-trust law. Given the age of the last update and expansion,
it is difficult to say if the legislation is adequate to break up potential or
established monopolies, considering that industries have circumvented these conditions
through lateral integration. Lateral integration is when a company expands into
different markets promoting a greater variety of goods and services. In the media, this is epitomized by the Walt Disney
Corporation. Disney owns resorts, production studios, and then, in a contested anti-trust
case, acquired 20th Century Fox’s library of content and a 30% stake in the
streaming service Hulu. The sticking point for the Government, which speaks to both
the archaic language and mentality of the last Sherman act update, is the fate
of Fox News. The government wasn’t going to allow Disney to own two major news
organizations (Disney had already acquired ABC). But once Disney allowed Fox to
be “spun off” by itself; the deal went through. This is the quintessential
example of missing the forest for the trees. Disney along with Apple and Amazon
should not be allowed to corner the media market, holding much of the content
that we consume. Unfortunately, “The
Paramount Decree” has since been rescinded. To echo Associate Justice Ruth
Bader Ginsberg in her descent in the Shelby County v. Holder case on
Voting rights, “Throwing out [ The Paramount Decree] when it has worked and is
continuing to work to stop [ Studio Monopolization] is like throwing away your
umbrella in a rainstorm because you are not getting wet.” This will only lead
to more mergers, monopolies and a reduction of consumer choice.
The desire to control
content is motivated by profit. Marx and the capitalism critics that followed
(Namely: Noam
Chomsky, David
Harvey and Thomas Piketty)
also recognize the influence and power in controlling what people watch; its
impact not just on consumer choice but on decision making. The control of
popular culture shapes our understanding of the world by audiences outsourcing
the knowledge of the world to those that create the content (assuming they have
done their research) as being authentic. Even those that are skeptical of billion
dollar companies’ ability to provide authenticity altruistically, (remember Disney
only created the film Coco to deflect from their ethnocentric attempt to
trade
mark the “Day of the Dead”) they too will often succumb to the
results of a simple internet search that has been so monopolized by one company
(we call it “googling”, regardless of the actual search engine being used). There
is power in shaping how a population constructs reality as the systemization of
a social order is transformed into a subjected reality through the process of
socialization; then later legitimized through personality and identity (Berger
and Luckmann 1966). Couple this with a concerted effort to undermine confidence
in and sow distrust for, social institutions that promote self-improvement and
independent growth (such as the department
of Education); there is an even greater reliance on
these media companies to define our world for us.
In a previous
essay on the Disney/ Fox Merger I (2019) state:
By
socializing us to the synergy of monopolistic corporations and making it more
and more difficult and/or fruitless to engage our civil liberties, we won’t
need to have our rights forcibly taken away, we just won’t exercise
them. This is a win for the corporations because they gain social control
and increase their profits while not having any blowback by ideas that seem
unpopular. This leads us to an explanation for the “tepid resistance” to the
deal. We get what we believe we want, more content. But, as Weber points out,
this is a state of false consciousness; it is really the elimination of
diversity and choice.
The Monocultural result of media mergers intensified with
the arrival of Streaming services.
From
Streaming to Lockdown
Those
of a certain age will remember that Netflix first began as a DVD subscription
service through the US mail. The idea was to provide movie rentals to consumers
at home. This directly challenged the solvency of Netflix’s closest rival, Blockbuster;
causing a bitter competition that, through
infighting and debt at Blockbuster, led to Netflix emerging
the victor, and harbinging a cultural shift in media consumption.
In
2008, Netflix began to expand into streaming by giving all rental disc
customers access to their streaming library that they built using licensing
deals with other production companies. By 2009, streaming of these programs was
so lucrative that it overtook Netflix’s DVD rental subscriptions. As this gained
popularity, people began to “cut the cord”; canceling their cable subscriptions
and opting to get their entertainment from a few streaming services. This led
to a rise in premium streaming platforms and unlimited plans by major studios
who bought back their product licenses from Netflix to build their own
streaming service. These profit driven “streaming wars” resulted in the
eventual production of original content from these services, causing us to loop
back around to the cable model. But instead of renting a box to gain access,
now we all have a collection of subscriptions that make sure that consumption
of content is endless (Arditi 2021).
The
Lockdown orders during the COVID-19 pandemic in March 2020, shuttered theaters
and caused streaming to explode. HBO decided to release their entire slate of
2021 films on their streaming service, MAX, the same day and date as the
theatrical release. This created another culture shift away from theatergoing, to
the point that even after lockdown orders were lifted, the theater industry has
yet to fully recover. This has resulted in many of the big
theater chains closing a number of their
locations. According to Arditi (2021), when theaters closed due
to the COVID-19 pandemic, we lost the Durkheimian “collective effervescence” of
the theater experience; being able to share emotional moments with a group of
people, elevates the perceived quality of the film:
“…We
hear others laugh, feel the silence of films like A Quiet Place, hear
the person behind us saying “don’t go in there.” during a horror film, or
experience applause after a great film… Watching a film in a theater makes us
feel that we are a part of a community.” (p 67)
Instead, we traded this in for the convenience of home
viewing. Even going so far as watching things “alone together” with the
development of watch parties through Zoom[9]. Other Services started to
offer these watch-along options to satisfy the rising demand. Today, as we approach the 5-year anniversary
of lockdown, only the big budget blockbuster films, marketed as event films,
and the nostalgia of repertory screenings of older films, have barely kept the
theater industry afloat. But the most detrimental consequence of this time
period came in the social psychological shift of content consumption, a level
of alienation that has extended the media monoculture to permeate every aspect
of our society.
SOCIAL ANALYSIS
Access
to and the endless consumption of entertainment media has caused a
proliferation of content, and a greater reproduction of the social construction
of knowledge from media sources that continues to rehash and reestablish tired
tropes resulting in a shallower understanding of society through the media
consumed.
Everything is Content
“Content”
is the viscus byproduct of the monoculture. It is the excretion of content that
propels the monoculture through the human psyche. As it burrows deep within our
subconscious, we are slowly poisoned by the deluge of entertainment that not
only keeps us distracted and anesthetized to a variety of happenings in the
world, but when news and other information is filtered through the same
delivery device (usually our hand held multimedia device we call a “smart”
phone) they are consumed with the same frivolity as our favorite shows, movies
and music, all amalgamated into an infinitely gluttonous buffet we endlessly
consume (Arditi 2021). What is worse, there is some
evidence that people are more emotionally invested in and
swayed by entertainment over news; regardless of the modalities through which
the “content” is consumed. This line is further blurred by the volume of
content that is being produced, the broadening of the creator content
perspectives, and the delegitimizing of traditional forms of knowledge
production.
Since
the culture of cable media succumbed to the sublimation of streaming
sovereignty, there has been a torrent of content produced that can never be
completely consumed. An endless stream is necessary for unending consumption, but
it has the effect of alienating individuals. Because there is so much stuff to
consume, we are all watching different content at different times. Many of us
compartmentalize and prioritize the content that we consume. The stuff we find
the most interesting and appealing we watch first, then we set other things of
decreasing levels of interest aside. An impact on these watching habits is the content’s
release schedule and whether they are following a binge model (all of the
content released at once) or a staggered release schedule. While Netflix
pioneered and largely still props up the binge model, there is some evidence
that companies will get
more engagement and attention on a show that has a staggered release;
especially for episodic content. Because we create community around the
cultural content we consume, the staggering of episodic content allows for the
content to rest in the minds of the public, build interest through watercooler,
coffee shop and social media conversations. This is opposed to the binge model
which further alienates individuals by not controlling their content
consumption (Arditi, 2021).
The
comingling of content within the social media space has resulted in the amalgamation
of entertainment content through the lens of social media. Sites like YouTube
and TikTok provide a unique space where copyrighted content from major studios
and other traditional avenues of content production are the base for a new
product. Whether that be TikTok challenges with a particular music sample, a
cosplaying piece of fan fiction, a video essay on the politics of a popular
fantasy book series, a video game playthrough, or Film and Tv reaction channels.
These are all examples of content creators creating content out of copyrighted
and previously published material. The
interesting irony of this is that even though the content created is both
reliant on and derivative of content that is created and produced in the Film
and TV industry, it provides entry points to the content it is engaging in,
making it digestible for the communities that follow these online creators.
As
this content gains in popularity, online communities are constructed and parasocial
relationships are created around these creators that allow them to make a
living off of the independent content that they make online. This is allowed
and exploited by institutional intermediaries. Most content creators on YouTube
or TikTok are identified as independent contractors, not actually being an
employee of the social media company (each site being owned by a larger parent
company). These streamers get most of their revenue through monetized videos on
those sites or tiered subscriptions for bonus content on Patreon, another third-party
intermediary, that allows content creators to upload content and users to pay
them for the content that they do produce, minus an institutional service fee.
For many creators, Patreon is the social media space and mechanism by which they
can create a livelihood (allowing many creators to do the job on a full-time
basis). For consumers, it is in these spaces that parasocial relationships get
formed. This is especially true for reaction channels in which people are
paying to watch other individuals watch content, as if they are friends. While
geographic proximity is no longer a prerequisite for the building of intimate
relationships between individuals, these relations are always distanced and
tempered through capitalism which further complicates our understanding of how
to build healthy relationships. Since everyone can be a content creator (though
female identified creators are often identified as “influencers” instead),
this also increases the likelihood of toxic relational behaviors, stalking an
other forms of misogyny, racism, and ableism are embedded in everyday digital
social interactions. Because people consume other people’s content, they
believe they have a right to have access to the individuals; making the creator
part of the consumable content the consumers believe they are purchasing. We
are no longer just products to advertisers who purchase our meta data from
social media sites, through our use of social media, we sell our identity and
personality for profit; promising progressive intimate interactions for those
who have “the right price.” (Zuboff 2019).
Because of this clear economic drive that is
based in “viewership” and “engagement”, many of the content creators create the
same content. Reactors react to the same film and TV, people participate in the
same online challenges, believing that, from an individualistic capitalist
perspective, regardless of this routinization, that each creator provides
something unique. Conversely, George Ritzer (2003) would identify this as “varieties
of “nothing””; which he defines as any product that is devoid of rich, detailed
or distinct content, a regurgitation and repackaging of the same concepts,
tropes and ideas. But, through this reaction content, what is being reproduced
is the consumption process itself. Instead of producing content to just create
an emotional reaction in consumers, the process is itself a product. Now, consumers
consume the reactions themselves, which further alienates humanity through the commodification
of other people’s emotions.
The
final wrinkle in this new process that reshapes the way that we consume
“content” and its overall effects, is the use of the internet as a learning
tool. Internet content is so prolific that there is nothing you can’t find. There
is an answer to any question, an understanding of every kink, or the
legitimation of any opinion…the equalization of information in the digital
space. This is different than the democratization of information and the two
ideas are often conflated. Equalizing information means that through the
systemizing of the distribution of information, it all seems to have equal wait
and value. Regardless of context, and expertise of the author, everything is
treated with the same level of veracity. Whereby, the democratization of
information happens through a well-red and informed public that can critically
assess the information’s validity. Unfortunately, a consequence of “the fire
hose” consumption of media is our inability to be decerning and analytical
about the content we consume. Everything
washes over us, and we take in information from a variety of sources giving
them equal weight regardless of expertise. Instead, people educate themselves
through videos without any vetting. From food preparation and clothing styles
to more consequential sex practices, mental health services, and political analysis,
uneducated
and unqualified individuals are becoming online experts in
fields where they hold no credentials or possess no skills from which they
speak in a tone of authority. This
is irresponsible. Content creators have a responsibility,
given the size and scope of their platform, to provide information that is both
valid and reliable. Otherwise, they contribute to misinformation that collectively
harms our society. However, because the culture of media misinformation
is extremely lucrative, especially on the political right,
it is unlikely to stop anytime soon (Arditi, 2023).
Exploitation
of a Different Color
Regardless of how often I
have used the word in this piece already, I cringe at having to use the word “content”;
because it allows the dissociation of art from its creator. This alienation is valuable
in the mass production and selling of that work. This minimizes the product’s personal
profitability for the artist, and further estranges their art from themselves,
resulting in a lack of recognition of talent and compensation for their labor.
As this alienation continues, algorithmic software is then used as a cost
cutting tool to produce “the content” without the burden of meagerly paying an
artist to live long enough to produce something to sell.
The exploitation of artists through the
industries’ use of algorithmic software (mislabeled as AI) goes deeper than eliminating
available work from human artists. Labor theft begins in the development stage
of the software as it begins to “learn.” The creators of AI “feed”
their algorithmic software already published material
from books, scholarly journal articles, scripts, music, movies
and TV, without the consent of the artist, or the owners of
the intellectual property. Thus, the algorithmic software is “learning” by
consuming content without citing their sources or influences. Then the creators
of that software take what its “learned” and use it to not hire human persons. This
is again an extension of labor exploitation under capitalism. Now, instead of
industrial automation that was threatening factory workers, AI algorithmic software
is threatening the legitimate creative expression of human experiences.
Additionally, the more we
rely on streaming content for our entertainment, we are contributing to over
energy use, resource depletion, and climate change. There is a strong carbon
footprint of media streaming. Most major streaming
companies must rely on large scale data centers to hold all their content: Google,
Amazon and Microsoft being the companies with the largest data centers. These
servers require a lot of energy because they never shut down and need to remain
specifically cooled to a certain temperature. Not only does this contribute to
CO2 emissions, but several companies have been criticized for their public
water use in drought stricken areas.
Solutions
To
break out of the manufacturing of the monoculture in film and tv, fueled by the
bureaucratization and commodification of the art in the industry, we need to
come to a compromise between our levels of consumption and changing the focus
of social engagement. A model for how we achieve this in film and tv is to look
at the way brick and mortar bookstores leaned into the social media space to
increase readership and therefore sales. Social media site TikTok’s subcategory
“Booktok” has been credited with getting people to read more (up
to 60% more) as well as saving
bookstores from shuttering their doors. This collaboration in
conjunction with the Meta/Facebook spin off social media site Goodreads
has reignited the reading community into the digital space. The question is,
can we use the same type of collaboration to revitalize the film and TV
community that will result in the maintenance of the theatrical experience;
that isn’t contributing to the monoculture of big budget blockbusters that proliferate
the multiplexes strangling out nuanced, mid budget and independent films?
Thankfully, like
Goodreads, film lovers have Letterboxd;
the social media site that allows members to rate, review, and log films that
they see. While this service is free there are paid tiers that allow you
greater benefits. Unfortunately, Letterboxd does not have the same community engagement
or level of interaction as Goodreads. But, with theater participation, that
could change. Imagine theaters curating mini filmfests or random double
features based upon Letterboxd ratings and/or specific lists. This could also
lead to specific repertory screenings of films from independent producers like
Neon or A24, or film curating companies like Arrow
or the Criterion Collection.
There have been over 100 years of film, there is no reason any theater should
be struggling if we decide to support the theatrical experience.
To support the ideas
above, I also suggest:
1. Expand
the overall theatrical window of films in theaters (minimum
of 6 weeks) before released on VOD or Physical media. This will allow time to
build word of mouth through Letterboxd and other social media sites.
2. Exclusive
Theatrical independent Film premieres. Beyond just film
festivals, each independent film should get a limited run in every theatrical
market to give the film a chance to find an audience.
3. Reinforcement
of Physical Media. Bring back an incentive to have physical
media. Promote the superior sound and picture quality that is not contingent on
wifi access/speeds and is not impacted by compression
rates.
4. Road
Shows for Films. Take the film on the road. Provide
screenings in towns that do not have major cinemas, or prop up local arthouse
theaters by bringing independent films to the area. Include Q and A’s with the writer, director,
and cast. Treat it like theatre.
5. Improve Theatrical programing and their counter programing. We need to find a balance between “tentpole” films, independent films and local exhibitions in theaters. Part of that is allowing other films to be programed along side of the mass marketed monocultural monotony. In theaters, there should be an eclectic mix of blockbusters, independent films, international features and classic film curation. We need to program for seasons, holidays, themes, and local events; anything to get more people to “go to the movies.”
CONCLUSION
The
artform of film has been virulently invaded by the monocultural IP latent long
form multi-media fueled “content”. This is done for the purposes of profit which
has been bureaucratized by shifting socialization patterns through the
consumption of social media. While this process began in the 1970’s with the
advent of the blockbuster, recent shifts in media consumption, and living
through pandemic lockdowns, have acerated this process. The result of
transformation of film into “content”, and the way that we currently consume it,
results in the dehumanization of the artform through the broadening of content
creation to the point of excess. From creators with little to no expertise, the
labor exploitation of AI use and it’s overall environmental impact, it is
unclear where film as a medium will go in this ever-changing landscape. My hope
is we will get back to a point where the appreciation of film is a communal
experience, rather than a series of isolated esoteric film tastes that cause
division over conversation.
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[4]
The films that are designed to be marketed to the broadest audience possible
[5] Jaws 4: The Revenge, posits that a separate
shark than was in the first film is hunting and eliminating the Brody family.
[6] Charles Horton Cooley, Social Organization: A
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[7] Long-term
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[9] Zoom
being the obscure conferencing and meeting application that became a household
name when they became the primary method of communication for schools, family
and loved ones during the COVID locked down period that spanned as few as two
weeks and as extensive as (nearly) two years.
