Time and Place

One of the most meaningful movie watching experiences I’ve ever had was the first time I saw Edward Yang’s masterpiece from the year 2000: Yi Yi. It was an experience I can only describe as whatever the hell Nicole Kidman is talking about in those AMC commercials. November 26th, 2018. Chicago’s historic Music Box Theatre was screening the film on an archival 35mm print for one night only. Before this screening, I had never actually seen a film in original 35mm. I can tell you after watching Yi Yi that unfortunately what all those annoying film nerds say about the format is true. There is something about the way the vibrant colors pop, the way the film grain eclectically vibrates around the screen, that can’t be replicated. So much character is added to every frame due to the little imperfections of the celluloid, and the way the grain pops and crackles in front of your eyes. It’s a unique visual and textural experience that I hope everyone has the opportunity to one day experience. 

I have rewatched Edward Yang’s Yi Yi digitally a number of times since this first viewing, and while the film is still phenomenal no matter how you watch it, I don’t think any viewing of this film for me will ever compare to that first experience in that massive theater. Yi Yi is not only a film, but an experience that I cherish. It was a special temporary moment in my life that can never be replicated again. Unfortunately, this is a type of experience that is happening less and less in our modern times. 

Generally, fewer people are going to the movies. Beyond that, the 35mm format is nearly impossible to find. In Chicago alone nearly every single theater has gotten rid of their 35mm projectors. The Music Box Theatre is actually the only place left in the city where you can still see films in this format. This problem is seen in other artistic mediums, as people are visiting museums less as well. The advent of the internet and streaming services means that any image, video, film, television show, book, or song is now immediately accessible in the blink of an eye whenever anyone may please. This omnipresence that art and media has in our lives is a newfound reality, and while it means that more people will have access to more art than ever before, there is an added side effect that each individual instance of engagement with a text might have less impact due to the constant flood of information entering our brains. There have been many great pieces written throughout recent years about this era of mindless passive consumption due to the internet landscape. This reality has affected our relationships to ourselves, each other, and of course to the art that we love. 

A long time ago now, if you wanted to watch a movie you used to have to actively choose to go to the theater. If you wanted to listen to music, you had to go see it performed live. You had to go to a museum to look at beautiful paintings. Now you can put on your comfort show that you’ve watched for the 19th time in the background while you clean. You can look at a .jpg of Van Gogh’s Starry Night on your phone. For a lot of people art is often just extra noise, something to have on “for the vibes,” but not to pay attention to. Engagement with art can often now be the same as a 2 hour TikTok scroll. How is meaningful emotional connection with art and its transformative power going to happen if we aren’t willing or sometimes are completely unable to give it the true undivided attention it deserves? 

The internet has given us a certain sensibility for easy accessibility, replay ability, and likability. Having this be a quality of a piece of media is not inherently a bad thing. This being the priority however means that art that makes you uncomfortable, or perhaps is not meant to be consumed casually isn’t given the same space on the internet. If your media is not inherently designed to go viral and then be endlessly replayed, it’s harder to find opportunities. Sometimes a piece of art is intended to only have 1 or 2 lasting experiences with you. Oftentimes good art is complicated, unique, and hard to pin down. It will leave you feeling uncomfortable, forcing you to engage with difficult ideas or face personal experiences that will ultimately allow you to grow as a person. A prioritization of something that is purely entertaining, and the way algorithms force us to engage with the same things repeatedly, never allowing us to explore beyond, denies all of that possibility. 

We talk about how amazing it is that all this media is at our fingertips whenever we want it, yet I still find myself reminiscing on the most fleeting moments I’ve had with a film, musical performance, or painting. There is such an irony in the fact that the moments in our lives that feel so short lived tend to stay in our mind for so much longer. We look back on the things that we didn’t realize were temporary until after the fact with such nostalgia and sentimentality. 

Recall a time or memory of you spending time with someone you love. Perhaps you hugged and shared a laugh over dinner. Now recall a time spent with a person you loved not knowing it was going to be the last time you’d ever get to do it, that you’d never see them again. How does that change the memory, knowing you only had one last chance? Knowing that all of this was so brief? 

The finite nature of existence is in part what gives meaning to our lives, why should that change when it comes to art? Why do we expect all art to be here at all times forever, whenever we want it? 

I think art before the internet, like the people in our lives, in part had meaning precisely because of the fact that it didn’t last forever. Once you leave that theater or auditorium and that performance ends, that’s it. There’s of course a huge appeal in being able to access much of the movies, music, and literature that we love in an instant. I myself ravenously search for new movies and music to watch and listen to, but I think it would be naive to pretend that we only gained things in the advent of much of this streaming technology. With any progress there is something lost, and in this case our active attention and our immediate appreciation for the present moment is now much harder to come by if we know it’s all recorded anyway. The advent of streaming and the internet has turned much of art into passive consumption rather than an active engagement with the work. Art is supposed to be transformative, life changing. Anyone can attest to this. We all have a movie, book, video game, or album that was fundamental to us growing up. For some that piece of art was the very reason we went on to become artists in the first place. None of that is going to happen while something is “just on in the background.”

Imagine you are making a movie in the 1940’s-1950’s. You have to shoot it on film. It’s an arduous and difficult process both in the production and screening of it. The film itself exists physically, on a long roll of celluloid. Any time someone wants to watch it, a physical copy of it must be made and transported to a theater where the projectors are. There are no computers to stream on, no solid state hard drives or cloud storage to store it on, no easy CD, DVD, or VHS rentals. This means that the only time someone can watch your movie is by going to the theater, and they will likely only get the chance to watch it once or twice during its run in the theaters. Anytime in the future you want to show someone your film, a friend or family member for example, you will have to book a theater and have a special showing and have that physical roll transported again. Maybe if you are incredibly rich you can more easily share your film. Perhaps you own a projector, and have the proper high level storage necessary to make sure your celluloid doesn’t get damaged, and maybe you have a home theater to boot. For most people though, they will have none of this. Most people will see your film once, and only once. 

How does that change the art making process for you? Do you pay more attention to every little detail of your film, making sure that it can leave the most meaningful first impression possible? Do you agonize over every shot, every line of dialogue, ensuring that you get at least one of those magical movie moments that becomes as ingrained and iconic in the minds of audiences as Star Wars? Or do you phone it in knowing that most people won’t have the opportunity to notice or point out any of the silly mistakes, like a coffee cup from the set being left in a shot.

If you were asking me, I’d like to take my time to ensure that each second is worthwhile, and that this chance isn’t wasted. Unfortunately time is not always something that major studios seem willing to give these days, even if it would mean a more fully realized product. This has especially become a problem in the animation industry, where studios obsess over fast turn around times leaving animators overworked and underpaid for the sake of releasing something as quickly as possible. The same is happening with VFX artists in big budget live action films. The demand for a never ending stream of content is hurting the people who make the art, and on top of that the final product ends up being worse due to the unrealistic deadlines.

There’s a twisted irony to this demand our culture has for a constant stream of media that is omnipresent and accessible from wherever we are. Digital preservation is actually worse and more expensive to maintain than traditional physical means. Storing a film digitally is nearly 10 times more expensive than the cost to preserve a traditional film master. That doesn’t even take into account the costs of maintaining accessibility to digital work as hardware, software, and file formats evolve and change over time. This problem is affecting more than just movies, as video game archivists say that 90% of games made before 2010 are “critically endangered”  due to companies being uninterested in investing in backwards compatibility technology or in porting older games to modern consoles. With how expensive and arduous it is to store media digitally for even the richest of companies, one can only imagine the uphill battle smaller studios and artists in the indie scene face trying to keep their art alive. We want our media to be available everywhere all the time, and yet in the process we are cutting its lifespan shorter than ever before. It often feels like our entire civilization has been written in sand, and with one gust of wind it could all be gone in a flash. 

Despite my complaining about all the problems that have come with the modern age of media and art making, it’s important to not give into the golden age fallacy. There are objectively more opportunities for artists from all disciplines to make a living off of their creativity than ever before. I myself would never have the opportunities to do the things I want to do if not for the online world. There is more good art than ever before as well, and more opportunities to engage with it. This is a meaningful advantage of our times, it just hasn’t come without a price. The present day, like any age, comes with its share of benefits and problems. These problems need to be addressed or we risk losing not only ourselves, but also the art itself. I don’t think we should just throw away the access we now have, but I hope we can all try to be more intentional when we’re engaging with art and do the best we can to avoid mindless consumption as we also work towards better conditions and systems for the creative industries.

Writer James Greig said it well in his piece addressing online consumption for Dazed titled “In Attack of Phones”

I don’t have the concrete solutions to the myriad of problems that our capitalistic internet with its predatory algorithms have created. Ultimately the internet is here to stay, and I do think that it’s possible to make that a good thing, even if I don’t have the answers for how right now. Divesting from mindless consumption as much as possible is ultimately good for you, and good for art as a whole. It’s also inevitable that that we must take more time away from the internet to ensure that our free time is not entirely filled with online consumption. Replacing 100% of your passive consumption with active engagement won’t change that you're spending all of your time online, and that companies will continue to exploit that time for profit. I hope that at the very least the next time you sit down to watch a movie, listen to a song, play a video game, look at a painting, or read a book, that you’re able to fully immerse yourself in the experience and appreciate this moment for what it is: a fleeting opportunity to possibly be changed for the better, because that’s what art can do. 

I also hope that the creative people out there can find a space in the online world where temporary exhibitions and experiences can actually be engaged with properly on the internet. I think those impactful, ephemeral moments we have with art and each other could certainly use more of our attention. The saying goes that art is long and life is short, but nothing in this world is permanent. Not even art.