On Slow Media
Doesn't the brisk pace of media release leave you feeling that something is missing?
Remember when TV shows would release with a weekly episode? When films weren't guaranteed sequels, and there were no notifications on your device telling you a new video is posted? I want to talk about slow media.
Slow media is the concept of trickle-release, of serialization as in the olden days when novel-length fiction was often published in the local newspaper one chapter at a time. Many classic works of the 19th century were written this way, and later compiled into single-volume form to fit modern publication norms.
In the current era, instead we are flooded with media choice and media installments to binge all at once. You can be assured that the film you saw last weekend will have a sequel within 18 months; so guaranteed is this model that at the end of the credits you'll get a preview of what's next. TV shows are published season-at-a-time, allowing viewers to gear up with popcorn and ice cream and soak in the whole affair in one sitting if they so choose.
But doesn't this leave a feeling that something's missing?
In the past, when media was slower, each week between TV episodes we'd discuss with friends and family what happened and what we think might happen next. The gaps provided much-needed time to think, consider, and foster dialogue about what we watched. Time to process and reflect. Slow media gave space to readers to consider where the next novel by their favorite author might take them, and spend more time exploring every unlockable door or hidden achievement in a video game. We wrung the most out of the media we engaged with. (You will note I refuse to adopt the late-capitalist terminology "consume" or "content". I feel that content is best left to the realm of empty space-filler and consumption left to the 19th century's grasp of tuberculosis.) In slow media, this additional time afforded to art allows us to engage with it more fully, more critically, and results in a more fulfilling experience both for the artist whose work is better appraised and the art-lover who deep-dives into the things they enjoy most.
In a way, I understand why the deluge of new media is a functioning business model: buy more, buy more, don't be left behind. But if you offered me a ticket to The Louvre and told me I had two choices: run through it at full tilt to see as much art as I could, or spend all day in just my favorite gallery, appreciating each piece for a satisfying length of time, I'd not be out of breath when afterward I'd board the metro to some café, looking forward to sharing my thoughts with friends over drinks and good food.
