Imagine a Saturday night in Antwerp, where the rain outside dictated my evening plans. With only three movies available at the local cinema, I found myself faced with a Hobson’s choice. Gladiator II held no appeal, Kneecap was subtitled in Dutch, and Akira, an anime classic from 1988, beckoned. The experience transported me back to a simpler time, much like Max Cherry in Quentin Tarantino’s "Jackie Brown," who chose films based on convenience and immediate appeal.
For those raised on films before the streaming revolution, this method of selection mirrored the days of appointment viewing. In the UK, we had just a handful of channels, and once a show aired, it was gone until the next scheduled broadcast. There was no pausing or rewinding; you watched what was available, creating a unique connection with each film.
In today’s world of near-infinite streaming options, the paradox of abundance reigns supreme. The luxury of choice has led to indecision and hours wasted scrolling through platforms. Algorithms, designed to simplify our lives, often curate content that matches our preferences, minimizing surprises. Yet, it is these unexpected discoveries that can shape our taste and sensibility.
Consider the films that defined my youth: classics like "Psycho" and "The Wizard of Oz," introduced during Christmas TV marathons. Even less stellar offerings, such as the musical western "Paint Your Wagon," played a role in honing my cinematic palate. Suffering through some films helped me appreciate the gems, teaching me to discern between a good Clint Eastwood movie and a bad one.
Holidays were a treasure trove of hidden gems. Who would have thought that the BBC’s daily programming of Tarzan films in 1982 would ignite a lifelong admiration for Johnny Weissmuller? Or that Channel 4’s screening of "Never Give a Sucker An Even Break" in 1984 would introduce me to the genius of WC Fields? These accidental discoveries enriched my understanding of cinema.
Browsing old copies of the Radio Times reveals a schedule akin to an eclectic repertory cinema. Films like "Sholay," "Vertigo," and "Effi Briest" graced our screens, offering a diverse array of genres and styles. While older and artier films now struggle for visibility, they once thrived alongside mainstream blockbusters, creating a well-rounded cinematic landscape.
The combination of limited channels and varied film catalogues provided an ideal setting for cinematic education. Without the distractions of modern technology, viewers were more likely to stumble upon masterpieces or lesser-known works. The lack of control over selection added an element of serendipity, enhancing the viewing experience.
While platforms like Mubi, BFI Player, and the Criterion Channel offer vast libraries, the sheer volume can be overwhelming. When Mubi launched in 2007 with a daily rotation of 30 films, the curated nature fostered a deeper connection. Today, with hundreds of options, many subscribers find themselves using the service less frequently, questioning its value.
Todd Haynes, director of "Carol," reflected on this shift in 2019. He noted the loss of spontaneity in modern viewing habits. When films are presented one at a time, chosen by chance rather than algorithm, a deeper connection forms. The desire for content intensifies when not everything is instantly available, reminding us of the joy in discovery.
As we navigate the digital age, let’s not forget the lessons learned from a time when fewer choices led to greater appreciation. Embracing the simplicity of the past can rekindle our love for cinema, reminding us of the magic that lies in serendipitous encounters with films.