Streaming Is Not Ruining Cinema, Directors Are - An Essay

This is something I’ve been wanting to write for a long time. A few years back, in 2021, I actually spent an entire year watching movies—365 of them. Of course, some were films I had already seen. I rewatched favorites around Christmas or my birthday, and others were movies I had only partially seen as a kid in the ’90s—films that I couldn’t remember and I thought, “What the heck was that actually about?” So I went back, rewatched them properly and made up for a lot of things I missed out on.

There were also films I remembered only from posters my sister had in her room. I remembered the casting vividly but had no idea what they were about. And then there were sequels—so many films had sequels I never saw or even knew existed. I was curious. 

As I got into it, I started watching more and more films, including classics. I watched Citizen Kane (1941) for the first time and understood why it’s considered a masterpiece. It’s a brilliant film that honestly still holds up today. But there were others where I definitely hit the speed button—like Gone with the Wind (1939). At one point, I slowed it back down just to hear how the characters spoke, and it sounded exactly the same as when it was sped up. It was ridiculous, and I still laugh thinking about it. Yes, it has iconic scenes, but it’s also a four-hour film…

Side note: when I told my mom I had watched it, she said, “The book is better.” And I just thought, “Oh, mother, there are entire communities on the internet that would cherish you.” That memory always makes me laugh.

After watching 365 films, I realized something: every three-hour movie could be two hours, and every two-hour movie could be 90 minutes. It’s ridiculous how long movies have become.

Now, don’t get me wrong—I love movies. I think storytelling in film is exceptional. I love focused, intimate stories, and I also love chaotic, multi-thread narratives. I enjoy Christmas films, sci-fi, action—everything. And honestly, I feel like action movies are being overlooked. Films like Ballerina (2025) and The Running Man (2025) were phenomenal. I had such a great time with them. Sometimes the films I expect the least from end up surprising me the most. Twisters (2024), the sequel to Twister (1996), was incredible. I even brought friends to see it in the cinema multiple times. It’s refreshing to watch films that aren’t trying to reinvent the wheel—they just tell a story, look good, and deliver action. That’s enough. I don’t need constant reinvention. I’m tired of people trying to redefine genres instead of simply making enjoyable films.

I once attended a talk by an old cinema projectionist. He told incredible stories about working with film reels—rewinding them, transporting them between cinemas, even running them through hallways to screen multiple films at once. It was fascinating. He also explained that movies became popular partly because they became shorter—around 90 minutes—allowing cinemas to show them multiple times a day, as they managed to rewind the reels much much faster. That efficiency helped grow the audience.

So what happened exactly, besides difficulties caused by covid, that lead to a somewhat decrease in the success of cinema? Well, people blame streaming, but I don’t think that’s the real issue.

From watching so many films, I’ve noticed that length is a major problem. Anything over three hours immediately feels excessive and I find myself actually breaking it up into multiple parts. Streaming came in, and people stopped going to theaters as much, at least they claim, although publishers put movies on streaming way too fast. And not only that, studios keep trying to squeeze life out of dead franchises instead of creating new ones.

Right now, there’s a lack of major cultural franchises. There’s no Hunger Games-level phenomenon capturing younger audiences (even with its spin-offs). Attempts like Divergent failed, it was just too soon and too similar. Remaking Harry Potter won’t fix anything. They already mishandled Fantastic Beasts. Money, money, money, money, money... It’s time to move on. I think perhaps the Fifty Shade films were the last successful attempt, and now Dune is really taking over, finally we have a franchise to look forward to, but needless to say, those are HUGE movies as well, over two hour run times and are massive undertakings of cinematic abilities, with VFX and CGI walking onto newer paths everyday. So I'm not saying that there is nothing good out there, because I also hate people who claim that "They don't make movies like they used to anymore", cause bitch... if you have not seen a single movie from the 80s, 70s, or the 60s, in your attempt to go back to the good old days, then you are just complaining to complain, and you have not had a single smart thought in years. 

The industry is going ahead and there are a lot of good things out there, yet cinema is... struggling. 

The number one problem that I identified is that marketing is terrible: I follow multiple trailer channels and still miss releases entirely. Then studios wonder why people don’t show up... Meanwhile, platforms like Netflix I think excel at marketing. They create interviews, extra content, and even original YouTube shows that interact with the shows and films made for their service. That’s smart promotion. HBO and Paramount can hate on Netflix all they want, but they are doing some very smart things. All these platforms are creating a lot of shows that they don't even keep on their platforms anymore because of mistakes in copyright, it's truly ridiculous. I am not saying that streaming services are without fault, but I would also not blame them blindly.

Then comes the big question: how do you bring people back to theaters?

Apparently—popcorn buckets. I have seen a lot of silly ones, I got a cool Godzilla one myself, and the Mission: Impossible one was insane, it was super expensive as well, but people love to collect these and despite the prices they are being sold with huge success. (Read about here.)

And honestly, I’m not surprised. But the real issue is film length.

Studios give massive creative freedom to directors like Tarantino, Scorsese, and James Cameron, and they produce films that feel endless. I’m not paying a fortune to sit through a four-hour movie while trying not to drink water.

And yes, the prices of tickets is also a factor of the problem that cannot be ignored, because I personally might feel better about missing a bit of the film to run to the toilet, but for the price I'm paying right now, I would rather not miss anything.

Give me a two-hour theatrical version and release the extended cut on streaming. It worked for The Lord of the Rings, we had solutions before, and I want to emphasize that example because DVDs are not around anymore. So if we are going to revolutionize DVDs then it is time to provide a space for director cuts and extended cuts as well, and that is not necessarily on the big screen. Add director commentaries and behind the scenes to streaming platforms as well! Even if I personally did not like the Justice League (2017) movie, I still have to admit that as a good example, that the Snyder cut was better having only been released on streaming, it really benefited from this approach.

Let audiences enjoy long versions at home, where they can pause.

This issue is even being mocked in shows like The Studio, where the producers are too afraid to challenge big directors. That’s the problem—no one edits them anymore. There was an episode with Ron Howard making a film, everybody loving it, but then at the very end his film had an almost one hour of extra materials, plot wise insignificant, of people just pensively looking into the wilderness, and that's it. And the whole joke was that nobody had the courage to tell Ron Howard that he shouldn't do this, because... he is f*cking Ron Howard. This one episode already zoomed in on the issue that the essay focuses on, that some big names have been given an immense amount of artistic liberty in order to "save cinema" and it isn't working.

Take Avatar—visually stunning, yes, but narratively repetitive. And then I understand the behind-the-scenes work of people who deal with CGI and VFX—these artists demonstrate fantastic craftsmanship when it comes to how films are created digitally. I understand the need for movies like Avatar, but then give that responsibility to someone who actually wants to write a compelling story. Maybe—just maybe—it would be nice if we actually had a plot in the movie. That’s something audiences still need every now and then, because otherwise all these graphics, CGI, and VFX elements could just as well exist as side projects or be used in short films. You could even create competitions, with people participating in the same types of challenges—I’ve seen things like this on YouTube. People there are incredibly talented and creative, yet developers refuse to invest in new creative voices. Instead, they keep putting money behind the same big directors, and those big names are old—very old.

They have these huge scripts in front of them—projects they wrote ages ago, knowing they would never get made because people kept telling them, “It has to be a hundred pages or shorter. We can’t make this.” And now it’s finally their time. But the material isn’t polished. It’s not the greatest thing they’ve ever written. It’s not nothing—it’s a good film, because these are talented directors with strong ideas. But at the same time, it’s just not good enough. It simply isn’t good. Once Upon a Time in Hollywood (2019) by Tarantino: I loved the concept of this alternate history with a tragedy being prevented, but... did we really need extended scenes like watching Brad Pitt drive home for minutes on end? What does that tell me? What did we learn from this? 

These films often feel indulgent rather than necessary.

Blaming streaming ignores reality. Look at Zootopia 2 (2025)—a shorter, accessible film that performed incredibly well last year, truly beating any and all expectations. People still go to the cinema when the experience is enjoyable, and they bring the whole family!!! Prices are insane now and not only whole families got tickets for a cartoon, I'm sure they also bought the popcorn buckets and the oversized coke to go with it. 

I recently watched Project Hail Mary (2026)—a great film, but it could have ended 30 minutes earlier. When audiences are thinking, “This could have ended sooner,” that’s not a good sign. (Visually stunning, so make sure you see it! I'm sure it is a very good adaptation, but not every book translates as well when adapted.)

Even classics like The Godfather Part III could have been shorter, because the first two had a lot of story that justified it's length. Nonetheless, my local cinema did screen the first film again, but even if I love it... I couldn't bring myself to watch it, for that price? Knowing I will have to go to the bathroom anyway? No.

And I went to the movies 17 times last year, that is how much I love movies. I went to old screenings, I saw things twice, I saw them in original and sometimes dubbed. I f*cking love films. I want to go more. but the length of Dune and Doomsday is not getting me excited at all.

So, I am a sucker for the movie theater. I went and took my mom to see My Big Fat Greek Wedding 3 (2023), and we had a blast. I went to see The Running Man—highly recommend it. Twisters and Ballerina from the last couple of years were fantastic. I love Mission: Impossible (2025), and that’s exactly the kind of film you have to see in theaters. Honestly, I didn’t feel it was too long—I loved it, just before you assume that I have some issue with a film that is over two hours, not at all. My issue is when that length adds nothing to the plot. A lot of people didn’t react well to Episode 8, but I don’t care. It was right up my alley, and I really loved the casting, the choices, the story, and how it was made. And Tom Cruise is going to Tom Cruise his way through a movie, no matter what. Think of the immense success that Barbie (2023) was because there was a proper marking behind the film. 

Truly too many big names are given liberties.  I have written my dissertation on old films by Scorsese, but the new ones I just refuse to see. I don’t need to watch them in theaters because I already know—from a mile away—what they’re going to be about, and I know they’ll be much longer than they need to be. So is giving this kind of artistic freedom to directors really the answer to saving Hollywood? Is it popcorn buckets? Or is it perhaps actual marketing—real marketing where you see normal trailers that don't spoil an entire film? Wouldn’t that be a faster and more effective way to reach audiences?

I don’t know—you tell me. Tell me what’s wrong. But I was not surprised by the success of Zootopia 2, and I am fairly certain that nobody truly enjoys a film if their bladder is about to explode.

But I’m far less interested in new films from Scorsese or Tarantino if they continue this trend of excessive length. And I am scared that more directors will follow this trend, simply because nobody will say not to Christopher Nolan film, or another Marvel super movie for that matter, no matter the cost or the final minute count.

So what’s the solution?

Better marketing. Smarter editing. Respect for audience time.

Make shorter theatrical cuts. Release extended versions on streaming. Create new franchises instead of recycling old ones.

Because people still love movies. Streaming hasn’t killed cinema—it’s just exposing what doesn’t work anymore. 

And honestly, no film is worth bursting you bladder for!

The Painful Truth of “Nobody Wants This” (2024) – Essay on Modern Relationships

(This post contains spoilers for season one and two.)

I have watched over 20,000 episodes of TV shows—countless hours in various languages, from French to Italian to English. I’ve watched the typical American hits, BBC shows, all kinds of TV series: sitcoms, dramas, anything and everything. I love it. I love fantasy, I love sci-fi, and I just love the narrative style of TV shows.

So when I saw the advertisement for the show Nobody Wants This (2024) starring Kristen Bell and Adam Brody, I immediately thought: yes, please—I’m invested.

The trailer is tricky because it hides the fact that this isn’t a conventional sitcom. The first season pulled me in. After being angry at the show during the second season, however, I think I finally realized what the show is really about. And I think most people have it wrong. In fact, the show might actually be much smarter than people give it credit for. What I want to explain in this essay is the message I believe the show is trying to convey. I haven’t really found many discussions about this online, so I thought I would write about it myself. I don’t know how many people this will reach, but I needed to get it out of my system. So here we go.

Right off the bat, the casting is incredible. I love everyone in this show. I also appreciate the nuance in the way the series explores a larger group in the United States that is often underrepresented unless there is some kind of deeper message attached to it. Faith is incredibly important to most people in the United States. I have taught American culture, and I have taught the ways in which history has shaped the world overall. Time and time again, religion remains a persistent force in defining how people behave and what they believe.

And here we are with an important character, the protagonist of the show, for whom faith is the number one priority. When you really think about it—and I have given lectures on this—in the United States you are very unlikely to be elected president unless you have some kind of religious affiliation. This is important. This is a huge topic. But a lot of people are thrown off by it.

For example, if a character in a TV show wears a cross around their neck, that’s generally considered normal. If they say they’re going to mass, that’s fine too. They don’t have to specify which church, where it is, or what state they’re in. But if someone says they’re Italian American, that already carries certain cultural connotations. If they say they’re Irish American, that also carries connotations. If someone is Latin American—of Spanish or Portuguese descent, whether they come from Colombia, Peru, or Mexico—it doesn’t matter. There is often an underlying religious background associated with that identity. In the United States, which has a very large population of people of Jewish descent, I honestly feel that we don’t see many discussions like the one this show attempts to have about faith.

For some people, faith is incredibly important. For a rabbi—like our main character Noah—it is absolutely central.

And questions of faith deserve to be debated in a much more thoughtful and serious way, because the United States still maintains a level of religious freedom that is quite unusual compared to many other parts of the world. Yes, you can see attacks on religion. Yes, you can see people using their faith to attack others as well. That’s a much bigger issue, and it’s not something we really have time to dive into here. It also isn’t particularly relevant to the TV show itself. What is important, however, is recognizing how deeply someone’s personality can be rooted in their faith. If they feel they cannot share that part of themselves—or if their partner doesn’t reciprocate the same level of interest or respect for it—that will inevitably lead to major problems in a relationship.

Then we have Joanne, the other protagonist, who has had her fair share of bad relationships, meeting a genuinely nice guy becomes incredibly important to her—someone she can truly connect with, someone she can vibe with, someone she can develop real feelings for. And you start to feel for these two people. They have very romantic scenes. They have the typical sitcom moments of “No, I choose you,” “No, you’re the most important thing,” “No, you are.” They exchange these beautiful declarations of love and commitment—about trying no matter what, trying even when it’s difficult to overcome certain obstacles, trying your best even when everything inside you—and everyone around you—is telling you that maybe you aren’t meant to be with this person.

And I’ll be honest: the first season felt very reminiscent of your typical romantic sitcom about people overcoming obstacles for love. But what happens after that?

What happens when love is not enough?

What happens when someone encounters problems that allude to the idea that people really don’t want this—exactly what the title suggests? Nobody wants to see their loved ones stuck in a relationship that may be filled with love, but where two people simply are not meant to be together. What happens then?

I was honestly very angry at this show because I was expecting a typical sitcom. I wanted romance. I wanted these two main characters to have incredible chemistry on screen. I wanted them to be so deeply in love that they restored my faith in humanity. But that’s not what I got. And I kept getting angrier and angrier.

Then I sat down with a friend and said, “Let’s talk about this show. What do you think about it?”

And for the first time, I realized something. I think the point of this show is not to portray a romantic sitcom fantasy. I think the point is to showcase a typical relationship in the 21st century. This show portrays something far more realistic: the countless people stuck in relationships that look perfectly fine on paper but are filled with underlying problems.

And I have seen so many friends go through exactly this situation so let’s break it down.

At first, Noah tells us that he is happy to have Joanne exactly as she is. He says he will refuse the job of becoming a rabbi. He will leave everything behind as long as they can be together. And this gesture is very sweet, but it is something that seems to just push of a larger problem. The second season arrives, and suddenly all the signs begin pointing to the same uncomfortable truth: these two people are not actually good for each other.

They love each other, which is wonderful. I honestly wish we lived in a world where love alone was enough. But it isn’t. And the reason this bothers me so much is because I keep seeing the same thing happen in real life.

I have watched friends go through the exact same situation. In fact, I have one friend in particular with whom I have had this exact conversation many times. Every time we sit down to talk about their relationship, I find myself making arguments for why they should probably separate. And every time, they push back.

They tell me their relationship is perfect. They tell me this is exactly where they should be. This is what they need. But then the next time we talk, when I suggest that maybe there is someone else who would be a better match for them, they suddenly say something completely different.

“Maybe that’s not who I’m supposed to be with.”

“Maybe I should try something else.”

“Maybe I should do this instead.”

And I find myself sitting there thinking: have you noticed that every time we talk about this, you say the exact opposite of what you said before? They usually laugh and say, “That must be annoying, isn’t it?”

But it’s not really about annoyance. I just wish they would figure out what they actually want. Because at the end of the day, what so many people are deeply afraid of is being single.

And I don’t understand why being alone—even for a short time—is so terrifying to people.

If you cannot sit alone with your own thoughts for five minutes, I honestly don’t think you should be in a relationship. And you probably shouldn’t have kids either. This is obviously a much bigger discussion, but honestly—don’t have kids if you cannot sit alone with your thoughts for five minutes. Because you know what involves a lot of quiet moments, patience, and reflection? Raising children.

And that’s when all the issues you never dealt with suddenly come back to confront you. When you’re holding a child in front of you and realizing that all the emotional baggage you avoided dealing with should probably have been addressed in therapy years ago. That’s a very rude awakening. Go see a therapist. Learn to live alone. Move out of your parents’ house—not with a girlfriend or a boyfriend, but by yourself. Spend some time alone. Figure out who you are.

Figure out how you like your eggs!

This might sound like a strange reference, but there’s a great example of this in the movie Runaway Bride (1999) with Julia Roberts and Richard Gere. If you don’t know how you like your eggs because you keep eating them the way your current partner prefers them, then you probably have bigger issues to deal with before entering another relationship. But people are afraid of being alone. And do you know what they do instead? They don’t leave a relationship until they are absolutely certain they can enter another one. They prepare the next relationship before leaving the current one. Technically, they can still say, “Well, I’m still here. I haven’t left. I haven’t cheated.” But emotionally, they’re already halfway out the door. And that’s one of the cruelest things you can do to someone. Because you’re not giving the other person the chance to understand what’s happening.

You’re not giving them the chance to process the relationship ending.

You’re avoiding confrontation. You’re avoiding the difficult conversation. Instead of having a mature discussion and acknowledging that the relationship has run its course, you quietly step away while the other person is still emotionally invested.

In sitcoms, relationships often end in very beautiful ways. Even when they are painful, there is usually some sense of closure. Real life rarely gives you that. So sometimes you have to create that closure yourself.

Have the difficult conversation.

Sit down with someone and say goodbye.

Tell them that the relationship mattered.

Thank them for the time you shared together.

Allow them the dignity of understanding that a chapter of their life has ended. That healing process might take two weeks. It might take three years. But at least they will know what happened. And that’s why watching this show became so frustrating for me.

Because here we have two characters whom the entire world is telling, “Maybe you shouldn’t be together.” Yet the show frames their constant struggle as something romantic. We are supposed to admire the fact that they keep fighting for the relationship. We are supposed to find it beautiful that they refuse to give up.

But honestly? I think they’re being idiots. I genuinely think they should break up.

And if they still miss each other after breaking up, then maybe they should consider coming back together. Instead, the second season ends with them being together again—even though none of the fundamental issues between them have actually been resolved. Joanne might convert to Judaism.

But honestly, who cares at this point?

Because it feels less like a genuine spiritual journey and more like a desperate attempt to avoid losing the relationship. And Noah keeps claiming that faith isn’t the most important thing to him. But the entire second season demonstrates that it absolutely is.

They fight about Valentine’s Day. They fight about gifts. There are toxic dynamics involving their exes. And most importantly, they don’t actually grow together. That’s my biggest problem with the show.

Does that make it a bad show?

No.

In fact, I’ll be completely honest: I hated the second season when I first watched it because it felt repetitive. But when I stepped back and compared it to the relationships I see around me—friends who probably shouldn’t be married, friends who probably shouldn’t be having children, friends who maybe shouldn’t even be dating right now—I started seeing the parallels everywhere.

And that made me reconsider what the show might actually be trying to do. Maybe the point of the show isn’t to present a romantic fantasy. Maybe the point is to show what relationships actually look like in the 21st century. Because a lot of relationships look exactly like this.

There are small positive moments:

“He got me a nice gift.”

“He supports my career.”

“He talks openly about his feelings.”

“My partner’s family accepts me.”

All of those things matter. They add weight to the positive side of the scale. But at the end of the day, the real question remains: is it enough? Is it enough that other people approve of your relationship? If the relationship itself doesn’t make you happy, does the approval of friends and family really matter? And what about the constant hope that the other person will eventually change? Is that really a healthy foundation for a relationship? Waiting for someone to suddenly fall in love with your hobbies, your values, your needs? I don’t think it is.

People can change.

Relationships can evolve.

But if you’re only one year into a relationship and both partners are already asking the other to become someone completely different, that’s probably a sign that something isn’t working. And that’s the uncomfortable truth this show seems to explore.

Sometimes people stay together not because the relationship is healthy, but because the alternative—being alone and starting over—feels too frightening. If that’s the message the show is trying to convey, then it has absolutely succeeded.

Because watching it is genuinely painful. Not because it’s badly written. But because it feels too real.

And maybe that’s exactly the point.