Netflix Killed the Video Star

A few weeks ago, I promised another musing on the state of movies today. Or how we watch movies. DVDs gave us a film-viewing experience again. A VHS, I would argue, was a mere artifact of the viewing process, like catching a rerun, while a DVD became the original film again, complete with supplements and the correct aspect ratio. But then crashed the wave of instant video... and a seemingly endless string of options.

Netflix
I signed up in December last year and was hooked within a week. For one thing, I found a few movies streaming that weren't even carried by my Boston-area library system (which is very extensive). With some films, I can either stream now or request the DVD for later. Win win, right?

But there are caveats. Their streaming selection is so far the best available of the major online streaming sites, but I can foresee running out of movies to stream in a year. Every now and then, a Mad Men joins the ranks, but streaming movies are added at a slower rate than they should. The license for each streaming film is unclear; I usually receive an end date in my queue less than a week before the movie vanishes. Then there's the failure of "experience" with some streaming choices that are artificially stretched (The Grapes of Wrath) or out-of-sync (The Office, UK).

My biggest gripe: the Netflix DVD. New titles from the past year send what are essentially screeners, with no supplements. I rented 127 Hours to watch the thirty-minute ending cut from the film, and received a movie-only disc. Why not just stream it?

Hulu
The inception of Hulu goes back to my senior-year dorm room. You couldn't really watch anything cool yet, but what potential! Now I catch up on my weekly sitcoms through Hulu, the legal free streaming website. The new Hulu Plus beats Netflix's TV offerings by a mile, though movies are treated like the red-headed stepchild. But logically, which am I likely to choose if I only pick one? A movie rental service with streaming and DVD, or a TV streaming service for which I pay for access to shows that once aired for free? When I can stream HBO, then we'll talk.

Amazon.com
The Wal-Mart of the Internet. First Amazon vs. Barnes & Noble, then Amazon vs. Apple, and now Amazon vs. Netflix. What's left? Can they also make the world's best grilled cheese? So please understand that my skepticism isn't because Amazon can't. If they want to be huge in streaming, they will be. But with all these hats, Amazon won't concentrate on everything, and streaming will likely fall by the wayside. Right now it's just a perk, the cherry on top for Prime members. And we're supposed to use the Cloud too?

Beneath the competition are the actual movies. We're fighting over the ability to watch them, not the quality of the movie itself. What if Amazon offers them on Kindles next, all in black and white? Should we even have the option to watch Jaws on the beach? And it doesn't cease: just yesterday, YouTube announced they will make users pay for movies, too.

My vote for now: Start with the Netflix free trial, and go on Hulu to watch shows the week they air. You know, like we used to.

When Movies Were Movies

The Last Picture Show: We watch them watch Red River.

Album collectors tell you vinyl's the only way. An LP has texture, from the needle's first hit to the occasional scratch. The flaws, like leather, humanize the music; we feel the grooves, the spin. And it wasn't really in our control. You never quite get the needle exactly where the song starts.

Who remembers the days when movies were like that, too? We went to the theater to see honest-to-God film stock unreel on the screen above. I'm not opposed to digitally projected movies, which offer better consistency from theater to theater--but you notice the digital creeping in. We can see the grain in the sky, the pixels in the dark shadows.

The whole world's gone pixellated in my (brief) lifetime. I still have not seen a 3D movie in the theaters. Now you can watch Blu-rays in 3D, if you have the dollars to spend or the insatiable need to upgrade your DVD collection yet again. From my viewpoint, Blu-ray won't overtake DVD outright. The format doesn't offer nearly as much improvement as DVD did over VHS. The DVD market recognized that movies should not be chopped up to fit our televisions. Gone are the days of hideous pan-and-scan hackjobs, wearing out tapes from constant play, rewinding.

To my surprise, even the classics looked better on DVD. Some that I own (like Psycho and Notorious) are loaded with grain. But the distraction is worth it when the blacks and whites are so much richer than VHS could hope to offer. Optimal viewing needs a balance, though, and I wonder if pushing 1930s and '40s titles to Blu-ray is asking too much of them.

Yes, I'm reminicising about a shift in movie-watching that happened when I was a teenager. For almost ten years, we've readjusted our movie watching in a positive direction. DVDs gave us supplemental features, so we could bury into the movie, realizing, Hey, a movie could be worth more investment than just catching a clip on TV. And we watched films in their original aspect ratios again. How did it become acceptable to crop the movie? Who stares at Michelangelo's The Last Supper and feels satisfied with just seven disciples?

While Blu-rays and HD cable channels take us in one direction, iPods/Pads and streaming jump the other way. High-def's shinier, sleeker on the surface. The other road is convenient, portable, and quality is irreverent. But maybe they aren't so divided. I wager that high-def everything's more for technology fetishists than movie buffs, just like having all the on-the-go options. Who really watches The Fighter on a cell phone? Yet it's possible (you know, just in case...). All bases are covered. We control how and where they play. Movies are ours.

Thoughts, readers? Who's buying Blu-rays?

Next time: Netflix vs. Amazon vs. Hulu.

There Will Be Blood

Review: The Merchant of Venice
Cutler Majestic Theatre, Boston
April 1, 2011

"If you prick us, do we not bleed?... And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?" Shylock utters these stinging words as he comes to collect his bond: a pound of flesh from the merchant Antonio, who cannot repay Shylock's loan on time. Modern takes on The Merchant of Venice shy from making Shylock a mere villain set on vengeance. Ever more, directors have mined from William Shakespeare's "comedy" the racism and bigotry that pervade this Venice. After all, Shylock is not the only merchant in town. Money lenders make deals left and right, yet only the Jew is punished for capitalizing on the system.

Darko Tresnjak sets his characters' troubling actions in the present, a world dominated by MacBooks and Wall Street brokers. The relentless drive of the stock market and ever-ripening technology deserve blame for the degradation of Venice. F. Murray Abraham anchors the play with his wise, human Shylock. He is eloquent but fast of tongue; quick to deal but reduced to tears by the consequences. He sees how anti-Semitism runs in the blood of Venetians, and reminds in the words above that he also bleeds. And he loses his amassed wealth, first to a daughter who steals his riches, then at the hands of Portia, who cons a courtroom to save Antonio's life.

The exact law behind Shylock's condemnation feels like a deus ex machina, but I was convinced in this production that this was deliberate. Portia willingly bends the rules, certain that fortune favors her privileged, Christian class. As a Moroccan prince fails to win her hand, she says that she wouldn't marry a man of his complexion. Even once she and her maid Nerissa are matched, they toy with their men over their rings, perpetuating the lending game.

Despite the visible mechanics, Tresnjak's staging is not too cold. Kate MacGluggage as Portia radiates warmth considering her craftiness, matched by Lucas Hall's youthful Bassanio (apparently too naive to know whether he's in love with Portia or Antonio). The more comedic roles, unfortunately, are overdone, which includes Gratiano as a grating frat-boy. Better are the dramatic moments, as when Shylock is sentenced: the cast stands silent in fixed cells of light, trapped in their fear. I remain unconvinced by the final act where the lovers reunite. Who wants comedy after such a dramatic shift? But maybe Shakespeare's playing games, too: deceiving even his audience with a happy ending.