When Fans Love a Movie to Death

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The moving prison drama titled “Sing Sing,” which earned Colman Domingo his second chance at an Oscar, held its initial public screening as far back as September 2023. At that time, George Santos was still a congressman and the Writers Guild of America (WGA) and Screen Actors Guild (SAG) were embroiled in strikes. The film premiered at a muted Toronto International Film Festival where it received acclaim and, most significantly, caught the eye of A24, who later purchased it. “Sing Sing” opened in theaters in July 2024 with a limited release starting on four screens and peaking around 200 – a far cry from being in every multiplex, but not raking in enough revenue to warrant a wider release. Instead, recognizing that they had an Oscar contender on their hands, A24 decided to keep “Sing Sing” off home video until just recently, after it had been re-released in theaters, in order to maximize buzz surrounding potential nominations.

As a film enthusiast, I’m no stranger to the labyrinthine journey an art-house movie often takes before reaching audiences – festivals are its stepping stones, and positive early reviews and awards act as its marketing lifeline. For fans like myself who’ve been eagerly awaiting Sing Sing since its initial festival buzz, the wait can feel endless if we don’t reside in cities where it was playing in cinemas. A full 16 months elapsed from its premiere to when we could finally rent it at home.

Movies often employ established strategies of building excitement, whether it’s a major studio unveiling a trailer for an upcoming blockbuster like “Untitled Event Movie” or an independent film making its way from film festivals to select theaters. While everyone eventually gets the chance to watch the big movie at the same time, the process of watching smaller films can sometimes feel like observing others being granted access while you’re left out. Large film festivals are often exclusive and costly, and even if you manage to attend one, there’s no guarantee that you’ll secure tickets for the specific movies you most want to see. Smaller films might initially screen in New York and Los Angeles before expanding elsewhere over several weeks, which can leave viewers outside major cities disappointed. Additionally, accessibility becomes even less predictable if you’re not based in the U.S. The ongoing discussion about these films can generate frustration, as it may seem like being excluded from a conversation that digital technology has made ubiquitous.

A more straightforward approach might be: It’s clear that movies eventually become available for home viewing or streaming, often sooner than you might expect (certainly faster than 1.333 years). However, this digital age has made me more understanding of those who view home viewing as the true release of a movie and find the process of festivals and limited releases to be frustrating, especially when a select few post their reviews online while the rest of us wait. I understand that the gradual build-up in theaters is essential for getting audiences to see less commercially obvious films, and that the festival circuit helps independent work gain attention and acquisition. Yet, the prolonged waiting can be trying, even under these circumstances.

In this digital age, I’ve found myself more open to the temptation of piracy due to various factors. The entertainment industry’s drastic changes (from mergers, streaming revolutions, and the erratic whims of large media conglomerates) have created numerous rights issues, leaving many titles in a limbo of availability. Furthermore, the practice of companies removing entire movies to secure tax breaks has become prevalent. This was particularly evident when Twitter was abuzz with discussions about shared links for pirated copies of “The Nickel Boys“. What stood out to me was the sense of indignant righteousness in some posts, implying that it’s entitled to demand payment for RaMell Ross’s masterful first-person adaptation of Colson Whitehead’s novel, despite its critical acclaim and box office struggles. This isn’t about people from India or the Philippines complaining about lack of local releases. I’m referring to those who argue that they should have free access to “The Nickel Boys” – viewing it as payment enough, devaluing a movie priced at anything other than zero, and suggesting that an artist should be grateful for any viewer, regardless of the cost. In their minds, the film is both so incredibly valuable it needs immediate accessibility, yet so inherently worthless that to suggest it has financial value is seen as gatekeeping.

These online discussions often resemble well-worn internet debates, yet they’ve been refined in an era characterized by immediate satisfaction, where tech companies have managed to embed themselves within our cultural consumption through streaming platforms. This has led us to believe that our attention, along with our subscription fees, serves as payment. Sharing snippets, images, and even entire movies online is largely driven by the pursuit of influence, but it’s also become a way to express support. The battle over music, where simply listening to a song now equates to the act of support that purchasing tracks or albums once did, has essentially been conceded long ago.

Movies aren’t currently set up to be legally accessible everywhere instantly, at least not until major streaming platforms completely take over. However, there is a model for this, and it’s the Netflix model. Despite its convenience, it has been shown to struggle in generating buzz or sustaining cultural discussions about most releases (think of films like Apollo 10½, The Killer, or Athena). In fact, Greta Gerwig leveraged the success of her upcoming film, Barbie, to demand that Netflix release her adaptation of The Chronicles of Narnia in theaters first, via an IMAX release.

As a movie enthusiast, I’ve come to understand that filmmakers often need the financial success of one project to fuel their next venture. This could be through studio backing or piecing together funding from various production companies, investors, grants, and other sources. The reality is, it’s seldom possible for a filmmaker to bring their work to the big screen substantially, let alone promote it effectively, without risking it getting lost amidst the cacophony of digital content without any hope of recouping costs. Independent and art house films thrive on a delicate ecosystem – one that relies heavily on festival audiences, gradual nationwide theater releases, and accolades – essentially, on making people wait. Ironically, the very people who are most passionate about cinema are often the ones who fiercely resist this system.

This year’s Sundance Festival ended with a digital rental period, aiming to make the annual event accessible to those who can’t attend in person. However, this time around, issues arose due to two overexcited fan bases and evolving norms about what is acceptable to share online when something appears on our personal screens. First, the documentary Selena y Los Dinos, which includes never-before-seen home videos of the late Tejano singer, was removed from digital rental after its producer noticed clips being shared on social media. Similarly, the comedy film Twinless, featuring James Sweeney and starring Dylan O’Brien, was taken down due to fans posting clips containing sex scenes and spoilers online. Both films were independently funded acquisitions that have not yet been sold to a distributor, making them more vulnerable to piracy since it’s unclear what the implications of your film being fully recorded could be for future sales.

The movie Skinamarink, an experimental horror film, gained immense popularity online following its leak after a digital festival screening. This exposure likely benefited the film in the future. However, for movies like Selena y Los Dinos and Twinless, discoverability isn’t the challenge; it’s the fear that parts of the films will be used for content, while the rest may go unnoticed. It’s an unusual situation to have your work adored excessively, but it can be a lot to expect fans to understand the intricacies of independent distribution.

As a movie enthusiast myself, I can’t help but express my thoughts on this matter. If folks truly understood that their casual act of uploading just a few minutes online could potentially prevent other fans like us from enjoying the film together, I’d find it hard to believe they would still go through with it.

Julie Goldman, one of the producers on Selena y Los Dinos, emphasized this point. She noted that it was the very fans who tried to combat piracy, eventually leading to Sundance removing the movie from its digital platform. On those sites, people pleaded, “Hey, don’t do this. Now I can’t watch, and also, we want this film to be seen far and wide, so please stop.” And they largely did comply.

An Instagram post from Selena y Los Dinos‘s guitarist Chris Pérez was flooded with comments condemning the copyright infringement. Naturally, fans inquired about when the film would be accessible again, but unfortunately, no definitive answer has been given (it is set to play at SXSW next).

Goldman, with past projects successfully screened on Sundance’s digital platform without hiccups, attributes the problem to contextual factors. He suggests that communicating relevant information before sensitive moments might be beneficial, not just anti-piracy messages, but genuine notes about the film and its significance. Could reminding viewers of the people involved in these projects influence their perspective on the lengthy journeys of independent and art house films, and why instant digital access isn’t always feasible? At the very least, it might inspire pirates to maintain some decency and keep their actions private.

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2025-02-10 23:55