Beyond the rom com, however, it’s a famine zone, apart from a few indies and whatever screenwriter Diablo Cody ()—then it’s TV that’ll hook you up.The crafty survivalism and bureaucratic finagling of Edie Falco’s Nurse Jackie, that angel of mercy as pillhead junkie.are able to catch up with past seasons on DVD—an immersion course of binge viewing—and bring themselves up to speed in time for the next season’s debut, fully conversant with the workings of Walt’s woefully understaffed meth lab, say, or the latest trend lines in zombie migration.
As movie theaters switch from film to digital projection, home flat-screens take up a wall, Blu-Ray discs exhume masterpiece-painting volumes of color and intricate detail from popular releases, and the unholy moviegoing experience cries out for human-pest control, cinema has lost its sanctuary allure and aesthetic edge over television, which as a medium has the evolutionary advantage.
Movies will never die, not as long as a director like Terrence Malick can make every green blade of grass sway like the first dance of creation, but TV is where the action is, the addictions forged, the dream machine operating on all cylinders.
And those films that aren’t aiming for an opening-weekend monster kill seem to dwell solely within a realm of discourse dominated by film bloggers and Twitter twitchers, these configurations of loyalists and lost-causers adopting a film that they fell for at some festival and cradling it like a football as they chug downfield in a deserted stadium.
—these are quality titles (so I assume, I haven’t seen most of them, I shall Netflix them in the fullness of time) that become objects of obsession for a few but float in limbo for those not on screening or “screener” lists.
But each of the films parenthesized above could have just as easily been done as an HBO or Showtime docudrama without suffering any loss of scale or density of detail.