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Sunday, June 08, 2008

Back.

Wow, Xanga was going to kick me off unless I posed, which I guess is fine. Now I have to find things to post about that I don't post on other blogs.

Monday, April 23, 2007

Defining your identity through Netflix

So I wrote a paper on a 'cultural artifact' for one of my classes, and my professor put my paper into his blog here! I wrote about Netflix and how the whole service is just more than a video rental service. My prof's blog is pretty widely read by people in his field as well as his 'fans' (he write a lot about the nature of 'fandom' himself ironically), so I'm rather excited about having my name/work in the blog.

Here it is:
What's Coming Next? Self-Definition and Accomplishment through the Construction of the Netflix Queue

In the midst of two extensive knee surgeries in 2003, I discovered Netflix. Pumped up on painkillers, feeling groggy and uninspired, I went online one day to check out the service. I had vaguely heard of Netflix before, but had never been motivated to join. At the time, I had just graduated from college and was too busy with my "real" life to let my usually rampant movie-watching aspirations tie me down. When I moved back home in the Fall following graduation however, I was in a totally different situation. I had just injured both of my knees (tearing both Anterior Cruciate Ligaments - an amazing feat, I assure you) and my parents convinced me to move home in order to have the surgery I required. I was unemployed and living in the suburbs; watching movies suddenly became appealing again. I received my first Netflix DVD shortly after my first knee operation.

To this day, I have still remained a loyal subscriber of the service despite the rise of stronger competitors like Blockbuster (with its coupons for free in-store rentals) and the more hip GreenCine (with its Indie movie lists and user blogs). But what was it about that particular time and situation that allowed Netflix to become such an intrinsic part of my life? The website provides a very simple, yet seemingly generic service. The basic gist of Netflix (according to the simple "instructions" listed on their website) is that you create list of DVDs you want to watch online, you wait for them to be sent to you, watch them, and then return the DVDs through the mail. It is not apparent, then, why I felt such an attachment to Netflix in particular or why the service had such an exceptional hold on me. After closer examination, however, I realized there are three aspects of Netflix that allowed it become such an integral part of my life, my constant guide and companion. First, Netflix provided me a source for continuous escapism; second, it gave me a never-failing sense of accomplishment; and third, it allowed me a platform for on-going identity construction and reconstruction.

Continuous Escapism

The first rental I received was the first disc of Dennis Potter's BBC series, The Singing Detective. Day and night, I was curling up with Potter's onscreen alter-ego Philip E. Marlow. I had not realized the irony at the time, of course. It would an understatement to say that Marlow wasn't the most loveable of characters, but there were some obvious similarities between us so I identified with him. I, too, was home-bound and bed-ridden, constantly feeling as if I was unable to participate in the world. Marlow created stories in his head to help him escape, and I watched Marlow create stories in his head in order to help me escape. It was a vicious cycle. Whether it was Marlow, the cast of characters for Cowboy Bebop, or Gregory Peck's character in Spellbound (respectively, my second and third rentals), I lived vicariously through their trials and travails.

Of course I wanted to escape - I was jobless, in post-surgery pain and just wanting to forget it all. Films were the perfect outlets through which I could continuously run away. The best thing about Netflix, though, wasn't that it provided me just one avenue for fleeing, but rather a continuous stream of raw material within which I could lose myself. I enjoyed all the conveniences that were initially advertised by the company; the three-at-a-time DVD plan was perfect for me. Unlike the far inferior one or two-at-a-time plans, where I might end up with nothing on hand while waiting for the next DVD in the mail, my plan allowed me nonstop opportunities for watching. One disc could be in the player, one on deck, and one could be sent back in expectation of another. In that way, anticipation of upcoming DVDs became as important as the experience of watching a movie itself. Browsing through Netflix's 75,000+ titles eventually became almost as satisfying as watching the movies themselves.

Through browsing occupied much of my time, my ability to compile the effort of these searches into a Netflix queue was what really drew me into the service. I had always been attached to making and checking things off lists (as many people are, as evidenced by the superfluity of "best of" movie guides these days), but Netflix technologized (and in a way, concretized) this interest by giving me tools to manage these lists dynamically. Unlike other static lists (such as the one in The A List: The National Society of Film Critics' 100 Essential Films which I bought shortly before I started subscribing to Netflix, incidentally), my personal queue on Netflix was constantly changing. It was an active list that morphed and transformed itself according to my mood and inclination. If I was suddenly feeling down and noticed that my next film was the soul-crushing Dancer in the Dark, for example, I could easily move The Triplets of Belleville and There's Something About Mary to the top of my list if need be. In a way, tightly controlling the list felt like self-medication of sorts. I could give myself larger or smaller doses of happiness, romance, or sobering reality based on what I added or removed from the list. The power to alter my mood and outlook became extremely addictive to a person in my post-operative position.

Sense of Accomplishment

While the queue gave me a no-fail method through which to transform my emotional experience, it also had the added advantage of providing concrete opportunities through which I could feel a sense of accomplishment. As I mentioned previously, watching DVDs somehow allowed me to live vicariously through fictional characters. Though I wouldn't personally be touring through 1950s San Francisco solving the mystery for who poisoned me, for example, I could feel like I was when watching the film noir, D.O.A.. However, this sense of accomplishment was not only gained through my vicarious experience of watching, but also the real feat of checking DVDs off my unending list of must-see movies or TV shows. Before I joined the service, I had previously started several aborted attempts at watching The Singing Detective. Netflix finally forced me to watch the series in full, something which had long been on my list of To-Dos.

Along the same lines, I also used to keep up with media "trends" through Netflix, watching the entire first seasons of Survivor and Lost (shows that I either shunned or inadvertently missed when they first aired on network TV). Thus, I felt as if I came to know what was happening in the world. Perhaps all of this seems trivial, but from my perspective, my inability to do "real" things in my post-operative state was made somehow less paralyzing when I knew I could watch DVDs and check them off my lists. The process of constructing my Netflix queue not only became just a matter of choosing what DVDs I was going to see, but also the DVDs I aspired to see. In that way, the compiling of this list seemed accomplishment in and of itself. It represented all the effort I had put into the process of learning what was available, what I could use to expand my knowledge, or what I could use to educate myself.

Identity Creation through the Netflix Queue

If creating the perfect Netflix queue helped me feel a sense of accomplishment, this is as much a matter of identity creation than preserving the list itself. It seems commonplace these days to imply that a person's favorite list of movies contributes heavily to their identity. This is clearly evidenced by the way in which social networking sites like Facebook prominently feature users' favorite books, music or movies as a part of their profiles. While this may seem limiting, many users are perfectly happy listing their favorite media properties in personal profiles as shorthand, surrogate identity markers.

This identity-creation aspect of listing movies definitely bleeds into the creation of my Netflix queue. As I previously mentioned, much of my effort on Netflix was put into searching for the DVDs that I could use to educate or cultivate myself into a "better" person. Of course, I often add movies that I simply want to see but these are usually impulse additions that don't fit into the larger matrix of my cultural education. So the actual process making the list becomes not just about movies I'd like to watch, but also about movies that contribute to my identity creation. I recognize, of course, that my categorization of the "right" kinds of films that give me the proper cultural capital is totally arbitrary, but my point here is that Netflix gives you tools with which you can easily create your own hierarchy. In this way, Netflix allows me continuously create and recreate my identity through my movie choices. This might seem strange in light of the fact I do not share my Netflix queue (though the feature of sharing your queue with your friends and family certainly affirm what I am saying here), but as I mentioned previously, the Netflix queue stands as an aspirational benchmark. That is why I can get away with leaving titles on my queue for many months at a time (Taxi Driver and Bonnie and Clyde have been on my queue for years, for example). Even though I'm not watching these films right now (or maybe ever), the fact that I aspire to see them and add them to my list is somehow significant and relevant. It means something.

Similarly, Netflix provides an opportunity for users to rate movies that they have either rented from the service or seen previously in an effort to provide better recommendations. That is the secret to the system of course. Recommendations are yet another feature of Netflix which allows for a form of identity creation. Based on what Netflix suggests for me, I can somehow gauge what the system (and maybe the general public at large) thinks about me and my movie choices. Netflix themselves recognize the power of their recommendations system, though this appreciation is mostly economic (their year-long competition for creating a better computerized recommendations system seems to prove this). According to some statistics, about two-thirds of rented movies on the service come from recommendations. Hence, a user's experience on Netflix is not just about single-time watching experiences, but instead the creation of a personalized matrix of media preferences and consumption.

Conclusion

Netflix's significance in my life seems more about my personal connection with films and TV shows than my relationship with the service in general. I am 100% sure that a Blockbuster or GreenCine account would have been just as satisfying as my subscription with Netflix. However, because I began with Netflix (as many people have) it becomes more and more difficult for me to leave. I have a relationship with them; ever since the beginning they have kept a list of my rentals and ratings, as well as a record of my ever-growing, ever-changing queue. I'll admit this attachment is slightly troubling; some people might say that our dependence on these lists of favorites signals the increasing shallowness of our society, wherein our personalities become less about personal characteristics than what commodities we like to consume. However, with the increased availability of all these cultural artifacts, aren't we creating more complex categories that help us define who we are? Some may say there is a fine line between being a fan of The X-Files and a fan of Star Trek, but that difference does matter to many people. Perhaps, in the end, I would say that Netflix has enabled me to look more closely at my relationship with certain cultural artifacts. In looking more carefully at these connections, it seems that we are better able to articulate who we are, where we came from and what parts of us truly matter.

Thursday, March 15, 2007

telling the untold - interview with a documentary filmmaker

When I met Sarah Wolozin for an interview last Sunday, she couldn't help but give me advice on where to point the camera. "Aim it a little to the left and sit in that chair" she instructed. While Wolozin currently works as an academic administrator for CMS, she admits it’s still hard for her to shake off her 10 plus years of documentary production experience. As a child, she had always been keenly aware of the fact that it was the winners who ended up telling their stories, and that the stories of the masses were usually left untold. This initial awareness turned into an interest in print journalism and eventually a stint in Italian television where Wolozin started making documentaries. She was hooked. Wolozin eventually returned to her hometown of Boston, where started working for the documentary company, Blackside. With them, she worked on many documentaries including the acclaimed “I’ll Make Me a World: A Century of African-American Arts.” Throughout the years, Wolozin has continued to produce documentaries for PBS, the History Channel, and the Learning Channel.

While I had casually discussed Sarah’s professional history with her throughout the semester and had even attended her workshop (with the New Media Literacies group at MIT) on documentary filmmaking, I hadn’t yet had an opportunity to discover her thoughts behind the process. Her class had been illuminating in a practical way, but it had also given me a glimpse of the working principles behind her work. I wanted to explore this further through a private interview.

One of the most noticeable things about Wolozin’s interview was her reluctance to pin down one single method or theory of documentary filmmaking. As she states:

“I just think when you say documentary filmmaking…it’s a huge field that encompasses so many different styles and approaches and philosophies and theories and…types of people and methods. The one tie-in is just that it happened…it’s nonfiction…and you’re capturing that.”

Though there are many different approaches to making documentaries, Sarah states that most filmmakers are motivated by the desire to tell a story. However, whereas most fictional narrative filmmakers start their process with a story in mind, documentary filmmakers more often start with an idea or a concept. Some documentaries rely on the straight re-telling of facts (as with some of the pieces Wolozin has worked on for the History Channel), but more often than not, filmmakers incorporate the language of fictional narrative film in their work. She stresses that you must always “look for that drama” when crafting a documentary, and that the process often involves continuously negotiating between sharing the intellectual ideas and telling an engaging story.

This idea of negotiation and balance became a constant theme throughout the interview. As a television documentary filmmaker, Wolozin occasionally worked in contexts where her personal interests came in conflict with the interests of the employer. Wolozin discusses one particular instance when she was pushed by her employer in documenting the story of one artist over another against her better instincts. She states:

“Some stories you’re more proud of and others you have to let go [of]…you have the financial and professional constraints that you’re always measuring, but I think for me, the most important thing [is that] you try to balance that, you try to get on projects that match your own values and that allow you to feel that you are really giving good creative input and creating something that is of value. And ultimately if you don’t think it is of value it’s very unsatisfying.”

Balance is also a key element when looking at the techniques of documentary filmmaking, something that I noticed during Wolozin’s workshop on documentary filmmaking techniques a few weeks ago. While Wolozin advocates creating detailed shooting plans and being organized during the process, she also states that filmmaking often involves following one’s intuition of about “what feels right.” She states that, since childhood, most filmmakers have already acquired an intuitive sense about what looks good and what is compelling through their own experiences consuming visual media like film and television. Because “television is an emotional medium” (a statement that Wolozin credits to documentary filmmaker Rick Burns), instinct plays a large role in creating content for this medium, particularly in creating engrossing narratives. This is not to say that Wolozin shuns professional training (she actually advocates going to film school, because it gives you freedom from professional constraints and allows you an opportunity to experiment), but rather she states: “[there are] a lot of different ways to learn, and I don’t think any one way is better than the other, I just think you go for what works for you, what works better for you.”

Instinct is also an important element in interviewing, which Wolozin calls a “key element in documentary film.” While a documentary filmmaker’s main motivation may be to tell a story, they usually must tell this story through characters in the film, and through interviews with these characters. Wolozin says that documentaries are often “a balance [between]… intellectual grit and charisma of the characters.” Instinct comes into play in multiple levels during the interview process. First, a filmmaker must rely on his or her instincts when choosing the people to interview. This is more important in documentary because as Wolozin states:

“The…thing is, you don’t really know how your people are going to act or what they’re going to do and you can’t control them because they’re not actors. And so you gotta pick them in the beginning and pick them right, or your story flops because ultimately it is about a character.”

Of course, this is only the beginning- instinct must also carry a filmmaker into the interview itself. Wolozin speaks about some of the qualities that make a good interviewer (and thus a good documentary filmmaker): “Everyone has access to the principals of what makes a good character, it’s that sort of deeper understanding or ability that allows some people to hit it on the nail, while others don’t.” While some documentary filmmakers like to distance themselves and rely on their position as an authority during an interview, Wolozin likes interviewers who are more subtle in their approach. She highlights characteristics such as being “non-threatening,” and being able to carefully listen and observe in order to establish a relationship with a subject. By making them more comfortable during the interview (“like a good therapist” she says), the filmmaker may find it easier for subjects to open up during the interview. This technique, while successful in terms of getting to the heart of the story, may also lead to compromising situations. Wolozin discusses her personal experience with interviews, when people may occasionally veer off into emotional territory that might have nothing to do with the documentary. She says:

“You have this ethical moment, well do I go for the gold and get them to cry more and use that, or do I protect them, and say, you know, that’s not really something you probably want out on national television… or it’s something I’m just not going to use.”

A feeling of exploitation and manipulation comes up often during the documentary process, and it becomes important for a documentary filmmaker to maintain a sense of balance, as Wolozin states:

“I am thinking of …their own best interests and what they might really want or not want on television so I will protect them… although if it’s something I need, I’ll take it too… .so I try to balance what I need with what they need too.”

This continual negotiation is something that Wolozin dealt with constantly while working on a documentary called “Untold Stories of the ER” for the Learning Channel. Wolozin struggled ethically with this series, constantly questioning whether or not “people’s most horrendous moments” should be documented on television as “entertainment for the masses.” While personally questioning the morality of the documentary, Wolozin encountered a number of doctors who justified their participation on the show (they claimed that they might inspire some young people to become doctors). In terms of her own involvement she says: “you find your ways too, as your going along, to justify some of the exploitation that happens.” One particularly potent experience involved an asthmatic girl who was being profiled for the show. Wolozin describes this experience with the girl and her family:

“On the one hand, I am feeling it, but on the other hand, I’m a producer and that’s my job and so the boundaries get kind of blended and a little awkward because I followed this girl for a good six months and she’s 8 years old, and …by the end, they thought, you know, this is our friend, and I was a friend, but I also was doing my job, and I had this sort of painful last day… and the mom….said to me, ‘So if she has another asthma attack, do we call you?’ And the truth was, no, the filmmaking was done… and it was this heartbreaking moment…a human moment…and okay, well my job’s over. And it’s moment I never forgot and after, I just like oh God, it’s hard…to balance the ethics of what you’re doing because you’re using live people as your talent… but they are also real people. And you hope that most of the time what you need is what they need.”

In these cases, Wolozin stresses the importance of keeping your eye on the larger goal of a project. While the success of that particular segment of the documentary hinged on the girl’s pain (her continual asthma attacks), in the end, one hopes that it brings more visibility to the issue.

Documentaries are, of course, not always so one-sided. While documentaries can highlight people’s most painful moments, they also often celebrate their successes. Wolozin highlights the rewards of the profession: “It’s a wonderful gift, really, to be… in that position, of telling someone’s story.” She discusses the power of “helping a person’s story get visibility [and the] respect and attention it deserves.” Generally, this desire for social justice is something that is prevalent among many producers in the field. What you find in documentary filmmaking, Wolozin half-jokingly states, is “a lot of really serious people who work really hard” and who “don’t go into it to be famous or rich.” The overwhelming desire to get stories out to the public, “making history, telling stories that [haven’t] been written about” and getting them “seen and heard” by many is something which differentiates documentary filmmaking from some other more isolated arts. While there is an inward journey and process of self-discovery during the filmmaking process, it is usually moving in tandem to another happening or person in the world. The documentary filmmaker is therefore not like the lone painter sitting alone in his studio, rather she is constantly reacting to and reaching toward the outside world.

(written for a class - 3/14/07)

Monday, March 12, 2007

yet another random entry about lightbulbs...

Yes so I was constantly going on about how I have nothing to write about, which I don't necessarily think is a crime anymore. Some people are blogging people and maybe some people are not. But ANYWAY, I randomly blog today. It's spring outside, after a few days of blistering cold last week. How strange. The spring smells so distinctly and it's all over outside.

Perhaps in true spring fashion (since it is a time for change-over and all), the light in my room burned out today. I replaced the 60w bulb (they recommend on the ceiling lamp not having more than 75w) with the only bulbs I had, which are 100w. And suddenly, my life (er- rather my light) has changed! The change in brightness in those 40w has made all the difference. Before it was doom and gloom and now all sunshine-y rainbows in here. My mood has totally altered because of this light... On second though- is it really the change in light I'm seeing or just a change in mood due to the oncoming spring? Who knows. Who cares?

Monday, February 19, 2007

jetblue debacle?

As almost everyone in the Northeast knows, JetBlue has been having a heck of a time with the weather this past week (see this note on their website) - basically facing a huge number of cancellations, angry irritable travellers, and loads of bad press. I myself was subject to the this debacle as I had round trip tickets from Boston to New York. Normally, it's a pretty good deal, not as good as the old time Delta Shuttle travel pack (Eight $50 one ways from Boston to New York or vice versa for students under 25!), but much better (pricewise) the other airlines offering the same service. However, my flight on Friday was delayed (with no apparent explanation besides "Please be patient customers, we will begin boarding shortly" even though we waited around for 45 minutes) and my flight yesterday was cancelled.

I got this notice through email:

Dear Debora,

As a result of system disruptions impacting flights to/from the Northeast we are unable to complete your travel as scheduled. Your flight #1006 on February 18, 2007 for travel from New York's JFK has been canceled. Please call us at 1-800-JETBLUE (538-2583) to discuss options for alternate travel. Your confirmation number is XXXXX.

We thank you for your understanding and look forward to welcoming you onboard soon.

Sincerely,

JetBlue Airways

Being a good little customer, I called the line only to get this (paraphrased) message: "Dear caller, we are experience a high volume of calls today as a result of our system disruptions and therefore will NOT be able to take your call. Please note that we will be offering refunds and reschedules for flights between Feb 14 and 19 until May 22. Please call again at later date to arrange these changes." (or something like that).

I admitted defeat... but hey, I'm not as disgruntled as the passengers who were stuck on the runway for eight hours, or the passengers that I saw at Logan on Friday (several flights to Florida were delayed and cancelled, comments I heard included: "This is the first and last time I'm taking JetBlue," and as a response to "Ladies and Gentleman, the flight to Daytona is cancelled..." "Mom, what does that mean?" and angrily: "It means we're not going to the your uncle's wedding, that's what it means...").

Then, just as I had just about given up on JetBlue (at least temporarily), I got a call two nights ago at 1am. It was an obviously tired airline employee: "Sorry if I've woken you up, but I'm just checking to see that you knew that your flight tomorrow from blah blah blah... was cancelled. I'm calling to see if you wanted to reschedule your flight for a later date or get a refund...etc. etc." It was pretty amazing actually. I realized from talking to her (and the weirdness of the hour) that JetBlue had been calling their hundreds of customers and personally trying to deal with the problem. Needless to say, I got the refund and unlike some of my fellow weekend travelers, I will be flying JetBlue again.