There’s Not Too Much

The scale of modern entertainment is overwhelming. It’s a good problem to have.

Nina Moran, Moonbear, and Ajani Russell sitting with a skateboard
Photo: Alison Rosa/HBO

Recently, my alarm woke me up at 5 a.m. It was time to watch TV. I had been working my way through Arcane, a series that I would eventually recommend in this column as a must-watch, and I was jamming the series into my schedule wherever it could fit. It wasn’t the first time I had scheduled entertainment the same way I would schedule work—I had previously started playing video games in the early morning in the hopes of keeping up with the new ones, playing Marvel’s Spider-Man at dawn before even walking the dog, eating cereal, or going to work. Before that, it was preplanning my podcasts based on their run times to clear the maximum number of episodes from my feed before my real day began.

Entertainment had become my prework, and at my sleepiest I risked joining the chorus of every entertainment writer who has asked their version of the same questions: Is there too much TV? Are there too many movies? Is there too much culture? I never wanted to join those writers, though they do have a point. With almost 500 scripted TV shows alone in 2020, not to mention movies, podcasts, video games, and music, keeping up with the cultural conversation is harder than ever.

Choosing what to watch can be like the ending scene in The Hurt Locker, when Jeremy Renner stands in the cereal aisle and stares, paralyzed, at his options. But while it’s easy to lament the glut of mass-produced reality shows, never-ending sequels, and mind-bogglingly awful spin-off ideas, I’m reminded of the opportunities that come with the floodgates being opened wider for more content to flow through them—especially for those who have historically been excluded from telling stories.

More stories means broader representation and an end to the days when entertainment was created by, and for, a narrow audience. It means more chances for the types of writers who have previously been left out, as studios hope to capture the eyes (and dollars) of the audiences they previously ignored. Combined with distribution options like YouTube, Spotify, self-publishing, and beyond, cultural production now involves less gatekeeping and smaller gates.

That may also mean more trash gets produced—but only in terms of sheer volume, not ratio. Nostalgia would trick us into believing everything was better in the past, but in my experience, much of what I enjoyed from decades ago is bad—I mean, really bad—upon revisitation. Girlfriends is not how I remember it, Law & Order spin-offs like Conviction and Trial by Jury were more bad than good, and many beloved movie classics don’t hold up very well.

Today’s media landscape leaves us with more work sifting through the sand to find the treasure, but there are a lot more treasures. I love reading your recommendations—I asked for movies you love in last week’s Humans Being specifically to help me narrow down what to watch between Christmas and New Year’s Day—and I’m grateful for the opportunity to comb through all the wonders we have right beneath our feet.

I’ve recently adopted a new way of tracking all of the TV shows, movies, books, and Broadway shows I’ve been recommended. If you like to keep organized and have an iPhone, the Reminders app offers a way to make lists that I’ve found extremely helpful (you can read a longer explanation here). It’s especially useful for me since I can organize my list across any medium, but there are streaming-specific options that you might use as well, like IMDb or JustWatch.

Thanks to those of you who emailed me what they’re looking forward to watching in December. Everyone seems to be anticipating Licorice Pizza and The Tragedy of Macbeth, but no one mentioned The Matrix Resurrections or Spider-Man: No Way Home, so clearly I have more work to do.

My favorite email came from Caitlin, though, who pointed out a brief scene from Arcane that makes it less than perfect. In the first episode, as the series reveals Piltover’s underbelly, it briefly shows a nameless transgender woman. The purpose of the scene is clear—it’s a short montage to introduce viewers to the under-city’s squalor—and it uses that unnamed trans character in service of that. The scene is a cheap tool that reflects an implicit transphobia, and someone should have caught it. But they didn’t, and it’s worth pointing out, so thanks to fans who pointed it out, and to Caitlin for telling me.

This week’s giveaway is The Midnight Library, by Matt Haig, about a woman who wants to end her life and is shown the many ways that her different choices would turn out. It’s very It’s a Wonderful Life—a Hallmark card of a book for anyone who might enjoy that kind of thing as we start a new year. If you’re interested, send me an email telling me the minimum income you think would make you financially content, and I’ll send the book to the first person who hits my inbox. You can reach me at humansbeing@theatlantic.com, or find me on Twitter @JordanMCalhoun.

Until then, 32 days until Saga returns.

Jordan Calhoun is a contributing writer at The Atlantic.