On Re-Watching
Suspenseful. After exiting the theater, my cousin described the film Parasite, the hit Korean thriller that debuted in 2019, in one word: suspenseful. Overall, I had to agree. Several shots were purposely teetering at the edge of anticipation; for instance, in the waning moments of bliss and indulgence, the intruding family is notified that they have to hide within the confines of the house to avoid being caught by the family that owns the home. The audience is left gripping their seats as the family scrambles, rapidly tidying up their mess and hiding under a coffee table as the aristocratic family walks right by them. Will they be caught? Conversely, there are scenes that add suspense in how they are shot. Take, for example, this unique wide-angled shot: one character has their back turned as the other is about to strike them with a rock. The viewer has the full perspective on the entire scene, which takes a few seconds to unfold, forcing them to watch such a dramatic occurrence of events ever so tediously. However, while all these elements are crucial to the film’s composition of drawing in an audience and captivating their unnerving attention, I know exactly what will happen—I’ve seen this movie five times.
I’m a serial rewatch-er. Movies, television, YouTube videos - I will rewatch the same content for years on end without fail. And for years, I didn’t think twice about it. The ideology was simple: I know these forms of media have brought me laughter, tears, joy, sadness, and other handfuls of emotions I wish to recreate. However, it is only recently that I have begun to question why I rewatch when there is constantly new content pumped out every second. Further, doesn’t rewatching the same material degrade the inherent value? For instance, with Parasite, the entire basis of the movie is that what comes next is unpredictable, that its content is shrouded and slowly but carefully revealed to the audience. To rewatch the film is thus an indictment of the director’s purpose, sullying their work.
However, I’ve also thought from my own personal perspective that there is a deeper and perhaps more twisted reason why I choose to rewatch. In a world that constantly onslaughts the next best thing, rewatching old television and movies is my indulgence into the relics that I know will leave me content. In fact, one of my greatest sanctuaries of peace comes in solitude, rewatching the same episode or video I’ve seen again, waiting for the “good parts” and smiling that I am able to recapture this moment for myself. And it’s not like this act is a grand protest—I enjoy that the entertainment industry evolves, that it continues to be a place for innovation and catharsis of the human soul to conjure beautiful pieces of art. However, rewatching is how I hide and escape from a world that feels too fast, that has embraced innovation over cherishing capsules of tradition. From a purely individualistic standpoint, removed from all the ideals of artisanship and experientialism, a large part of me is content with remaining stagnant in time, holding onto what comprises me today and dictates my worldview.
Another part of me also knows that I am scared that when shown a new piece of media, it will evoke new thoughts and emotions, ones that I had no conception of. In author John Green’s words from The Anthropocene Reviewed, “I worry that [in] having confessed this fragility, you now know where to punch. I know that if I’m hit where I am earnest, I will never recover.” In a way, to watch a new form of media and experience something you’ve never felt before feels like admittance, but without the act of self-will or courage—it feels as if your most innate and subconscious emotions were pried out of you. It takes a part out of you and shoves it into your mind forcefully. Newness is overwhelming, and the only refuge I know resides in the comfort and relaxation of rewatching.
Oddly enough, in writing this piece I hope that I evoke some strong emotion from the reader, that I can pull on their hearts and make them feel something. And yet, like most people, I am a hypocrite. I purposely shy away from works of art that are provoking, and still, I long to be revered for creating such pieces. While I acknowledge this contradiction, this doesn’t alleviate or rid me of the weight of being a hypocrite—it simply makes me aware of how confusing and paradoxical my viewing habits are. Yet, perhaps, I’ve come to accept that. I will not stop rewatching films or shows, nor am I ignorant that their artisanal basis is unfounded or that there is so much out there to explore. What I know for sure, however, is that while I am rewatching whatever show for the nth time, I am at peace and tranquility, and momentarily comforted in the distance between me and the world close-by.