The evolution of the sci-fi genre, as we know it, and how it has been consumed in the past decades was driven primarily by experience. Culture, in particular, has shifted as dramatically as the vehicles we use to ‘consume’ sci-fi. Now, take a look at the early 2000s. You’ll realize there’s endless nostalgia not just because of how portable viewing devices have become, but also the communal aspect associated with consuming sci-fi. By “communal aspect,” I’m referring to family, friends, and even strangers who are integrated into the narrative of one’s life. This includes the local checkout clerk at the video rental store, alongside friends who are always ready to tag along for an evening of sci-fi exploration.
I developed an intrest in the genre in one of those video stores. One of the things that lingers in my memories are the dusty shelves in the back corner holding all the older sci-fi tapes. Occasionally, you might get lucky and stumble upon a lesser-known title that appeared to have been ignored by almost everyone except you. One day I discovered Silent Running, a 1972 film about a man who saves the last remaining forests of Earth while also orbiting in a spaceship. The cover indeed did look like it had partaken in a war, but the insides told a wonderful story. It was a conversation with a story that was vivid yet melancholic at the same time, reflecting on the isolation and deep ecological responsibility that has remained with me to this day.
The VHS period of time in my life where I made such discoveries was especially memorable because it gave me the chance to explor new narratives while at the same time giving me a chance to rediscover some of my favourite old ones.
With the rise of Netflix, Hulu, and Amazon Prime, the way the public consumed sci-fi shifted. Now, with thousands of titles at our beck and call from the convenience of our sofas, convenience became king. However, though this change showcased the plethora of content scrolling freely at our fingertips, it felt like something was turned off. The sparsely populated, dimly lit aisles filled with outdated boxes alongside new eye-catching packaging offered a unique brand of exploration that the sleek, convenient nanosecond world of the living room could never replicate.
Section II: The Transition from Physical Media to Streaming and Its Effect on Watching Content
There’s a huge difference between streaming and VHS, and its more than just how we access media. Each form fundamentally alters our interactions with science fiction and the underlying narratives that we cherish. During my teenage years, I, like many, engaged with ‘physical media’– a nostalgic era when VHS tapes came encased in a box that was almost as good as a book because it contained a narrative of sorts all on its own. Each cassette tape had its imaginative story where you could ‘read’ with your eyes closed. To better grasp the breathtaking world crafted within the vision itself along with each tape, you could watch videos like “The Future Is Now!” or “Video Killed the Radio Star.” These tapes accompanied you while you visually explored.
And now I don’t even need to take any extra steps such as, putting a DVD in a DVD player in order to enjoy all the additional benefits.
We were allowed to engage with the films we previously enjoyed, giving us a chance to explore newer perspectives and discover captivating new content concerning how those stories were told. It is in this area that sci-fi began to outpace all others, especially regarding “bonus” features that came with DVDs. For example, I purchased the special edition of Blade Runner—I’m aware that this film could single-handedly fuel an entire weekend of discussions—simply to see and hear the documentary about the film’s production.
With the advancement of digital technologies, the significance of these tangible elements to the experience of consuming science fiction shrank. It was no longer necessary to carve out space to showcase one’s collection of science fiction films and shows. With streaming, one could watch The Expanse during a lunch break on their phone or binge an entire season of Black Mirror while reclining on the couch. Everything was available at the touch of a screen. Content was no longer locked behind “culture gates.” Viewers were no longer at the mercy of brick-and-mortar used-DVD stores.
Streaming is an incredibly useful resource, but it significantly changes how we interact with science fiction—the genre that arguably demands the most imagination and exploits the visual experience the most. During the time when people used to go to video stores, they had an adventure waiting for them that offered many opportunities for fantastical coincidences to happen like finding a new favorite movie. Now, there are endless digital resources that can be made easier to navigate with the help of algorithms. Today, one might stumble upon a sci-fi gem while browsing through an online list, but more often than not, it’s just as easy to find beautiful stills placed on pre-made lists. Unfortunately, one sense of discovery such as this has faded, and now, text is just another form of content to be consumed, much like Orwell’s dystopia.
Further, there is the matter of what it entails to rewatch something. Thanks to streaming servies, we can revisit our favorite sci-fi movies any time we want, but it feels a little shallower. Unlike today’s world of renting, owning, or even recording off TV, where you could pick a film of your liking – like The Matrix or Children of Men or even 12 Monkeys – today there is less effort required. Back then, choosing offered something more fulfilling. You had to make a commitment – an honest statement where you said, “Not only am I going to watch this again, but I also intend to fully immerse myself in it.” You had the hassle of skipping ads (which, if it was a rented copy, was a stroke of luck), was keeping count of the nearly three-hour long saga surrounding the crew of the Nostromo, and coming to terms how half the dialogue in the film is utterly incomprehensible due to spacesuits being worn by the rather unfriendly crew.
Streaming services have certainly made science fiction more accessible than ever before. It helps that once deemed niche titles now have the chances of reaching a newer audience. Take Primer for instance; a time traveling film which was very complex for mainstream culture during the VHS era. However, good low-budget cult films like these now have the opportunity to be streamed and viewed by those who are curious. Unlike the past, where technology was limited, these films now have an abundance of technology at their disposal. In the past, there was a sense of physically watching cult classics in stores, but now, all films can be accessed universally through the internet.
Part 3: Reflections on Gains and Losses in The Digital Sci-Fi Era
The experiences I have indexing and consuming sci-fi reveal its multifaceted essence. It is something that can be contextualized as both enhancing and stifling, as something experienced in the darkness and light. I have lived through the VHS era, which was somewhere around the peak of reel-to-reel film projectors. The VHS featured some charm that was becoming extinct during the time when everything was turning digital. As a matter of fact, watching a movie required some interaction with the video medium’s physi- cal constituents and not inanimate “∀” resonance devoid of sunlight.
And how about plugging the VHS into the VHS PLayer? Oh, the excitement of automatonic movements. The mystical “insert, push down, click, open.” Automatic but also requires effort, and best executed in the dark.
A Boi and His Dog is one of the most memorable recollections I have thanks to the local video store. The cover art was a peculiar blend between retro and apocalyptic, portraying a boy and his dog standing on what looked like an inexhausable plain with nothing around them. Even though I had never heard of the film before, just the very notion of a post apocalyptic tale was enough to spark my interest. If memory serves me well, I just went and took the film home. It was the type of film that you wouldn’t be able to find on any A-list, but someways, somehow, it managed to leave a lasting imprint on me.
Finding something that you didn’t know wasn’t looking for, but the perfect example of serendipity, is an enigma that can’t be explained.
Though I avoid binge-watching television, I must say that new genre of sci-fi is incredibly interesting. Even when considering the change to streaming services, which now allow people to enjoy an unprecedented amount of content, with streaming reality shows and anthology films becoming the new norm alongside existing series. To me, it feels as if every piece of content is designed to perpetually encourage subscriptions, but that subscription provides a far greater collection of shows and films, both new and old, than I had access to in my youth.
The availability of streaming services has made it easier to access all types of science fiction, including indie and international ones. This easier access has allowed almost all corners of the genre to find much larger audiences. Even films that in the recent past would appeal to only a niche audience, such as the micro-budget, mind-bending, time-twisting thriller Coherence, or the Swedish existential space drama Aniara, are now able to reach a wider audience and hopefully increase their ‘cult’ fandom. When a sci-fi film like these is incorporated into the already vast conversation of storytelling in sci-fi, it makes one wonder what change it will bring, considering how unpredictable the genre already is.
Yet, with the freedom of choosing what to view comes another kind of loss— the loss of collective cultural experience. Back in the days of VHS and DVD, fandom within sci-fi was often more inclusive in nature. The experience of fandom was something that surpassed the screen, delving into deep imagination, and was commonly shared among fans through discussions revolving around the nearly limitless portrayals of science fiction’s future. Then came streaming, with its algorithms seeming to be tailored to ensure the notion of always “watching something at home.” Though, we must, once more, extend our nostalgia all the way back to those VHS packages intended solely for your eyes that might be found in a genuine video store.
Streaming, in addition, has created the phenomenon of perpetual temporariness. During the VHS era, a movie would just stay idly mounted on a shelf, waiting for its turn to be viewed, sometimes hanging around for years or even decades. In comparison, the existence of sci-fi classics on streaming platforms is extremely unstable at best, depending on licensing agreements and rotations. One day Brazil might be sitting in your recommendations, only for you to wake up the next day to find it has left along with all intentions of watching it soon—unless you are willing to venture into pricey Blu-ray purchasing territory. How is the viewer supposed to watch anything if they’re turned away by the sheer unlikeliness of their selected feature being available at any given time?
But perhaps, this is just a different kind of participation, one that shows how our relationship with varying sorts of media has shifted. When it comes to science fiction, it has always revolved around the idea of adaptation—conceptualizing and giving shape to various worlds, embracing transformation, and pondering what follows next. True, there isn’t as much physical magic in streaming as other services, but the genre has never been more well-situated to tap into all sorts of viewers.
Both nostalgia and convenience are simultaneously on the rise. In this case, people will still feel strong affection for older sci-fi TV shows.
Moving from VHS tapes to streaming services is indicative of a changing relationship with storytelling, including how stories and their accompanying media are consumed. For those who are still old enough to remember the comforting click of a tape being inserted into a player, or the heft of a DVD case, there is a sense of mourning for what once was. But, as is the case with any great sci-fi story, this one is likely not about what is relinquished but rather how we adapt. Evolution is central to sci-fi, and while the ways we watch it might change, we must also remember what the heart of the story is and keep that steadfast.
The power of science fiction is everlasting, regardless of context, be it a worn-out VHS tape or a smooth streaming presentation. It brings us more profound than pondering the world we live in by inspiring curiosity for the future. At the core of it all, Matt Zoller Seitz, author of the recent “The Clear and The Present,” proposes that we indeed possess a means to explore, albeit in a different form than what is traditionally conceived.
