The Cinema Complex

My €19 Redemption Arc

During my four-month Korean Media and Popular Culture class, the professor showed us the box office sales in South Korea during every single lecture for sixteen weeks. I felt a sense of impending doom every Monday from 4 to 7 pm. As one of the titans of film, Korea has never returned to its pre-pandemic sales. A once billion-dollar industry is now seeing little more than half of its previous success.

Despite my recent harping over Central Station and newly acquired Cineville pass, I am a far cry from being a self-proclaimed cinephile. I haven’t seen most cult classics, I don’t care for experimental, and I am not sure I can even name 5 directors (Greta Gerwig, Bong Joon Ho, Wong Kar Wai, and…?). All I need is pretty visuals and a sensual soundtrack. Despite the University College’s endless pursuit to make a critic of me, I’m blissfully not.

However, following my semester abroad, I came back to Maastricht and decided to dish out 19€ a month on a Cineville pass, rather than streaming services. With a new passion for cinema and a general disdain for Netflix, I started writing this article. Much of this motivation was from my Korean popular culture class. Unfortunately for everyone reading this, you did not get the pleasure of attending Professor Park’s media class. However, his quiet urgency on the state of cinema inspired me to share the best parts of his course (minus the weekly box office charts).

The Film Crisis, According to Park           

Apart from anxieties of declining box office sales, Professor Park had a valid fear for the fate of cinema. In September 2024, two weeks into our sixteen-week semester, Seoul’s oldest cinema closed its doors for the last time.

Many attribute this to the rise of streaming platforms, such as Netflix. The streaming giant has severely altered the media industry. Comparatively, in the Netherlands, the cost for a month of streaming on Netflix’s basic plan is 8,99€, the Dutch cinema chain, Pathe, charges on average 13€ per movie.

Netflix no doubt has a stock of some of the most creative, beautiful, and exorbitantly budgeted films and shows. However, this often comes at a price for the production companies aligned in deals with Netflix. For example, Squid Game, the Korean drama, is by far one of the most popular television shows, and a Netflix original.

Not only did the creators of Squid Game see little profit from the multi-billion-dollar success, but they also surrendered all intellectual property (IP), the rights to ideas and concepts, in their deal with Netflix. This allowed for Netflix to franchise the show, creating stores, merchandise, and even a reality television competition, without returning any revenue to the production company.

This concept is called platform imperialism, or more recently, Netflix imperialism. Netflix, with its large scope as the most popular streaming and television platform, can afford not only to hire top-tier writers, directors, and actors, but it can also afford to out-produce local companies. For example, Korean Dramas (K-dramas) began gaining popularity in the last decade, and largely, their success in Western countries was due to Netflix’s outreach, which allowed their content to be streamed abroad. However, now that the K-drama craze has steadily died, Netflix is not only unwilling to produce more Korean series, but they have also altered the ecology of media in Korea.

Indeed, Netflix uses localisation tactics; they film abroad, using the local tastes and language to craft a show or movie that is not only appealing to local crowds, but also what is under current demand in America. This localisation not only makes it more difficult for non-Netflix producers to compete in their local arena, but it also makes it nearly impossible to have an international outreach.

Even when Netflix teams up with local production companies to produce content, the local companies are stripped of their IP rights, meaning they make no additional revenue if they want to use their creative integrity for merchandise or transmedia applications. They are also poorly paid. Not only does Netflix capitalize on their talent, creativity, and culture, but it also alienates locals from their own success.

Park had had a valid fear of the slow decline of film in Korea, but he was also a bit cynical with a flair for the dramatic and a deep passion for cinema. In the 90s, after the Hollywood ban was lifted, Korea started allowing American movies to be screened again, which many cinephiles saw as a threat to the integrity of Korean cinema, including Park. He alleged that his friend released snakes into Seoul theatres that screened American movies to deter people from attending. I bet that it was Park himself who let those snakes loose, but I can’t prove it. 

Park was full of stories, most of which he told into his microphone in a quiet and demure tone. In our first session, he humbly bragged that he had the opportunity to visit the Netflix HQ in California. He fielded one question during a Q&A session with the board, in which he asked what the biggest threat to Netflix is; they answered that it was TikTok.

TikTok, which has a plethora of bite-sized, short-form content, has dominated the media sphere. This snackable content is a threat in general. It makes us tired because of its low quality and attention-diminishing attributes. This content has demanded our attention and drawn us away from masterful media, like movies and series. 

He also pressed us to buy instead of pirating, he preached this to a room full of broke university students. It was in good taste, but to the wrong audience. Piracy is consequential for the film industry. Between streaming platforms, short-form content, and non-profitable and illegal websites, cinema seems to be in trouble. Yet, despite the cynicism and declining box office sales, I do think there is still hope for film.

Cinema Revival: reincarnated Robert Pattinson and a weirdly long film about brutalism

At the end of the day, I am unsure of how sustainable my 19€ subscription to the Dutch cinemas is. However, I am trying to be optimistic. I have seen many great movies this year. Lumiere is a lovely theatre that also screens older movies in its programme on occasion. I watched one of my favourite films this year, called Centro Do Brasil and even wrote a review hoping it would become someone else’s as well.

I was compelled by Professor Park’s class, but I didn’t have the urge to write this until I attended the movie theatre for a couple of months.  I didn’t want to write out of despair, but rather, out of hope that the media industry, that Hollywood, will continue to make quality films despite it being less profitable to make an artful movie.

Netflix Imperialism is not the only threat to cinema, but recycled IP garbage is also perilous for the movie industry. If you are wondering why there are a thousand sequels and remakes to Marvel and Disney movies, which seem rather unnecessary, it is because the intellectual property already exists, and it is so much cheaper to produce and promote than it is to be creative.  

This makes independent and original movies even more important to the contemporary media landscape. Following the success of Parasite, Korean director Bong Joon Ho released a movie early this year called Mickey 17. As a Hollywood film, it is far from independent, however, it is important for cinema. I thought it was quirky and darkly funny, but I don’t think I will watch it again; it wasn't to my taste.  

Regardless of my take, Mickey 17 had valuable social commentary, a staple for Bong Joon Ho, and was undeniably original. This is vital in an industry overrun by recycled IP. Mickey 17 plays with a lot of philosophical and sociological concepts. It condemns capitalism, neo-colonialism, and the expenditure of workers, by repeatedly reincarnating Robert Pattinson’s character, over and over. He also plays a total himbo, and there are adorable space creatures, all in a 2-hour and 17-minute screening. Perhaps it is Bong’s previous success, but Warner Bros. backing this science fiction movie with a blockbuster-like budget is a win.

The Brutalist also had massive importance in the movie industry this year. The awkward and borderline disturbing hand-job scenes were not at all sexy, but its 3-hour runtime sure was. This is an inherently non-profitable risk. In this age of snackable content, hearing that you must cut out 3 hours from your day is daunting. Yet, this cinema experience was great. The 15-minute intermission even irritated me when I was so immersed in the movie. Regardless, I think there is dignity in the lengthy runtime.  

These two movies, and many others this year, are vital for a thriving cinema culture. Although they can also be screened at home, truly there is nothing as immersive as sitting in the theatre with no light and your phone on do-not-disturb. Cinemas are designed this way to increase engagement, there’s no beating it. 

I don’t have Park’s take on this, and I am cynical to assume that Korean cinema will reach its pre-pandemic glory. Still, I do know that people are still showing up to the cinema when studios are demanding attention and taking creative risks, which is enough reassurance for me. 

I again apologize that many of you did not have the fortune of taking this class, but consider this your invitation to ignore your streaming subscription and go sit in the dark with some strangers. You might just fall back in love with movies, too.