The above photo means a lot to me. Let me explain why.
This photo, taken on a hill overlooking the Seattle skyline, shows me, Stephen Tobolowsky, Stephen’s wife Ann, and Jeff Hansen, Program Director at KUOW (the public radio station in Seattle).
We were about a year into The Tobolowsky Files when Jeff approached me to put the show on the air in Seattle, WA. Jeff took a massive chance on us. It was a chance that few other Program Directors would have taken, but one that paid off handsomely for all the parties involved. The Tobolowsky Files is now doing quite well on KUOW, well enough that we were able to sell out an audience of 850 people at Seattle’s Neptune Theatre.
This photograph was taken on the morning that Stephen and I performed The Tobolowsky Files live at the Neptune. Here, you can hear the audio of my intro that evening:
So why the importance of the photo? Because to me, it shows the power of an idea. It shows that with a few committed people, you can put together something of value, something that enriches people’s lives, something that brings them joy and intellectual stimulation. With the perfect confluence of the creative abilities of only a few individuals, wonderful things can happen.
Each of us played a role in this enterprise. This photo was the first time we were all together in one place. I treasure the photo for the moment it captures, but also for the promise that it implies.
Its lesson to me: don’t stop dreaming. You never know what is possible.
[Update: We have negotiated a way to get back on Stitcher. They are now streaming directly from our podcast feed and are showing no ads over our content. My original post follows.]
Stitcher is an extremely convenient mobile app that allows you to subscribe and listen to your favorite podcasts by streaming them (i.e. without having to “sync” them). Over the past few months, I’ve encountered many listeners who have appreciated consuming my shows in this way, and I’ve used the Stitcher app myself a bunch of times. Unfortunately, I can no longer support this service.
Since I learned about Stitcher, I always just assumed that the service taps into the content directly using a podcast’s RSS feed (similar to how Downcast, which is a spectacularly great app, does it). I started to suspect that this was not the case when I noticed differences in audio quality between an “official” episode of one of my podcasts and the Stitcher version of the episode. They were clearly compressing the audio of the show in some way. Compressing makes it easier to listen to the show if you’re streaming it over a mobile data connection, but I wondered what the implications were for show producers such as myself.
I recently had the chance to learn about these implications through a blog post by Nerdist podcast host Chris Hardwick. His post is long and detailed, but it comes down to this: Stitcher essentially creates a copy of each one of your episodes, compresses the audio to facilitate streaming, then serves up that copy via their servers. They also sell in-app adds on this content.
As a podcast host/producer, there are two important implications for this:
1) People are downloading episodes in a way that prevents us from keeping track of these downloads. Whenever we are lucky enough to have a sponsor, that sponsor typically pays us based on how many downloads we have. No Stitcher downloads/streams counted towards these totals.
2) Stitcher sells advertising on top of our content, essentially making money off of our “free” labor. This is a bit unjust on its face, but moreover, as Hardwick points out, this can become complicated when Stitcher’s sponsors conflict with our own.
Earlier today, I requested that both of my shows (The /Filmcast and The Tobolowsky Files) be removed from Stitcher. The representative I spoke with was incredibly accommodating and professional and as of now, both podcasts have been removed.
I know many of you listen to our show using Stitcher and I am deeply sorry for any inconvenience this change may cause your routine. That being said, if you listened to our show via Stitcher, it means we didn’t get to track your downloads and any revenue generated from your downloads went straight to Stitcher (Stitcher has an ad partnership program but why would I enlist in that when I can just sell advertising on my own?). While being de-listed from Stitcher nominally takes away from our exposure, it will maximize our ability to monetize our podcast and thus, will hopefully increase our overall longevity.
In my interactions with the Stitcher representative today, I learned that Stitcher apparently now has a way to tap into original podcast feeds, thus allowing us to keep track of downloads. Obviously this method comes with a number of disadvantages for the listener; most importantly, audio with large file sizes is difficult to stream and can end up costing a ton of data. Nonetheless, we may want to take them up on this option one day.
I’m not ready to do that right now. The problem is that for many months, Stitcher scraped our content, streamed it from their own servers, and sold ads on top of it. I find it objectionable and baffling that any company would think this is acceptable behavior, especially a company that purports to support a community of DIY bootstrappers that is the podcasting community. As a result, even if Stitcher has improved their ways, they’ve already destroyed a lot of trust in my mind. It may be possible for them to rebuild it, but that will take a long, long time.
Last week, Stephen Tobolowsky and I took to the stage of the Brattle Theatre for our first-ever staging of The Tobolowsky Files Live. By most measures, the shows were a success: hundreds of people showed up, most of whom appeared to enjoy themselves (based on the comments I got afterwards and the general “mood” of the room. See also this lovely review from Pajiba). More importantly, Stephen and I got to play around with how we are going to do this thing in Seattle in January, when our audience is estimated to be around 700 people. Subsequent shows are currently being discussed for New York, Los Angeles, Chicago, and maybe even Boston again in a few months.
The Brattle Theatre was an excellent host for us. Not only did they take a chance on what, at this point, is somewhat of an “unproven property,” they also made a whole weekend out of it, honoring Stephen by playing many of his movies in the theater, and by making him the guest of honor at the annual Brattle Gala. Here’s a video of them presenting a gift to Stephen at that gala:
As for my own personal experience, it was, by any measure, a thrill. Many people from the audience had never heard Stephen live, so it was great to be spreading the “Tobolowsky gospel.” Moreover, I met tons of amazing fans, both of the /Filmcast and of the Tobolowsky Files. One couple had driven four hours just to see the show that night. It was humbling and inspiring to see. And it was heartening to know that I had helped to create something that brought people together in a way that I hope was powerful.
Beyond that, there is something magical about the art of live storytelling — the idea that by uttering a few words, a person can change the entire mood of a room, can make you re-think your life, can move you and make you angry, sad, or joyful. Stephen Tobolowsky has this gift. To see him deploy it in an intimate theater with people whose hearts were open is an experience I shall never forget.
A few other snippets of media:
Here’s a video I recorded of Stephen and I chatting before the very first show. I was pretty nervous. Stephen may have been too, but he remained a consummate professional:
I was able to place my iPhone in my front breast pocket before I walked out on stage the second night. The video is almost incomprehensible, as the camera is at an extremely weird angle, but I still think this gives you a sense of what the mood was like for the packed audience that night.
Lastly, here’s a photograph I took of Stephen and Ann on their last day. Her support and encouragement helped to make last weekend possible.
[Update: The creators of FilmPulse have responded to the tidal wave of criticism leveled at them]
Yesterday, I started seeing a few isolated tweets about a new online show named “FilmPulse” pop up on my Twitter feed. Most of them were incredibly derogatory in nature, so I sought out more information on Google. I couldn’t easily find anything, but this morning my colleague Devindra informed me of the details: FilmPulse is ComingSoon’s attempt at a new video film talk show “focused entirely around today’s hottest and most interesting topics.” ComingSoon is a pretty big, heavily-trafficked website, so any attempt that they made into the film commentary/media space was going to be closely watched. In this case, I think the amount of attention went far beyond their expectations.
The first episode just debuted on Tuesday, April 19th, and people had some pretty strong opinions about it. Legendary blogger Anne Thompson was no fan, and Quint from Ain’t It Cool News declared that if AICN had launched a similar show, he would have quit. Even the commenters at ComingSoon didn’t seem to enjoy it. One of them wrote, “This is the worst thing I have ever seen on the internet, and I saw a video of that American hostage being decapitated in Iraq.”
Let me preface the following by saying that I pretty much never write about other podcasts/shows unless it’s to praise them (look through the archives of this blog and you’ll hopefully see that I’ve consistently held to this). I believe that as professionals, it does us no good to tear each other down. That being said, the intense interest and hatred for this show leads me to make an exception, and to try to critically evaluate what is it about this show that inspired such a strong reaction.
I’ve watched the entire 15-minute episode, which consists of a 3-minute discussion between two unnamed hosts about film ranking service Flickchart, followed by a 12-minute interview with Morgan Spurlock with one of the hosts (Update: As Will Goss points out in the comments below, they are actually named with a quick lower-third at around 3 minutes into the show. Their names are Vic and Julian). Let’s take these segments one by one, starting with the latter:
The Spurlock Interview – This is a fairly boiler-plate interview with Spurlock, who is almost always a dynamic speaker. I found nothing particularly offensive about the interview and it seemed as though the interviewer actually took the time to do a little research into Spurlock’s career and tried to ask some probing questions. It’s not the best interview I’ve ever watched with Spurlock, but there is very little that makes this interview worse than what dozens of film/entertainment journalism outlets put out on a weekly basis (except maybe for the host’s egregious mispronunciation of the word “meta”).
The Flickchart segment – This is really what seems to be generating much of the controversy for the show. FilmPulse begins with a rambling 3-minute discussion of how films are ranked, leading to an endorsement of FlickChart. One tweeter remarked that “according to FilmPulse, pre-90s films have no cultural relevancy/artistic merit. I’d have a joke about that but it makes me too fuckin angry.” So what did they say that was so offensive? Here’s a rough transcript of how it opens:
***
Host #1: When someone recommends a movie, there’s a few things you can do to avoid wasting an hour and a half of your time. First point is, is that film privileged as a classic? Is that the context in which the recommender heard of the film? If so, they may be privileging it because it would be politically correct to do otherwise.
Host #2: I think the problem is that we were born at a time when films were getting really interesting. I think there was a lot of really interesting independent filmmaking going on in the early ’90s and we were around for that. Before that, if you actually watch some movies from the ’70s that are considered classics like Bullitt or The French Connection, they’re incredibly boring to people our age because we saw The Matrix when we were 10.
Host #1: And IMDB reflects the trends of those ’70s films particularly strongly. Those were very likely rated by people who saw it when it came out. If I saw a black-and-white film today, it would knock my socks if that’s all I had to compare it against.
Later on…
Host #2: …it’s a new generation. It’s time for the next generation of voices.
Host #1: That leaves room for a tool that actually does a better job of ranking, leaving out the cultural aspect. And that would be Flickchart…
***
There are a couple of things in this exchange that are worth noting. First of all, the hosts never actually say that they subscribe to the views of this “new generation.” But they do strongly imply it. It’s this kind of tone deafness that I think internet film writers are lashing out against. From a presentational standpoint, you only have one chance to make a good first impression. If you devote the first two minutes of your first episode to explaining why the knuckle-dragging yahoos from your generation (which you heavily hint that you are a part of) think some of the sacred cows of film history are “boring,” you are probably going to catch a lot of crap from it.
What’s sad is this: the hosts kind of had a point! The generation of today DOES view films differently. They do expect more flash, more action, quicker edits, better special effects, and so on. But rather than delving into the root causes of this, or evaluating this from a normative perspective, the hosts focus on how to give people what they want, i.e. how to use a service (Flickchart) to circumvent conventional wisdom about classic films. That’s what people find so galling about this opening salvo.
More broadly, I believe the hate against these guys highlights a number of trends. Online film critics are constantly fighting an uphill battle in the realm of legitimacy and credibility. Can quality film criticism still survive in the internet age? Several prominent film critics have decried the democratizing power of the internet, how it gives a megaphone to anyone with an opinion, and how it financially rewards those with attention rather than those with quality. The sight of these two hosts discussing the datedness of black and white films was a direct provocation for these people. After their brutal criticisms were out in the open, the bandwagon-hopping was swift and brutal.
Beyond that, FilmPulse’s first episode, and the furor surrounding it, is instructive in terms of how difficult it is to make a good show as a general matter. From the outset, one needs to be able to answer the question: why should the audience care about what you are about to say? The most unequivocal thing I can say about this show is that the hosts failed to adequately answer that question. That being said, I speak from experience when I say that starting a show is a tricky, difficult, harrowing proposition. If you heard my first podcasts, you’d probably opt never to listen to me again. But that’s what is so great about content-creation: it’s always a process of refinement, of bettering oneself and one’s product. It’s this learning experience that makes the whole enterprise so exciting. And it’s why I can forgive even the crappiest of first episodes, so long as you learn from your mistakes and try to move on.
Will these guys get a second chance to do the same? Only time will tell. Here’s their initial episode. Judge for yourself.
When I first heard of the concept of the TV episode recap years ago, back during the internet’s earlier days, I was pretty baffled. “How could a summary of an episode possibly be anywhere near as enjoyable as the episode itself?” I thought. But browsing through televisionwithoutpity — a pioneer of the form — I got my answer. The summaries were full of wit, insight, and trenchant commentary. Occasionally the humor reminded me of the format of the sitcom itself, an endless series of setups and satisfying payoffs.
There’s a certain art form to summarizing TV, film, or any other cultural element, and former TWoP staff members like Tara Ariano, Joe Reid, and David T. Cole have totally mastered it. But is it possible to transfer this hybrid of humor and pop culture appreciation into an audio format? After listening to their podcast, Extra Hot Great, my answer is a resounding “Yes!”
I’d listened to these guys’ previous podcast experiments before, and while the content was good, I found the audio quality sorely lacking. Thus, when I heard they’d be starting up a new project, I was fairly intrigued. After listening to a few episodes this past week, not only did the Extra Hot Great podcast blow away my expectations, but it has become my new podcast love. I am tearing through older episodes in a way I haven’t for any podcast I’ve ever listened to, and I’m deeply sad that I will soon run out. (Note: While the sound quality isn’t perfect, it’s vastly improved from their earlier efforts and definitely listen-able).
So what makes this show compulsive listening? To start with, each of the guests is insanely knowledgeable about pop culture, to an extent that deeply intimidates me. And while I often find myself violently disagreeing with them (especially Tara), they’re able to communicate their love for TV and film in a way that I find insightful, and that sometimes makes me think, “Hm, I never thought about that episode/moment/series that way before…but that’s definitely the way I’m going to think about it from now on!” We should long for these “Aha!” moments in general, but to get them from a podcast is a special sort of gift.
In addition to discussing recent TV shows and films, there are also some great segments such as “The Canon” where one of the hosts tries to present the case to “canonize” a specific episode of a beloved show, as well as “Game Time,” an ultra-nerdy game show segment that will make any TV junkie feel right at home. A plethora of (what I assume are) painstakingly collected sound clips from all the TV shows discussed are interspersed throughout each episode to spice up the proceedings. At its best, the Extra Hot Great podcast is a celebration of the love of pop culture. It’s a wonderful reminder that these TV shows we spend hours watching each week can illustrate truths about ourselves and, hopefully, bring us together in some small way.
If you have any appreciation of pop culture, I’d urge you to give it a listen. I can’t wait to hear more!
[P.S. Tara, if you end up reading this, I’d love to get you on my own podcast at some point. Let me know if you’re interested.]
I’m usually keenly aware about most of our “competitors” in the film podcasting world (and that word is in quotes only because podcasting is not a zero sum game; people can obviously listen to more than one in any given week). That being said, there are few movie podcasts that I feel truly elevate the genre and offer a good mix of entertainment and information. The ones that come to mind immediately are probably obvious to anyone with even a cursory interest in this field: The Treatment, Filmspotting, Creative Screenwriting Magazine, not to mention the podcasts I’ve mentioned I can’t live without. Aside from these, most of the podcasts that I hear about represent some minor variation of the “Random Guys Talking About Movies” genre, which I have no real interest in, primarily because I produce one of those shows myself (Of course, there are exceptionstothis).
For a time, I felt like Reject Radio fell into the latter, less favorable camp. In my opinion, that show (under the umbrella of Filmschoolrejects) had a rough start but really started to find its voice towards its more recent episodes. However, its host, Cole Abaius, has recently “rebooted” the show with some pretty impressive results. The new format involves interviews with a variety of interesting people (a format I’m attempting myself), as well as an awesome game-show segment towards the front end that will delight anyone who reads these movie blogs on a regular basis.
My only concern is: Man, this must take a helluva lot of work! Hopefully Cole can keep it up. But regardless of whether you’re a fan of Reject Radio you gotta give them props for trying something new and different.
Facebook has recently rolled out Facebook Comments, an exciting new commenting system for blogs and websites. Why is it so exciting? Because it forces people to comment using their real names (or at least, makes it more difficult to continue creating fake ones). TechCrunch has tried implementing the system, and it’s had some pretty interesting results so far.
Steve Cheney, for one, claimed that the new comments were killing authenticity:
People yearn to be individuals. They want to be authentic. They have numerous different groups of real-life friends. They stylize conversations. They are emotional and have an innate need to connect on different levels with different people. This is because humans are born with an instinctual desire to understand the broader context of their surroundings and build rapport, a social awareness often called emotional intelligence.
In the beginning, Facebook catered to this instinct we all have. But FB in its current form, a big graph of people who may or may not know anything about one another, does not. And forcing people to comment – and more broadly speaking to log-on – with one identity puts a massive stranglehold on our very nature. I’m not too worried about FB Comments in isolation, but the writing is on the wall: all of this off-site encroachment of the Facebook graph portends where FB is really going in pushing one identity. And a uniform identity defies us.
The argument is basically: you’re only free to be yourself when you’re not being yourself.
Where did my authenticity come from? I knew that REAL change comes from people putting their necks on the line. I couldn’t remember a time when an anonymous person really enacted change in, well, anything. It’s why I sign my name to everything, even stuff that could get me fired. Hell, I live in an “at will” state. THIS post could get me fired! My boss could wake up tomorrow and decide he doesn’t like the shirt I’m wearing and fire me. People have been fired in Silicon Valley for less you know. Look at all the images from Egypt (and I hope you don’t think I’m comparing myself to those heroes who sacrificed their lives there) but they put their necks on the line and they signed their name to the ultimate sacrifice. They were NOT cowards. THEY LOVE FACEBOOK AND THE VOICE IT GIVES THEM!
As usual, I think the true answer lies somewhere in between. We can’t all be like Robert Scoble. Not everyone has his outsized personality, his willingness to put himself out there, his defiance of any potential consequences that could arise from the things he says. That being said, Facebook Comments seem like they’d be a boon to any website that finds itself in a never-ending battle with trolls. As Scoble points out, for a site such as Techcrunch, “the flow has gone down,” but “the quality has gone way up.” Facebook Comments still have a long way to go to compete with more flexible commenting systems like Disqus, but you can’t really argue with a system that makes your website a more pleasant place to be.
Update: Laura June at Engadget has weighed on this debate with a thoughtful piece on the costs of forcing identity disclosure.
[I]f I have to be the Laura June that my step-mother (who was friends with me on Facebook, back when I had an account) knows when I’m commenting on Gawker, well, my behavior will be much different. In fact, I might not comment at all. The problem isn’t that idea: it is of course, absolutely true. The problem is that very few people seem to be questioning whether or not that is, in fact, a good thing. Because… is it? Am I no longer entitled to some separation between who I am when I’m talking about technology rather than when I’m talking about my political beliefs, should I choose to separate those things? Is a teenager no longer entitled to explore and even comment on blogs about, say, homosexuality, without logging in to Facebook to do so? Does everybody need to know everything that I like? Do they even want to?
If I was that exploring teenager, of course, and the whole world had flipped the Facebook switch, I could always just make a fake Facebook account, for sure. But it seems to me that this is a false necessity, where we force people to lie about who they are, rather than merely enabling them to choose not to disclose who they are to begin with.
