I Wake Up Streaming

The other day, a friend lamented that there was so little he wanted to see at a movie theater. I nodded and heard myself say, “All the more time to stay home with the seething TV.” Then I wondered in horror: How can a movie buff be thinking such things? Are we who love movies living in the best of times, or the worst?

Streaming…what does the word even mean? Does it evoke pretty, rural waterways, a place to dip your toes and to keep the Sancerre cold? Or is the stream a rushing torrent, like snowmelt tumbling off the Sierra? Or a sinister cascade, the blood that gushes out of the elevator in The Shining?

Is the stream our plaything, or are we carried along like corks, at risk of drowning? Once upon a time, film buffs longed to see pictures out of sight, but now over-the-top programming—more commonly called streaming video—is a Library of Alexandria catalog for virtually every film ever made. But wait, it’s too much. We can’t keep breathing.

The true experience of a live video stream is best exemplified by sports. Think about Game 5 of this year’s NBA Western Conference Semifinals. The Golden State Warriors let the Houston Rockets close a 20-point gap to 1. The Rockets were taking over. Then Kevin Durant sank a basket from the right, just a 2, loped up the