The conversation (not)

Well here’s a real pick me up: You know what Kids Today have trouble sitting through, in a college class on films?

Akira Mizuta Lippit, a cinema and media-studies professor at the University of Southern California—home to perhaps the top film program in the country—said that his students remind him of nicotine addicts going through withdrawal during screenings: The longer they go without checking their phone, the more they fidget. Eventually, they give in. He recently screened the 1974 Francis Ford Coppola classic The Conversation. At the outset, he told students that even if they ignored parts of the film, they needed to watch the famously essential and prophetic final scene. Even that request proved too much for some of the class. When the scene played, Lippit noticed that several students were staring at their phones, he told me. “You do have to just pay attention at the very end, and I just can’t get everybody to do that,” he said. . . .

Many students are resisting the idea of in-person screenings altogether. Given the ease of streaming assignments from their dorm rooms, they see gathering in a campus theater as an imposition. Professors whose syllabi require in-person screenings outside of class time might see their enrollment drop, Meredith Ward, director of the Program in Film and Media Studies at Johns Hopkins University, told me. Accordingly, many professors now allow students to stream movies on their own time.

You can imagine how that turns out. At Indiana University, where Erpelding worked until 2024, professors could track whether students watched films on the campus’s internal streaming platform. Fewer than 50 percent would even start the movies, he said, and only about 20 percent made it to the end. (Recall that these are students who chose to take a film class.) Even when students stream the entire film, it’s not clear how closely they watch it. Some are surely folding laundry or scrolling Instagram, or both, while the movie plays.

The students I spoke with admitted to their own inattentiveness. They even felt bad about it. But that wasn’t enough to make them sit through the assigned movies. Mridula Natarajan, a freshman at the University of Texas at Austin, took a world-cinema class this past fall. “There were some movies that were extremely slow-paced, and ironically, that was the point of the movie,” she told me. “But I guess impatience made me skip through stuff or watch it on two-times speed.”

After watching movies distractedly—if they watch them at all—students unsurprisingly can’t answer basic questions about what they saw. In a multiple-choice question on a recent final exam, Jeff Smith, a film professor at UW Madison, asked what happens at the end of the Truffaut film Jules and Jim. More than half of the class picked one of the wrong options, saying that characters hide from the Nazis (the film takes place during World War I) or get drunk with Ernest Hemingway (who does not appear in the movie). Smith has administered similar exams for almost two decades; he had to grade his most recent exam on a curve to keep students’ marks within a normal range.

The smart phone is an incredibly destructive device, and as a society we apparently have the same attitude toward it that a Russian peasant has about the weather, in one of those 19th century novels that asking a contemporary college student to read is about as realistic as expecting them to swim the English channel.

Here’s a vaguely related story (gift link) from an NYU administrator in charge of the cybersomething or the other, about the Goffmanesque perils of AI in terms of the presentation of the self.

A law professor friend who is spending the year on leave from teaching writes ruefully that her understanding is that by next fall she’ll be coming back to try to teach students who have rarely if ever read a whole book, and who are trained to “engineer prompts” rather than “write.” So that sounds fun.

Somehow I don’t think that outsourcing the thinking to machines is going to work out very well.