The Clip is the Film: Shock as Value is Ruining Cinema

Many people walk into a movie theater nowadays with one thing in mind. Not the plot, not the performances, not even the visual language of the film itself, but a moment — a few minutes, a single shock, a viral clip that they have seen. They scroll through TikTok, Instagram Reels, or X, and they encounter it there — that wild twist, that controversial kiss, the grotesque act on everyone’s lips permeating into the cultural sphere. This out of context clip or whispered-about moment becomes the marketing for the movie. It is the reason why people flock to the theater to watch that one scene. However, the scene then not only becomes the reason for going to the movie but it becomes the film itself, as in many cases, it becomes bigger than the film ever could.

“Saltburn” is perhaps the clearest example of this phenomenon. Although the movie received mixed reviews from critics, it became an instant internet obsession due to two particular scenes — one involving a bathtub, and another involving a grave. These moments were clipped, memed, and debated across TikTok, igniting a cultural quake where people, mouths agape, discussed these moments with everything from disgust to admiration. But what got lost in the noise was the rest of the film. Discussions of the social commentary, the performances, and the story — both good and bad — were drowned out by the screams of “bathtub” and “grave.” Few people online seemed interested in whether the film succeeded as a whole. What mattered was that it gave the internet something to talk about.

This shift in viewer behavior marks a profound change in how the audience can engage with cinema. The touch of movie magic — that surrender to a story and a world for two or more hours — is being eroded. People don’t necessarily go to the movies anymore to be immersed in a narrative, but instead they go to be witness to the moment they’ve already seen in a thirty-second clip online — inserting themselves not into a cultural conversation about the artistry of a director or performer but into the meme economy and culture that this particular scene has sparked.

It’s not just “Saltburn.” A similar thing occurred with “Poor Things,” a film critically heralded, even winning four Oscars. Online, however, just as much of the discussion centered around its graphic sex scenes. Rather than engaging with the film’s deeper exploration of bodily autonomy, rebirth, and intellectual freedom, much of the internet fixated on Emma Stone’s unabashed performance and the audacity of the film’s sexual content. TikToks featured debates over whether the sex was empowering or excessive, but very few seemed to linger on Bella Baxter’s arc or Yorgos Lanthimos’ surreal commentary on society. Here, the provocative eclipses the profound.

However, this isn’t just a content problem — it’s a cultural one. Shock and sex sell. In fact, sex, in particular, has seemingly re-emerged as a dominant force not for developing character through their story but for grabbing the audience’s attention for a few moments that could easily fit into the runtime of a TikTok. Such gratuitous sex scenes have now emerged as key marketing strategies, essentially becoming a new-age trailer or poster. It’s not about what the scene represents, but it’s about what people will say about it online.

It seems like cinema — once a medium that commanded audiences to slow down and pay attention — now has to square up with the speed of a scroll, and filmmakers themselves seem to be aware of this. Directors now seem to build scenes that feel designed to be clipped and circulated — high-impact moments that can exist outside the film they belong to. This reality begs the frightening questions: Does this encourage movies that are less about artistry and more about shock? Are directors going to start making movies for the shock factor alone? Has storytelling taken a backseat to virality?

“Baby Girl” seems to bring these questions to life. The film, an attempt at a feminist narrative of sexual reclamation, falls flat in that goal, particularly suffering under the weight of its desire to shock. The film still had cultural staying power despite its questionable execution, as its content was so bizarre that it became impossible to ignore. People showed up not because they heard the movie was great but because they heard it was shocking, with trends often hinting at the jarring content of the film without actually revealing the happenings.

While this strategy could be a good one to bring people back into the movie theater, when a film’s staying power is not about the performance or story anymore, but is instead about the potential to go viral, directors could lose their ability to produce good art for the sake of good art. They now seem to need to lean into the algorithm — to make something memeable — just for their work to be heard.

Of course, this isn’t to say that films can’t be both provocative and profound or that movie moments cannot enter into the cultural space. In fact, films or film moments becoming pieces of cultural iconography is the bedrock of some social theories, like the concept of camp. However, what’s different from that environment is how audiences are engaging with the movies. When a single outrageous shot can drown out an entire story, when viewers walk away remembering a moment and not a message, something fundamental about the movie-watching experience is altered. The screen is no longer a portal into a different world — it’s a content mine, waiting to be sliced up for the internet.

—Staff writer Avery M. Britt can be reached at avery.britt@thecrimson.com.