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Ellis J. Sutton's avatar

On the money here Sam!

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Michael Arturo's avatar

As a subscriber, I admire what MUBI represents: curated world cinema and resistance to the algorithmic junk pile of mass streaming culture. And the hard truth is this: the art-house niche is on life support, and MUBI knows it.

People don’t watch films; they snack on content. A two-and-a-half-hour Hungarian slow burn about grief might win a prize in Locarno, but it won’t get clicks on a Tuesday night. Meanwhile, MUBI’s catalog—once a strength—is now an echo chamber. Titles linger too long. The platform seems afraid to take them down, afraid to lose even one thin filament of cultural capital.

The audience, what’s left of it, is split: cinephiles want depth, but they also want novelty. Newcomers, meanwhile, are wary of signing up for what feels like homework. It’s a brutal paradox—being a streaming service that banks on attention spans that no longer exist.

So MUBI made its move. Call it what it is: going corporate, acquisitions, distribution deals, and more star-driven festival bait. Press releases contain phrases like “global expansion” and “strategic partnerships.” It’s the only path left when curation becomes a liability. In a world where movies are losing cultural relevance, art house cinema becomes not a niche but a void that no amount of aesthetic seriousness can fill.

“Success is just mediocrity with good timing.”

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