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The Video Essay Renaissance

When that four-hour long Star Wars hotel video popped up in your YouTube recommended section the other day, did you watch it? What about the six-hour video on EVE Online? And the nine-hour, 30-minute “Sam and Cat” video? I won’t lie, I’ve seen them all. “Watched” probably isn’t the correct word — I’m the type of person that needs background noise for a lot of things. When I’m decompressing playing video games, I like to have a show or video on in the background to listen to. When I’m folding laundry, cooking or cleaning my apartment, I turn on music or a show for something to work by. When I do my hair (a process that can take anywhere from four to eight hours, depending on the style), I can’t just be sitting in silence. I love learning new things, so when I’ve run out of albums or I get tired of listening to another corny procedural, I turn to a video essay. 

Ah, there’s nothing like listening to someone you find funny, charismatic or smart (or, the rare person that is all three of these things) discuss a piece of media, some internet drama, a religious cult, a historical topic — the list goes on and on. You don’t need to take a course on media cultures or mass communication to know why these topics are so compelling. You also don’t need a degree in sociology to recognize that it’s not just the topics themselves that draw us in and keep our attention, it’s the way in which the subject and the ideas are presented; The medium is the message. A great example of what I mean here is the channel Defunctland. 

In the one hour and 43-minute video, “Disney’s FastPass: A Complicated History,” Defunctland creator Kevin Perjurer enlists the help of an industrial engineer to create a computer simulation to test how various types of Disney FastPasses may affect visitors’ wait times for different rides. In the example scenario, parkgoers, depicted by dots, visit the fictional “Shapeland” to ride rides of different shapes (The Oval, The Triangle, and so on). “Class warfare” or stratification between different types of parkgoers with different levels of knowledge of the FastPass system in use becomes apparent through Perjurer’s explanation, and he highlights in particular how the wait times for simulated parkgoers under the FastPass+ model can reach 10 hours. This is when Perjurer reveals that “ShapeLand” is not just a simulation of a hypothetical park, but a recreation of Walt Disney World’s Animal Kingdom; The wait times and statistics presented are accurate to what visitors experienced visiting the park when FastPass+ was still in use. While maybe an obvious twist in retrospect, the pacing of the video — and the level of research Perjurer puts into every Defunctland video — makes the reveal gawk-worthy, especially for those of us who have never been to a Disney theme park and had no idea of the level of planning that visitors must do to experience the rides. 

Perjurer’s videos showcase a commitment not just to documenting the history of theme parks and similar entertainment ventures (especially those within the Disney conglomerate), but to packaging and offering the information in such a way that audiences, whether they are familiar with the material or not, remain enthralled by that niche history. He presents audiences with a well-paced, well-researched video delivered in a personable tone; the style of these videos combines the classic YouTube(r) sensibility with current viewers’ desire to engage with unique topics.

On the surface, the evolution of online video content over the past few years seems to indicate that videos need to get shorter. Of course, viewers’ attention needs to be grabbed early to get them wanting more, but creator trends on YouTube (and TikTok alike) imply the opposite; Channels are making longer content, and audiences want to watch it. One reason for this is YouTube’s shifting standards for being a part of its Partner Program. Back in 2012, the company updated its algorithm to favor videos with longer watch times. Thus, creators began making their videos over 10 minutes long. That runtime only increased as the years went on, with channels increasing from approximately 12 minutes to the more common ~20 minute length. YouTube’s constant goalpost shifts and apparent need to make the professional lives of the creators that populate their hell site proves, once again, its power to materially change the landscape of online video.

Video essays are not a new type of online content, nor have they just been appearing on YouTube in the last year or so. Defunctland videos from over six years ago still stand the test of time, and before that, you couldn’t scroll too far on YouTube without running into someone speaking at length about something they’re passionate about, the form of which could be as unstructured as a “why ___ sucks!!!1!” rant, or a self-righteous, late-2000s atheist’s meticulously planned “takedown” of religion. What is new, however, is the sheer runtime of some of the most recent, most popular video essays on the platform, alongside their high levels of research and, oftentimes, the intriguing obscurity of the subject matter. We’re currently in something of a video essay renaissance.

Where there are large channels like Defunctland with almost two million subscribers creating high-production value documentaries, there are also much smaller channels doing the same thing, like Chuppl and Wait in the Wings for example. There are also highly researched deep dives on everything from movie musicals (Sideways), to internet/fandom archaeology (STRANGE ÆONS) and everything in between. The most common type of video essays include media and cultural analysis. These run the gamut from super in-depth with scholarly levels of knowledge, to more general, inoffensive reaction-”commentary” style videos. The axe I have to grind is with the retrospective, a subset of the video essay with the longest runtime.

Retrospectives are essentially a look back at a piece of media, be it a video game, show or movie any number of years after their initial release to reassess the content. This can be to decide whether it holds up over time, or to simply reflect on something without the influence of the hype that may have surrounded the content at the time. These videos are fairly common across YouTube, but in some online spaces, and maybe to a general population of people who’ve seen the thumbnails, the video retrospective is synonymous with the channel QuintonReviews, run by Quinton Hoover. You probably know him as that guy who makes those really long videos on “iCarly,” “Victorious” and other Nickelodeon sitcoms. Quinton’s been making videos on Nickelodeon properties for over six years, but this “miniseries” on what he calls the Nickelodeon Sitcom Universe (NSU) began two years ago with “iCarly,” took us through “Victorious” and “Sam & Cat,” and reached a climax about a month ago with “We Don’t Talk About Dan Schneider,” which was uploaded 10 days after after the Investigation Discovery docuseries “Quiet On Set.” The runtimes of his videos are daunting. Most of them could be the backdrop to your 9-to-5 if you just left the YouTube tab open – two of them would still be going when you clocked out at 5 p.m. But while I’ve heard chatter about the idea of these videos and how “wild” it is for someone to make multiple videos with such long runtimes, I rarely hear people discuss what’s actually in the videos. 

Quinton has done a ton of work documenting these sitcoms and placing them within the broader context of sitcom history. When he set out to make this series, Quinton stated that he wanted to rewatch every episode of the show and “restructure [his] life around watching [‘iCarly’] being an essential element of it.” From that rewatch, all rewatches after it and from his supplemental research, Quinton very clearly understands how these sitcoms work. He is also painfully aware of their fandom and societal contexts, going as far as making the conscious decision to not discuss or even mention Dan Schneider until “We Don’t Talk About Dan Schneider.” That all said, most of Quinton’s videos on the NSU are dedicated to explaining the plot of every single episode of every season of every show in question. It’s essentially speedrunning a television binge watch —  the biggest timesuck (watching the actual show) has been done for you. 

Though I’m biased as someone interested in media and internet archival efforts, what Quinton does really is a feat. What I don’t understand, however, is the purpose of a film or television retrospective being so focused on retelling the narrative. And QuintonReviews isn’t the only channel that makes this kind of retrospective. Keyan Carlile is another channel focused on children’s sitcom retrospectives, only for Disney properties instead. Mike’s Mic, a channel with just over one million subscribers, also makes retrospectives, uploading plot recaps of television series and movies at least once a month. Mike seems to have started doing this with a video on “The Hunger Games” three years ago, but his most popular uploads are his “appropriately unhinged recaps” of “Pretty Little Liars,” “Gossip Girl” and “Glee.” Like QuintonReviews, Mike’s recaps are literal play-by-plays of the series or film in question (with added banter, of course). If that’s your cup of tea, more power to you, but I can’t help but wonder what the point of these videos is. 

Hardcore analysis isn’t always what we’re looking for when we click on a YouTube video — sometimes you just want some general silliness or a mindless funny video. It’s also cathartic on the part of the creator to speak about something you’re extremely interested and invested in (I am writing right now for a publication whose mission is, in part, to “blab” my fucking mouth), but is there nothing to add to the story of “Glee” than your own voice and a quip of your reaction? Millions of people are watching — I won’t claim that there isn’t an audience for this. But what exactly are we tuning in for, aside from a free audiobook? What has the creator invested countless hours of their time — rewatching, making notes, filming, editing — into?

Retrospectives don’t need to be void of analysis. Returning to QuintonReviews, while the balk-worthy runtime of his videos is mostly from the episode-by-episode plot recaps, there are sections reserved for analysis. The most interesting parts of the eight videos in his “iCarly”/NSU miniseries are intermissions which serve as a showcase for supplemental information Quinton learned while rewatching and doing deep dives of the shows in question. In “The Failure of Victorious,” for example, Quinton dedicates nearly two hours to an overview of the in-universe social media platform and real-world website The Slap, the games on that site, and all other “Victorious” video games ever released. In “The Scandal of Sam & Cat,” there are intermissions dedicated to the miniseries “Lil’ Sam & Cat,” Ariana Grande’s music career alongside Nickelodeon stardom, and the unaired pilot of the Gibby spinoff show, unearthing sitcom history that most fans would never have access to. Some of these intermissions rely on you remembering the show and its plot points, and for that it is helpful to have had someone tell you in great detail everything that has ever happened to the main characters, but the intermissions could easily stand on their own and be videos in their own right. The intermissions are when Quinton is also at his strongest in terms of analysis. Recapping a children’s sitcom is draining; I don’t think the exhaustion Quinton shows is entirely an act. Analyzing that show and being able to show off the media history you’ve uncovered is not just more fulfilling, it’s more compelling. What I consider to be his best video is “How I Rewrote the History of Garfield” from 2020, in which he literally discovers copies of the comic Garfield creator Jim Davis’ made before “Garfield,” “Jon,” that was previously unknown to the public. While the subject matter is ridiculous and the lengths he goes to are frankly, stupid, Quinton is doing important work. He is preserving the history of children’s media, a type of entertainment that many brush off as inconsequential and even dumb. But children’s media in its previous broadcast cable form is dying. It’s important to consider its effect on all of us, and much of that hinges on our ability to contextualize the ways it was produced.

All online videos are battling for viewers’ attention, but, now more than ever, we heavily weigh the opinions and perspectives of those video creators offer. TikTok is less the trendy dance app that primetime news thinks it is, and more a marketplace for ideas. We’re in a video essay renaissance not just because YouTube has forced its creators to make longer videos to stay afloat, but because many young creators are interested in using the medium to opine and speak at length about the things that interest them. 

But the opinion market is bloated, and in the fight to grab people’s attention for 20 minutes (let alone four plus hours), we lose crucial analysis; it seems to me that combining classic YouTube commentary styling with a pseudo-binge watch audiobook is the latest way to keep people watching — you can feel as though you’ve completed something (a show, a movie, a book) without having had to engage with the content at all. I’m not optimistic about the state of media literacy today, especially among groups of people who spend far too much time online, but I am somewhat optimistic about the ease at which people can access and engage with these lengthy, nuanced videos, even if they’re just playing in the background.

Further watching: