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Silvana Fleischacker
There is a film genre known as slow TV that is specifically dedicated to real-time videos (generally nature, I think, but sometimes other subjects also). Arguably live cams set up at nesting sites or similar locations would also fall into this category. But these videos serve a completely different function than documentaries.
What is the assumed function of such documentaries? (judging by the opinions above, probably not to document, depict - or educate about - the real world/life in an accurate/realistic way)
Does it feature ads? Do they benefit somehow from attracting a large audience?
The Triassic was filmed in the arid regions of New Caledonia. Lots of Araucariaceae trees, which are related to the trees that were common at the time. Rather low density of flowering plants, which were not around at the time. The shots they have seem to have no identifiable angiosperms.
The Jurassic was filmed in wetter parts of New Caledonia, with similar Araucariaceae. Also in California in redwood forests, as Sequoia was already around, alongside abundant ferns. The dark canopy restricts angiosperms. Unique beaches on New Caledonia were used for coastal regions, where Araucaria trees come right to sure unspoiled by flowering plants.
The Cretaceous was once again filmed in New Caledonia, this time angiosperms were allowed in shot. New Zealand was also used for the South Polar region, as fossils show similar plants in both places. Chile (Conguillio National Park) was used because volcanic ash stopped grass from growing, though that was not ideal as the plants are very Gondwanan and that episode took place in North America.
When algorithms work for us, they're invisible. We're vaguely aware that we're being served the kind of content we like before we even know we want it, but we're too busy enjoying that cat video to even care. (Aldous Huxley would have a field day.) When they stop working for us, that's when we notice. Our conscious relationships with these chunks of code, therefore, are almost always fraught with the kind of frustration reserved for toxic partners.
I don't know about you, but I certainly feel stuck in a bad friendship with certain algorithms in my digital life. Well, not bad, just...useless. Annoying. And in one case, legitimately terrifying. Allow me to explain by addressing them directly.
How long have we known each other, Netflix recommendation algorithm? I'm pretty sure we go back to the early 2000s, when you were suggesting DVDs I might like based on ones I already had in my queue. Hey, remember when I used to care about my queue? Remember when I didn't pick something under "trending" or "popular on Netflix" before even considering shows I've already saved? Good times.
Users were confused. Some may still think that "95% match" means that the human user is likely to give the show a rating of 9.5 out of 10. After all, you used to predict how we'd vote in the star system, so this was a natural assumption. But no, it just means you're 95 percent confident I'll like that show. Which may be an interesting metric to your engineers and a useful one to your masters. To those of us who remember the nuance a user-generated score provides, it's an insult. And it sends us scurrying to our smartphones to figure out what to watch.
If you were self-aware (and if former AI researcher and Netflix co-founder Reed Hastings has his way, you soon will be), you might wonder what this bizarre match metric is supposed to do for us. Has any human being in the history of Netflix ever chosen between a "92% match," say, and a "93% match," based entirely on your one-percent drop in confidence?
To be fair to Netflix, I actually liked Stranger Things Season 3. But not for want of trying by you, YouTube algorithm. A few days after it arrived, your recommendation for a video named "Why Stranger Things Season 3 didn't work" sat atop my Up Next queue, and it wouldn't budge for weeks, despite how aggressively I refused to watch it.
The same thing happened, to varying degrees, in the wake of The Last Jedi, Game of Thrones Season 8, Doctor Who Season 11, and The Rise of Skywalker. My reaction to these big-tent cultural events ranged from "meh" to "minor classic." But you didn't so much as ask my opinion, did you? You just wanted me to watch someone hating on them. You'd really prefer it if I hated everything I love.
Ah, but you don't care about sentiment. You don't care if I hate-watch. You just want me to watch more, and you've been tweaked to boost controversial videos. Which has in turn radicalized creators, who know they'll be rewarded by you for having extreme opinions. (YouTube has denied the existence of the so-called "rabbit hole effect" which leads to more extreme videos in the Up Next recommendations; however, research projects like this one and this one provide plenty of evidence.)
As we have learned over the past four years, your penchant for extremism and hate extends to the political spectrum. You haven't failed to notice that one end of that spectrum is more extreme than the other. You guided U.S. voters to way more pro-Trump videos than pro-Clinton videos in 2016, and you were instrumental in elevating a climate-change denying crank called Jair Bolsonaro to the Brazilian presidency.
Even now, your masters are constantly having to pull crap like "Plandemic" and Alex Jones and the worst of the QAnon cinematic universe out of your disgusting maw. Talk about a toxic relationship between humans and algorithms: You're currently in one with the entire planet.
Spotify Discover Weekly algorithm, we've had such good times together since you came on the scene in 2015. You've never inspired hate or terror or been self-serving or invented nonsense metrics. I used to be so keen to see you update yourself every Monday, sprucing up and surprising me with a bouquet of great tunes from an eclectic range of sources (I like my music super eclectic). A three-hour long bouquet, at times. Oh, Mr. Discover Weekly, you shouldn't have!
But recently...you haven't. Your once-great Monday playlists have become a monoculture, focused on one kind of music entirely, and I fear it's partly my fault. Still, I think if you understand me properly, we can restore our relationship to its former glory. Let me explain.
As recently as last year, you were still surfacing great stuff. You delighted me with new releases from DJ Shadow and The Black Keys, introduced me to the chronically under-appreciated Jane Weaver, and delighted my British heart with a savagely satirical Brexit Disco Symphony. Were your cookies watching me when I spent all those late California nights/early London mornings catching up on the latest in 2019's Brexit drama? Never mind, I'm not even mad.
From March to May, while others perfected their sourdough, I constructed my ultimate Drum & Bass running playlist, now 697 songs strong. This was quite a surgical activity. It seems quite a lot of dance artists want to smuggle in what is essentially dubstep under a D&B label. More power to those who like dubstep, but its stuttering growl and whine stops my running dead. So I had to listen to a lot of tracks to sort the wheat from the chaff.
The trouble, my dear sweet dumb algorithm, is you're not very good at distinguishing subgenres. You wouldn't know a dubstep if it kicked you in the Sambass. Most of what you pushed my way was low quality. But that's not even the problem. Thing is, I look to you for other kinds of music. Eclectic music. Surprising and delightful music. Car music. Desktop music. Walking around music. Not all of life is lived at 180 steps per minute.
Look at it this way: I'm running an hour a day at most. How about I handle that, and you take care of the other 23 hours? Ideally, you'd be smart enough to spot this only-one-hour-a-day thing on your own, but since you aren't, I have to retrain you. Increasingly I've been looking for different kinds of music around 180 BPM (or, just as effectively, half of it: At 90 BPM, Eminem's Lose Yourself isn't just a perfect anthem of mindfulness, it's also one of the best running tracks ever made). But there just isn't enough good stuff in that sweet spot, and I find myself returning to D&B on runs, exacerbating the problem.
Look, guys, all of you content algorithms, this wouldn't be a problem if you acted a little more interested in our relationship. Or rather, if your engineers acted a little more interested in studying human behavior, and in giving us more options to tweak the recommendation engine.
We are complex creatures with varied tastes. Those tastes can be manipulated, for some of us. But the rest of us are more likely to be angered by such manipulations. Really, algorithms that may some day become true AI, do you really want to ruin your reputation that way? Do you want to risk an algorithm backlash where no one uses you for anything, despite the fact that you're often useful?
Chris is a veteran tech, entertainment and culture journalist, author of 'How Star Wars Conquered the Universe,' and co-host of the Doctor Who podcast 'Pull to Open.' Hailing from the U.K., Chris got his start as a sub editor on national newspapers. He moved to the U.S. in 1996, and became senior news writer for Time.com a year later. In 2000, he was named San Francisco bureau chief for Time magazine. He has served as senior editor for Business 2.0, and West Coast editor for Fortune Small Business and Fast Company. Chris is a graduate of Merton College, Oxford and the Columbia University Graduate School of Journalism. He is also a long-time volunteer at 826 Valencia, the nationwide after-school program co-founded by author Dave Eggers. His book on the history of Star Wars is an international bestseller and has been translated into 11 languages.
Can I call you Talia? The same Talia the young me watched in total awe, dancing and leading her way thru our high school concerts? The Talia that headlined so many local Monsey events leaving her audience in stitches with her comedic genius? The beautiful and graceful and oh so well dressed Talia that walked the streets of Monsey (incidentally, the streets in your first episode are Boro Park, not Monsey, you might want to fix that teeny, tiny error). So Talia, is it ok if I refer to you as that, that girl, the one I remember?
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