Two-and-a-half seconds. That’s how long I’d have to hold your attention, were this a film and not a somewhat contorted start to a column about something else entirely. The typical shot length of English language movies has fallen from roughly 12 seconds in 1930 to 2.5 today — barely enough time for Paul Newman to take a drag on his cigarette and look longingly into the distance — as filmmakers grapple with how to occupy the minds of modern audiences. Evidently, keeping running times below four hours is yet to be countenanced.
At times, two-and-a-half seconds feels like an achievement. On holiday recently I barely managed to read two-and-a-half pages of my book. It was, perhaps, an act of hope over experience to pack it in the first place, given that I’ve not finished one in years. This is neither a boast nor does it tell the whole story, in that I’m a voracious consumer of audiobooks. Robert Caro’s masterful biography of Robert Moses, The Power Broker, clocked in at more than 66 hours of listening and nearly 250 miles of walking. Still, what has taken place in my brain is disturbing.
