The Bleak Future Of Streaming Suggests A World Without Cult Classics

Critics, theorists, and historians haven't been able to nail down a simple, specific definition of what it means to be a cult film, because it's impossible to tag a shorthand explanation to a phenomenon so vast and intricate. The origins date back to when controversial films were suppressed by the powers at be and only kept alive by grassroots fans and the absolute heroes who refused to destroy prints.

There are the obvious cult films that boast devoted fanbases who show up to every screening and quote every line at the screen, but there are also cult films that exist because they capture a forgotten moment in nostalgia, cult films that speak to a highly-specific lived experience and are therefore forgotten by the masses, cult films that reflect fads of a time period, cult films whose popularity were sparked ironically, cult films that have been reassessed in new ways from the time of release, and of course, cult films that appease the hipster need of "knowing about a movie before it was cool."

But if I had to come up with a definition, I'd say that cult films are those that birth a dedicated audience that understands their love of the film exists on the fringe. Cult films do not fulfill the unspoken requirements of mainstream cinema, and therefore inherently reject the desire to appease the status quo. How a film consummates that rejection can take a variety of forms, but it almost has a "you'll know it when you see it" vibe. For example, "The Big Lebowski" was not a financial disaster at the box office, but it can be classified as a cult classic due to the cult-like fandom that surrounds it, including the legitimately recognized religion of "Dudeism."

Cult films can both resonate with specific subcultures in society or even develop their own. A great example of this is the love of Brian De Palma's "Phantom of the Paradise," a film (and personal favorite) that was a colossal box office failure in every market ... except in Winnipeg, Manitoba in Canada, where the film is still celebrated like it's "Star Wars."

The post-theatrical success story of "Heathers" is rightfully attributed to the home video market, but it's important to remember that cult films come in many forms, and plenty gained their respective followings without the assistance of a Blockbuster membership card. F.W. Murnau's "Nosferatu" was legally supposed to be destroyed at the request of Bram Stoker's estate due to its unauthorized connection to "Dracula," but thanks to a handful of surviving prints, the film is now rightfully hailed as a foundational classic.

As time went on, many cult films were developed through midnight movie screenings, or when movie theaters would program something a bit off the beaten path, curated by good taste and a love of cinema instead of whatever the studios were peddling at the time. This is how subversive, queer filmmakers like John Waters and exploitation mavens like Russ Meyer were able to thrive. By labeling something a "midnight movie," there was an immediate understanding that what you were about to see was special, and likely too much (in whatever way that might mean to you) for your average moviegoer. Embracing a midnight movie felt like joining a secret club of cinephiles, but also fundamentally changes the way a viewer digests cinema.

For example, a film like "Cannibal Holocaust" is known for its violent depictions of cannibalism, with many audiences treating the film like a litmus test of extreme depravity. At the same time, the film is only able to shock by exploiting fears of racism, xenophobia, misogyny, and animal cruelty. Part of the longevity of the film is understanding that it is both transgressive and offensive, and analyzing the ways those truths intersect.

There's also a communal aspect to cult films, whether literally, in the sense of something like "The Rocky Horror Picture Show" or even Tommy Wiseau's "The Room," but also metaphorically. Until very recently, the mockumentary "Drop Dead Gorgeous" was relatively hard to come by, which meant finding another person who was a huge fan of the film could instill an immediate kinship between strangers.

Thankfully, streaming is not the only way we consume media, and as horrific as the trend has been to strip shows and movies from platforms and drop-kick them into the endless void, these projects will never fully disappear. Pirates will become preservationists more than they already are. Laid-off employees will (hopefully) snag things off hard drives before turning in their parking garage badges. While the days of VHS tape sharing have ended, the process of finding cult films is still the same — it's just evolved.

Cult films will always be uncovered in some form, it just won't be the "random page on a streaming app" the way it has been for the last few years. If there's any justice in the world, the word-of-mouth legends of these hard-to-find films will only inspire more people to seek them out, and perhaps we'll even be lucky enough to see a rise in directors' road shows where public screenings feel like the carnival is in town.

Yes, it's going to be harder. Yes, it's going to mean that the normies who don't actively seek these types of films out will be left in the cold until dedicated enthusiasts get loud enough to make an impact. And yes, it does mean that it will take a lot longer for these seemingly "lost" films to find their audience.

But as long as people are making weird, subversive, and provocative films that were never meant to appeal to four-quadrant audiences, there will be those dedicating their time to finding them and making sure like-minded folks can enjoy them, even if it means putting the "underground" back into underground cinema.

We will still have cult films, but they will live on in spite of streamers, not because of them.