I’m not sure if you noticed it, but there’s a latency to “live” online conversations. No doubt you’ve experience this. You connect to an online conversation service (WebEx, FaceTime, etc.), you see the faces of the people you want to speak with and there’s a sense of joy … until you begin to speak. Then, because of the slight delay between when you speak and when they hear your voice, you step over each other’s words a bit. Before you know it, you feel like two people standing at an exit door, awkwardly insisting that the other one go first.
Few stories bring to life the real-world experience of latency than Damon Krukowski’ first installment of the “Ways of Hearing” podcast. It was beautifully produced and the sounds provide excellent illustrations of his point. The slight delay from digital processing that Krukowski describes by contrasting digital broadcast television and analog radio can also be found, perhaps more noticeably, when comparing video calls and analog phone calls. To be fair, there’s a whole lot more data to crunch in a video call. On top of an analog signal, the system has to present the users images moving in sync with the audio. Because it would look awkward to have our voices precede our images, the sound (which is a smaller data set and could be sent more quickly) is set to “wait” for the images to be collected, processed and sent together.
This whole process is remarkably fast but networks, despite fiber optic connectivity, still bottleneck with traffic overload and processing limitations. Thus the delay. Thus, also, the awkward opening moments of a video conversation.
Phone conversations, to be honest, aren’t analog anymore. We can’t tell the difference, though, because the network capacity and processing speeds have far outpaced the minimum requirements for transmitting the relatively small amounts of data that is the digital transmission of the human voice. But it only seems small now, in the age of streaming rich-content media.
Remember when downloading a Triscuit-sized video on the Internet took several minutes? Today we begin to stream an entire feature film with no delay. One day — and that day is pretty much here with platforms like Zoom and FaceTime — we’ll watch and listen to each other in full HD video with … no … latency.
Here’s what I’m wondering: Will we miss the latency? Is there some nostalgia to this phenomena? Will we look at movies with aged actors pretending to be kids in 2019, talking on the “video phone” of the day, and the studio will make sure that the phone call has a delay when the actors communicate? After all, no one in the 1940’s thought of radio static as nostalgic and engineers worked feverishly to remove it, only to have it become an essential part of any movie featuring an actor “tuning in” a radio. The static and squeal of the radio dial is nostalgic. It’s part of the experience.
The same is true for vinyl records (I honestly didn’t expect their return). I grew up on these things and, sure, I thought the music was great, but I was that kid who was also happy to move beyond cassette tapes to marvel at the amazing clarity of the first publicly-available compact disc. I’ll never forget the first CD I played on my Sony Discman (Chicago’s Greatest Hits, if you were wondering). It was static free. We did it! I thought to myself … we finally created pure, crystal-clear music!
Then what happens? We start to miss the hiss. That crackle when the needle scratched the grooves on a record might have sounded kind of cool after all. And, beyond the noise, the overall warm and fuzzy tone of the music played from vinyl somehow couldn’t be repeated in a digital format. And we actually got a little lonesome for it. Today there’s a whole generation of hipsters who have no recollection of what it was like to grow up listening to vinyl and that crowd gets the warm fuzzies listening to music on a turntable! It’s universal.
This also happened to film, and you’ll probably know it when I point it out. I learned it when I landed one of my first jobs out of college as a writer-producer. It was the 90’s and the cool video guys in the video sector wanted to recreate the nostalgic, gritty, off-kilter value of film. HD wasn’t a thing yet. We all had standard definition TVs. Local broadcast affiliated stations still dominated airtime. That’s when my boss taught me about something I’d never noticed … film judder.
To make it overly simple: Film stock plays at 24 frames per second (fps). Video plays at 30 frames per second. To make the timing work, a few frames (the fourth or fifth, I think) of the film need to be repeated when converting 24 fps film to play in the 30 fps video world (your TV).
Want to see it for yourself? Play a feature film (an old one like Gone with the Wind that you know was shot on film) then pause and move the film forward one frame at a time (VHS remotes used to always have this feature for some reason). Count as each frame moves to the next. Around the fourth or fifth frame, the repeated frame becomes obvious.
Here’s the funny part: We got used to it to the point that we liked it. When films were converted to VHS and we were watching at home, that film judder was happening all the time. Audiences couldn’t tell you what was going on precisely, but they associated the film judder with feature films and knew it was somehow different than the 30-frame video format they watched each day on the evening newscast. The strange artifact that by all means was a glitch became the cool, je ne sais quoi of film-to-video conversion.
So the video guys used a technique to replicate the artifact called judder. That’s right. They made fake film judder. I remember when we used the effect for a jewelry store commercial. It was completely fake. We could have shot the commercial at 30-frames-per-second … we just didn’t. We made the video camera record at 24 frames per second so that, when it was converted, it looked more film-like … more cinematic, if you will. And it worked.
So let’s add this all up. Technology worked around the static of radio and we wanted it back. Computers were able to remove the fuzzy sound of a vinyl record only to see that audiences wanted that back, too. Then video could be recorded in perfect sync with our televisions, but videographers replicated an artifact of film because that was nostalgic. So this begs the question: Is video-call latency the static-vinyl-record-film-judder of our time?
And the bigger question: Do artifacts like static, judder and latency make us feel more connected to the content? More analog? More human?
