Netflix's Skyscraper Live: The Unbearable Weight of Live Entertainment
The latest offering from Netflix has left viewers gasping for air and questioning the very fabric of live entertainment. Alex Honnold's record-breaking ascent up Taipei 101, a 508-meter skyscraper with three clear stages of increasing difficulty, was witnessed by millions in real-time. The sheer magnitude of this feat is undeniably awe-inspiring, but it comes at a steep cost: the constant awareness that something could go catastrophically wrong.
For those familiar with Honnold's work, such as his Free Solo documentary series, this experience feels like a stark contrast between carefully curated drama and unadulterated risk. While Free Solo was edited to heighten tension and showcase Honnold's exceptional skillset, Skyscraper Live presented an unforgiving, 1.5-hour spectacle that demanded unwavering attention from the viewer.
At times, it felt like watching a long-haul flight in turbulent weather โ moments of sheer panic juxtaposed with stretches of crushing boredom. The Taipei 101's design made for a dramatic backdrop, with steep overhangs and precarious ledges that Honnold navigated with ease. However, as I watched the footage again, my palms grew sweaty at the thought of his perilous final ascent.
The question lingers: should we be actively seeking entertainment based on the possibility of human life being put in jeopardy? While Honnold's athleticism and pluck are undeniably admirable, Skyscraper Live's raw, unvarnished nature left me with a sense of discomfort. I couldn't shake the feeling that I was watching an episode of "Survival Reality TV" rather than a genuine athletic achievement.
Skyscraper Live may stand as a singular event, but the potential for future live events to put human lives at risk cannot be ignored. If Netflix capitalizes on this success by commissioning more thrill-a-minute spectacles with real-world danger attached, it risks transforming the future of television into a Victorian freak show โ and my sphincter can't take that.
Ultimately, Skyscraper Live serves as a reminder that live entertainment should walk a fine line between exhilaration and recklessness. While Honnold's ascent will undoubtedly go down in history, I hope Netflix leaves this particular brand of entertainment firmly behind it.
The latest offering from Netflix has left viewers gasping for air and questioning the very fabric of live entertainment. Alex Honnold's record-breaking ascent up Taipei 101, a 508-meter skyscraper with three clear stages of increasing difficulty, was witnessed by millions in real-time. The sheer magnitude of this feat is undeniably awe-inspiring, but it comes at a steep cost: the constant awareness that something could go catastrophically wrong.
For those familiar with Honnold's work, such as his Free Solo documentary series, this experience feels like a stark contrast between carefully curated drama and unadulterated risk. While Free Solo was edited to heighten tension and showcase Honnold's exceptional skillset, Skyscraper Live presented an unforgiving, 1.5-hour spectacle that demanded unwavering attention from the viewer.
At times, it felt like watching a long-haul flight in turbulent weather โ moments of sheer panic juxtaposed with stretches of crushing boredom. The Taipei 101's design made for a dramatic backdrop, with steep overhangs and precarious ledges that Honnold navigated with ease. However, as I watched the footage again, my palms grew sweaty at the thought of his perilous final ascent.
The question lingers: should we be actively seeking entertainment based on the possibility of human life being put in jeopardy? While Honnold's athleticism and pluck are undeniably admirable, Skyscraper Live's raw, unvarnished nature left me with a sense of discomfort. I couldn't shake the feeling that I was watching an episode of "Survival Reality TV" rather than a genuine athletic achievement.
Skyscraper Live may stand as a singular event, but the potential for future live events to put human lives at risk cannot be ignored. If Netflix capitalizes on this success by commissioning more thrill-a-minute spectacles with real-world danger attached, it risks transforming the future of television into a Victorian freak show โ and my sphincter can't take that.
Ultimately, Skyscraper Live serves as a reminder that live entertainment should walk a fine line between exhilaration and recklessness. While Honnold's ascent will undoubtedly go down in history, I hope Netflix leaves this particular brand of entertainment firmly behind it.