The VHS Revival: A Manifesto for Human Creativity in the Age of AI
There’s something undeniably audacious about releasing a film on VHS in 2024. It’s like showing up to a tech conference with a typewriter—deliberately anachronistic, almost defiant. But when I first heard about This Is How the World Ends, Robert dos Santos’s straight-to-VHS film, I wasn’t just intrigued; I was provoked. What makes this particularly fascinating is the why behind it. It’s not just a gimmick; it’s a statement. A statement about art, humanity, and the cost of convenience in the digital age.
From my perspective, Dos Santos isn’t just releasing a film; he’s staging a rebellion. In an era where AI threatens to homogenize creativity and streaming platforms dictate what we watch (and how we watch it), he’s demanding we participate. Watching his film isn’t passive—it requires effort. You need a VCR, a tape, and the willingness to engage with a medium that’s as imperfect as it is nostalgic. Personally, I think this is what makes it brilliant. It’s not just about the film; it’s about the act of choosing to watch it.
One thing that immediately stands out is Dos Santos’s disdain for AI-generated art. He argues, quite passionately, that if anyone can do it, it loses its value. I find this especially interesting because it taps into a broader cultural anxiety: as machines get better at mimicking human creativity, what becomes of the uniquely human touch? When I take a step back and think about it, his VHS release isn’t just a nostalgia trip—it’s a manifesto. It’s saying, This is what it means to be human: to create, to struggle, to leave imperfections in the process.
What many people don’t realize is that VHS isn’t just a relic of the past; it’s a symbol of resistance. In a world where billion-dollar streamers can bury films with the click of a button, owning a physical copy of something you love feels almost revolutionary. Dos Santos is tapping into something deeper here: the desire for tangibility in an increasingly intangible world. I’m a massive fan of vinyl myself, and I get it. There’s a ritual to it—a commitment. You can’t skip tracks or fast-forward through the boring parts. You’re forced to be present.
But let’s be honest: this isn’t for everyone. Dos Santos admits as much. “I’m asking people to do a lot,” he says. And he is. In an age where we’re conditioned to expect instant gratification, his film demands patience, effort, and even a bit of sacrifice. The image quality will be worse, the format clunky, and the process inconvenient. Yet, what this really suggests is that art shouldn’t always be easy. Sometimes, the friction is the point.
What’s truly surprising, though, is that there’s a market for this. Subreddits like r/VHS are thriving, and limited-edition VHS releases of films like Terrifier and Mandy are selling out. It’s not just nostalgia; it’s a rejection of the sterile, algorithm-driven world of streaming. Dos Santos is onto something here: in a world where everything is digitized, there’s a growing hunger for the physical, the imperfect, the human.
This raises a deeper question: are we losing something by digitizing everything? Dos Santos thinks so. “Maybe we shouldn’t digitize everything,” he says. And I agree. There’s a beauty in impermanence, in the idea that some things are meant to be experienced in a specific way. His film isn’t just a story about the end of the world; it’s a call to arms to preserve what makes us human before it’s too late.
Of course, not everyone will get it. Some will write it off as a gimmick or a vanity project. But that’s kind of the point. Dos Santos isn’t trying to appeal to the masses; he’s trying to connect with a niche—a tribe of people who understand the value of effort, intentionality, and imperfection. As he puts it, “It’s for people who have a specific taste.”
In the end, This Is How the World Ends isn’t just a film; it’s a challenge. It’s asking us to reconsider how we consume art, how we value creativity, and what it means to be human in an increasingly automated world. Personally, I think it’s a challenge worth accepting. Because if we don’t, we risk losing something irreplaceable: the messy, beautiful, imperfect essence of what it means to create—and to exist.
So, will I buy a VCR to watch it? Probably not. But I respect the hell out of Dos Santos for forcing me to ask the question. Because in a world where everything is handed to us, sometimes it’s good to be reminded that the best things in life are the ones we have to work for.
