Why Do Some Directors Cite The Medium Is Not The Message?

The phrase 'The medium is the message' is from Marshall McLuhan, arguing the format itself shapes our perception more than the content it carries. So if someone's saying the medium is NOT the message, they're probably pushing back against technological determinism, emphasizing that content and context still massively matter. Like, a hateful tweet and a profound novel are both digital text, but reducing their impact to just 'they're on a screen' feels dismissive. That counter-argument says we can't ignore author intent, cultural nuance, or the actual ideas being transmitted. I see this debate pop up in book communities all the time—does reading 'Moby-Dick' on a Kindle versus a weathered paperback change its core message? For me, the tactile experience and absence of hyperlinks might affect my focus, but Ishmael's existential musings remain central. The 'medium is not the message' stance insists the story's soul survives the platform. It’s a useful correction when discussions about audiobooks versus print get too reductive, as if the format alone dictates literary value.

I get excited thinking about this because it flips a tidy slogan on its head and forces you to look at movies like living, breathing conversations. When people say the medium is not the message they’re pushing back against Marshall McLuhan’s claim in 'Understanding Media' and insisting that content, context, intention, and audience interpretation matter just as much — sometimes more — than the technology carrying the film. For me this idea pushes film theory away from technological determinism and back toward things like ideology, authorship, and spectator experience. It’s why debates about preservation, translation, and censorship are as important as debates about 35mm versus digital. Bazin’s love of the long take in 'What is Cinema?' sits beside Eisenstein’s montage; both are medium-sensitive, but when you say the medium is not the whole message you allow for social context, reception history, and industry conditions to reshape meaning. Practically, that perspective opens film studies to adaptation studies, fan practices, and platform effects: a scene streamed on a phone while someone scrolls Twitter functions differently than the same scene in a dark theater. I tend to think of films as ecosystems — medium helps form them, but it’s not the sole storyteller — and that complexity is why I keep going back to old movies with new eyes.

There are mornings when I wake up scrolling through a feed and I feel like the old slogan 'the medium is the message' gets flipped on its head. Back when that phrase was coined, people were trying to point out how the delivery system shapes meaning — and that's still true — but today I think writers need to treat the medium as one ingredient, not the whole recipe. In practice that means I write imagining three things at once: the platform’s quirks (short form vs long-form, autoplay vs text), the audience’s context (commuting, skimming between classes, reading at midnight), and the piece’s core impulse (what feeling or insight I want to leave behind). I often type a paragraph on my phone during a bus ride and then expand it on a laptop later; the piece changes, but the core idea keeps surviving the format shifts. That survival is the real message. So for me, the takeaway is pragmatic: craft work that can wear different outfits. Focus on clarity, emotional hooks, and modularity so your words can move across places without losing soul. It’s a small habit that’s made my writing feel more resilient and, surprisingly, more honest.

Marshall McLuhan's 'The Medium is the Massage' hit me like a lightning bolt when I first read it—it’s not just about media, but how media reshapes us. The book argues that the form of communication (the medium) fundamentally alters how we perceive the world, often more than the content itself. Think about social media: it doesn’t just deliver messages; it rewires how we think, interact, even feel. McLuhan’s playful title (a typo he kept) underscores how media 'massages' reality, bending it to its logic. What’s wild is how prescient this feels today. TikTok’s short clips train us to crave instant stimulation, while podcasts make long-form ideas feel intimate. McLuhan saw this coming—that tech isn’t neutral. It molds society invisibly, like water shaping stone. His message? To thrive, we must understand how media environments change us, not just what they say. After reading, I started noticing how my phone habits altered my attention span—it’s eerie how right he was.

I get excited every time someone wants to poke holes in big ideas — studying why the 'medium is the message' isn't the whole story is exactly that kind of delicious intellectual tinkering. If I were mapping a route for myself, I'd start in media and communication departments that explicitly teach media history, political economy, and cultural studies. Look at course lists from places like MIT Comparative Media Studies, Goldsmiths (U of London), USC Annenberg, and the University of Amsterdam — they often offer modules that emphasize context, content, and audience rather than technological determinism. For books, pair Marshall McLuhan's 'Understanding Media' with Raymond Williams's 'Television: Technology and Cultural Form' and James Carey's 'Communication as Culture' to get strong counterpoints. Add works by Stuart Hall, the Frankfurt School (Adorno/Horkheimer), and more recent writers in media sociology and science & technology studies (STS). Journals like 'Media, Culture & Society' and 'New Media & Society' publish critiques that explicitly reject simple medium-first claims. Method-wise, learn audience research, discourse analysis, political economy, and ethnography — those methods let you put content, power, and use front and center. If you're DIYing, take MOOCs on media theory, join ICA conferences, and pull syllabi from the universities above. I'm always rooting for people who want nuance over slogans — you'll find rich paths and plenty of debates to jump into.

The idea behind 'the medium is the message' is often misunderstood, but it's central to understanding how communication works. McLuhan wasn't saying the content is irrelevant; he was arguing that the characteristics of the medium itself—a book, a TV, a tweet—profoundly shape how we perceive and process the information it carries. A novel read in a quiet room demands sustained, linear attention, fostering a certain kind of introspection. The same story told via a fast-paced, algorithmically driven social media feed becomes fragmented, communal, and reactive. The medium sets the rules of engagement long before any specific 'message' arrives. So, when we ask how the medium is NOT the message, we're usually focusing too narrowly on the literal content. The communication impact is the sum of the content AND the medium's inherent biases. A televised political debate isn't just about the policies discussed; its impact is shaped by the need for sound bites, the focus on candidate appearance, and the constant interruption of commentary. The medium filters and frames the message, becoming an inseparable part of its meaning. That's the real impact: the medium creates the environment in which understanding—or misunderstanding—occurs.

On TV adaptations, I get excited and a little picky — because I’ve seen how a story blooms or withers when it moves into living rooms. The phrase 'the medium is not the message' flips the usual thinking: TV isn't just a neutral channel that automatically carries a book or comic intact. The format shapes pacing, character focus, and what details survive. When I watch an adaptation like 'The Expanse' or the way 'Watchmen' reshaped its source, I notice choices driven by what TV can do: slow-burn arcs, visual motifs that build over episodes, and music that colors emotion in ways prose cannot. Practically, that means creators decide what the 'message' of the source really is and then translate it through TV-specific tools — casting, framing, episode structure, and even the constraints of running time or network standards. Sometimes that leads to changes I adore (a subplot expanded into its own season), and sometimes it disappoints (cutting internal monologue that made a character special). I like thinking of adaptation as interpretation powered by medium-specific strengths and limits — not a betrayal, but a new creation that invites viewers to bring their own memories of the original along for the ride.

I get excited whenever this topic comes up — there’s something delicious about watching a neat slogan like 'the medium is the message' get stretched, probed, and sometimes politely shoved aside by smart people with microphones. If you want shows that go deep into why the medium isn’t everything, start with 'On the Media'. They consistently interrogate how institutions, business models, and content interact; episodes that interview scholars or platform critics will make you think more about power, profit, and human decisions rather than deterministic medium-centric narratives. If you like things a bit more narrative, '99% Invisible' and 'Radiolab' are great because they show how form and content co-create meaning. '99% Invisible' will break down design and infrastructure; 'Radiolab' will show you how storytelling choices (not just the channel) change the message. For explicit theoretical pushback, search for podcast interviews with scholars like danah boyd, Tarleton Gillespie, or Sherry Turkle — many mainstream shows have hosted them. Lastly, if you want an academic angle without the dry vibe, check 'New Books' segments focused on media, tech, and culture. Pair those listens with a quick read of 'The Shallows' by Nicholas Carr or 'Alone Together' by Sherry Turkle and you’ll have a rounded sense of why the message still matters.

I still get a little giddy when I trace a debate thread in a library—there’s something about finding an old essay that takes apart a famous slogan. If you want essays that effectively argue 'the medium is not the message' as a critique of McLuhan, start with the longer, polemical voices that push back on technological determinism. Raymond Williams’ work, especially collected around his book 'Television: Technology and Cultural Form', consistently challenges the idea that medium alone drives social change; his tone is grounded and historicist, insisting content, institutions, and political economy matter. Neil Postman is another must-read: his book 'Amusing Ourselves to Death' reads like a series of essays arguing that form matters but content and purpose decisively shape how media affect us. Beyond those, look at Bolter and Grusin’s 'Remediation: Understanding New Media'—they don’t simply invert McLuhan, they complicate the relation between media and message by showing how media refashion one another and how content flows across forms. Walter Benjamin’s classic essay 'The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction' is older but often invoked in these discussions because it shows how technological reproduction alters meaning and ‘aura’—a useful counterbalance to a blunt medium-dominant thesis. Finally, scholars like Andrew Feenberg (see 'Transforming Technology') and Friedrich Kittler (notably in 'Gramophone, Film, Typewriter') give you deeper theoretical pushback or rethinking: one is critical of reductionist claims about technology, the other reframes media through material and technical systems rather than catchy maxims. If you want primary essays, check journal issues of 'New Literary History', 'Critical Inquiry', or 'Media, Culture & Society'—they often collect rigorous critiques that explicitly compare or reject McLuhan’s phrasing. I discovered most of these by following a bibliographic trail from one footnote to another; it’s a slow pleasure and always yields unexpected connections.

Back when I was pulling all-nighters trying to mod 'Skyrim' and arguing on forums, I started noticing something: designers rarely act like the medium is irrelevant. They might say story matters, or that mechanics should sing, but the tools and constraints always sneak into the final product. I’ve seen this play out in small ways and huge ones. A controller’s vibration or a mouse’s precision changes how I approach a challenge; 'Dark Souls' feels different because its combat window, stamina meter, and camera make every encounter a negotiation. Conversely, 'Journey' uses pared-down input and visual focus to create emotional pacing that a book or film would have to work very differently to replicate. So in practice, I don’t think many designers truly buy the idea that the medium is not the message — they design with the medium’s voice in mind even when they claim to be focusing on narrative or theme. That said, some teams act like the medium is a neutral container: porting a complex PC-only control scheme to touch screens without rethinking interactions, for example. When that happens, the message stumbles. I like games that respect both content and medium, and I get nerdily excited when a dev leverages platform quirks to make meaning instead of pretending the medium isn’t shaping the experience.