Why I hate subtitles

I don’t argue much with my girlfriend. We might quibble about how we stack dishes, or how to exactly fold clothes Marie Kondo style, but otherwise it is comparative domestic bliss. But when we watch a movie or TV series, I always sigh and ask: “Can we at least try to watch this without subtitles?” She always says no, with the finality of a season-ending episode.

I don’t watch movies to read. If I wanted to scroll through text, I would flick through a book or article. But when subtitles pop upon the screen, your eyes gravitate away from the acting and scene setting as they scroll through plain-white words with a casual pull. I miss the micro-expressions of characters watching the world fall apart, or a blip in the background during a discussion. The tug reels people in and spoils the immersion.  

“But I do watch the acting,” most argue back. “I can read the text and watch the action at the same time.” No you don’t. At best you are vaguely aware of the action, observing the wispy periphery and believing you observe the full picture. You’re not even observing the whole screen; you’re just looking at the sides of the picture, and believing you see with the clear-sighted perfection of the whole world.

Admittedly, modern cinema and sound techniques have led people towards subtitles. We went through a phase where we put people in masks, where we tried to work out what their muffled cries mean. (The most recent example was Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga, where a mask-bearing leader shouts commands with the clarity of curdled milk). We allowed actors to mumble through lines – perhaps accurate to the character, but frustrating for viewers trying to follow the plot. And musicians blast their action remixes in full volume, drowning out what could be poignant moments of language. The techniques filtered towards YouTube and short-form videos, embedding the toxic trait further. 

But the consequence is that a large group of people believe they require subtitles, for every show, every time. That’s not necessary.

I watched four seasons of Succession within a month with my girlfriend – a marathon where even Eliud Kipchoge would suffer. We watched with subtitles, and laughed at the sharp writing. But I then watched some highlights on YouTube, and I realised how much I missed; the sly glances from Roman in the background, or the look of crushed defeat from Kendall. We missed half the movie as we read through 40 hours of content – and I don’t want to go back to try again.