There is a clear trend in contemporary filmmaking that grows more apparent each year. With notable exceptions, many of our most celebrated directors have largely stepped back from attempting to portray life as it is now. Directors from Paul Thomas Anderson to Barry Jenkins to Céline Sciamma—figures known for subtle, empathetic work—have increasingly favored period pieces or, when setting their films in the present, often avoided engaging meaningfully with a defining feature of modern life: the online world. A review of Best Picture nominations since 2010 shows only a small fraction of films set after 2010, and among those, very few truly grapple with the uniquely modern conditions that define our era. While Oscar nominations do not tell the whole story, they do reflect broader critical and cultural currents.
This observation is not a critique of individual artists’ choices. Directors should pursue the subjects they are passionate about, and their work is better for that freedom—Scorsese, for example, would likely not produce his best work by forcing himself to chronicle social media. Still, it is striking that cinema as a medium has developed a gap in its vocabulary for expressing contemporary life, especially when film can be so potent at reflecting and clarifying how people live and feel. During the industrial upheavals of the 1930s, audiences found solace and insight in Charlie Chaplin’s Modern Times. Filmmakers like Jacques Tati and Sidney Lumet spent large parts of their careers building cinematic microcosms of their societies. That raises the question: where is the defining modernist satire of the 21st century, and would audiences engage with it?
Part of the reason this gap exists is generational. Many established directors developed their sensibilities long before the rapid rise of social media and other digital platforms. They may have limited practical experience of this environment and less inclination to center it in their work. Equally important is that the full psychological and social effects of the internet remain only partially understood—even two decades after Facebook’s launch—so creating nuanced portrayals can be difficult unless a filmmaker has lived experience in that world.
That said, younger filmmakers might be expected to fill this space. There are many exciting emerging voices—like the Safdie Brothers, Joe Talbot, and Emerald Fennell—yet most of their generation came of age just before social media’s dominance. One notable exception is Bo Burnham.
Bo Burnham has consistently examined the particular absurdities and emotional effects of an unregulated online space. His work resonates especially with young audiences because it springs from lived experience as an early content creator and because it treats the internet as more than a surface of shallow performances. Burnham recognizes, as Lumet and other classic directors recognized their contemporary institutions, that modern platforms reveal complex human behaviors and social contexts. In Eighth Grade and the 2021 special Inside, Burnham moves fluidly between parody and empathy—lampooning performative Instagram posing one moment and acknowledging sincere grief and confusion the next. Inside’s “Welcome to the Internet” brilliantly satirizes the chaotic overload of the web, while the special as a whole refuses to flatten its subjects into caricature. This combination of satire, compassion, and close observation is rare among “screenlife” thrillers and other internet-themed projects, many of which reduce online life to gimmicks or spectacle.
Beyond Burnham, a few established filmmakers have experimented with contemporary form and subject matter. Steven Soderbergh, for instance, embraced smartphone cinematography in films like Unsane (2018) and High Flying Bird (2019), and his 2021 thriller Kimi examines contemporary anxieties about connectivity and privacy with a Rear Window–like tension. David Fincher’s The Social Network remains a prescient exploration of the personalities and power structures that shaped early social platforms; its questions about corporate responsibility and the psychological effects of these systems have grown only more urgent with time.
Independent and arthouse producers have also explored internet-rooted stories. A24 released Zola (2020), based on a viral Twitter thread, and Bodies Bodies Bodies, a dark satire of friend groups navigating social dynamics in a social-media-dominated world. Everything Everywhere All at Once, while not explicitly about the internet, captured a modern existential condition of abundance and numbness—its “everything bagel” feels like an absurdist metaphor for informational overload.
Genre cinema has often been quicker to engage with contemporary life, particularly horror and comedy, which appeal to younger audiences. The rise of “screenlife” films—stories told through the screens of laptops and phones—has produced some interesting entries. Searching (2018) offered a sophisticated approach to online life, and Eugene Kotlyarenko’s Spree put a twisted, satirical spin on influencer culture. Yet many screenlife films fall into jump-scare routines or gimmicks, limiting their broader cultural impact. Comedy has been even slower: Ingrid Goes West (2017) provided a sharp look at parasocial obsession and envy, but few films have matched its thoughtful tone since.
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Television has been more consistent in addressing digital-era themes. Series such as Euphoria, Mr. Robot, and Black Mirror have won praise for their nuanced, sometimes prophetic depictions of contemporary issues—from online dating and influencer culture to groupthink and surveillance. The serial format allows TV to balance retro aesthetics, episodic character development, and sustained attention to the ways technology shapes identity. That raises a further question: when will cinema catch up?
Part of the answer may lie with audience fragmentation. The modern film audience is dispersed across many platforms and niches; outside blockbuster franchises, viewers increasingly browse streaming catalogs rather than flock to theaters. Without a unified audience base, producing a single, massively resonant film that captures and shapes public consciousness is more difficult than it used to be.
Another factor is appetite. For many people, especially the chronically online, movies serve as a form of escape from feeds that fuel comparison and anxiety. When someone takes the effort to unplug and watch a film, they may prefer immersive storytelling by established auteurs—Scorsese, Anderson, Jenkins, Sciamma—rather than confronting another depiction of the internet’s draining dynamics. Cinema has always balanced documenting reality with offering respite; there is nothing inherently wrong with choosing refuge over confrontation.
Still, given television’s success and the growing number of filmmakers with firsthand experience of contemporary online life, there is hope that a wave of filmmakers will soon pursue nuanced, authentic portrayals of our digital condition. Art can be crucial to understanding the contexts we inhabit, and cinema would benefit from more artists willing to probe the social, psychological, and cultural consequences of the so-called Digital Revolution. For now, trailblazing figures like Bo Burnham remain exceptions rather than the rule.
Written by Noah Sparkes