Isn’t it ironic to start a new column by going back to something old? The other day, I was on the phone with my mom, who was teasing me over how often I would rewatch “Beverly Hills Chihuahua 3” as a kid. Though it’s objectively a bad movie, I’ve probably watched it over 15 times. No one can ever take the mariachi band scene away from me.
I spent much of my childhood returning to what I was already familiar with instead of venturing into the unknown. To this day, my friends curate an ever-growing watch list for me because they think I haven’t watched, and therefore experienced, anything of note.
While I don’t deny that there are great movies I haven’t seen, I find an issue with the assumption that novelty is the best use of my time. Is there truly something wrong with staying in your comfort zone?
When watching a movie for the first time, everything is new to us, so it’s only natural that the more dramatic moments grab our attention. Much of our viewing is about making sense of the characters and the world they inhabit. We want to know who lives, who dies, whether the protagonist gets what they want, or conversely, whether the antagonist gets their way.
“Knowing what’s going to happen doesn’t necessarily make a movie less interesting.”
On a second watch, you can pay attention to everything else: little easter eggs, hidden jokes, an unexpectedly important gesture and seemingly pointless details that foreshadow a major plot event. Knowing what’s going to happen doesn’t necessarily make a movie less interesting.
“Ferris Bueller’s Day Off” is a fantastic example of this — my perception of the film changes every time I watch it. If you know anything about anything, then you know it follows Ferris, a boyish and charismatic high school senior who ditches school for a day of adventures in Chicago with his girlfriend and his uptight best friend, Cameron.
On the first watch, I was so infatuated with Bueller’s charisma that it practically blinded me to everything else, including Cameron. When I opened my eyes, Bueller became a much less enticing character as I realized he begins and ends the film largely unchanged. Conversely, Cameron confronts his fear of his father and learns to make decisions for himself, which matters more than any of Ferris’ antics. Ferris might have charm on the first watch, but Cameron has depth on the second.
Books are no different. I recently finished my 10th reread of “The Sword of Shannara,” a fantasy novel about a young half-elf tasked with finding a mythical sword and defeating an evil warlock. During my first read, I was so caught up in the elf’s quest to save the world that I barely noticed his desire to prove himself, or the pride and budding jealousy he felt at his brother’s accomplishments.
Just because we’ve experienced something before doesn’t mean nothing remains to be discovered. And yet, the impulse for novelty isn’t only about movies or books.
Even the idea behind apps like Letterboxd and Beli encourages a cultural obsession with constantly seeking new experiences. While I don’t have either, I understand the appeal. There’s a satisfaction in showing everyone you’ve watched this niche film or found that speakeasy that’s hidden behind an art gallery. But when we’re so focused on adding something new to our profiles, returning to an old favorite can feel like a missed opportunity. Why revisit the same restaurant if there are hundreds of new ones to review? These apps make it easy to blur the line between curiosity and the desire to be seen trying new things.
I suppose that’s what I’ve come to appreciate about familiar things. No matter how many times I’ve seen the same mariachi band, I’ll still laugh at that scene. I guarantee you, on my 11th reread of “The Sword of Shannara,” I’ll notice things I missed the past 10 times. There are still so many movies I haven’t watched and books I haven’t read, and I’m excited for those experiences, too. I just don’t think discovering something new must come at the expense of appreciating what we already love.
So, go back to what you love. Rewatch a childhood favorite, dive back into that same book, or call someone you haven’t spoken to in a while. There’s a time for the familiar and a time for trying new things. One doesn’t make the other any less worthwhile.
Otto Fritton PZ ’27 has been mastering the art of the solo dinner. He wants you to know he still has friends.