The Rise of the Performative Audience

In the opening of this inaugural column, let it be made clear that the views expressed here are solely those of the author. This space is intended to spark dialogue, not to provide definitive conclusions. In a country like Albania, where sensitivities are paramount and personal conspiracy theories often hold more sway than facts, we shall begin by gradually amplifying both the rigor and assertiveness of our commentary. Over time, this column will evolve, offering sharper insights with each edition—unbound by the political affiliations or agendas of your favorite pop-politics Youtuber. So grab your currently favorite flavor of generational trauma and join me in this exciting journey of lukewarm postulates and mediocre writing.

What is up with “homegrown” Albanian cinema? It is often difficult to discern where homage ends and genuine artistic expression begins. While filmmakers like Quentin Tarantino have mastered the art of paying tribute by infusing originality into their homages, Albanian filmmakers seem to fall short of this balance. Instead, we see a tired repetition of the same formula: a handful of singers-turned-actors portraying barely distinguishable versions of the same character with different haircuts, leaving audiences with little more than recycled rom-com scripts and superficial changes. There is a distinct lack of the underlying creativity that should elevate homage into something that captures the unique experience of being Albanian. There have been solid attempts, all of them falling short of creating a meaningful movement or of being more than temporary film festival successes. It does not help that distinct movies like A Cup of Coffee and New Shoes On (Një filxhan kafe dhe këpucë të reja veshur) is overshadowed by atrocious pieces of garbage like Dy Gisht Mjalte and I love Tropoja.

Addressing this issue is no small feat. The film industry is notoriously expensive, increasingly monopolized, and beset by chaos. Albanian millennials, meanwhile, have had little opportunity to develop an authentic cinematic voice, growing up in a country that transitioned almost overnight from rigid state propaganda to the pressures of a free-market economy. This shift has led to a culture that prizes adaptation over innovation, with Albanian stand-up comedians, for example, unabashedly copying routines from mainstream Netflix comedians. As with cinema, the problem lies in our reliance on mimicry rather than crafting something distinct and homegrown. Great art is made because of the risk of failure, not in spite of it.

A country once so isolated from the rest of the world is now eager to consume regurgitated culture, using it as a placebo to brainwash itself that it enjoys the comfort and dignity of the societies that produced the originals. When an Albanian living in Albania sits down to watch the next predictably brain-rotting movie or the derivative stand-up comedy, their enjoyment is a performative attempt even more original than the one they paid to consume. A work that is fully composed of homages and tributes belongs in a funeral home, not in the cinemas of a developing country that prides itself on survival. For a culture to keep surviving, it should eventually stop being an accident.

This blog post explores why people pretend to enjoy work which they know is plagiarized