Classic storytelling offers clear heroes and villains. Deeper popular media denies you that comfort. Consider The Last of Us (the game and the show). The protagonist, Joel, commits an act of universe-level selfishness—saving Ellie at the cost of a potential cure for humanity. The narrative doesn’t condemn or celebrate him. It forces you to sit in the discomfort: Would I do the same? What does that say about love, or about me? Similarly, Marvel’s Infinity Saga succeeded not despite its villain Thanos, but because he articulated a twisted, internally logical environmental Malthusianism that made audiences argue . A shallow story tells you who is right. A deep story makes you question what “right” even means.
A teenager arguing about moral utilitarianism via The Good Place is doing philosophy. A watercooler debate about whether Walter White was “always bad” or “became bad” is a rehearsal in tragedy and character transformation. A TikTok essay on the queer coding in Yellowjackets is an act of close reading. The medium is not the message. The depth is the message. deeper xxx
The most compelling shift in 21st-century entertainment is not the decline of depth, but its migration. Deeper entertainment content is no longer the sole province of film festival darlings or 700-page postmodern novels. It has infiltrated the mainstream, disguising philosophy in spandex and existential dread in laugh tracks. The question isn’t whether popular media can be deep. It’s how we’ve learned to recognize its unique language of depth. Surface-level entertainment asks nothing of you. It resolves cleanly, rewards passive viewing, and reinforces the status quo. Deeper content, even when wrapped in familiar genre trappings, operates on at least three additional levels: Classic storytelling offers clear heroes and villains