The long and not the short of it

In an age where everything from novels to noodles is abridged for convenience, a curious counter-revolution has taken hold: cult of the 'original length'. Weddings, once mercifully trimmed to a brisk exchange of vows and walk around a fire, now sprawl into Dhurandhar-ian marathons, with mantras longer than many marriages. Guests, trapped in banquet halls, discover that 'till death do us part' may apply to the ceremony as much as the union. Cinema, too, has rediscovered its waistline. Directors' cuts, once the preserve of obsessive collectors, are now the default. A film that could be told in 90 mins is padded to 240, with every deleted scene restored like a lost Rembrandt. Viewers, armed with popcorn buckets the size of oil drums, insist they want the 'full vision' - never mind that many happily nod off before the credits. Even music has joined the rebellion. Radio edits are spurned. Songs must be heard in their sprawling entirety, guitar solos and all. The 3-min song is now dismissed as a cheap snack; the 10-min dirge is hailed as haute cuisine.

This mania for unabridged 'authenticity' is less about art than about status. To endure the full length is to prove stamina, seriousness and cultural virtue. In a world of shortcuts, the long way round has become the fashionable route. The abridged may be efficient but the uncut is now chic.