Opera, ballet, and the importance of slow art forms for our mental health

The backlash following Timothée Chalamet’s remarks on outdated art forms reveals a cultural hunger for slow art to counteract digital fatigue.

When Timothée Chalamet recently dismissed both opera and ballet as art forms “no one cares about” in an interview on acting with Matthew McConaughey, people had a lot to say. They jumped on the statement, perhaps too swiftly, and the offhand comment turned into a brigade of those defending the arts. Whilst Chalamet presumably meant no harm to those in that world, it began to expose a wider cultural tension.

It was not a question of bad taste or a young actor forgetting his PR training, but a telling moment that translates how we now consume contemporary art. Chalamet has grown up in an era defined by speed, virality, and algorithmic feeds. Just look at his ‘Marty Supreme’ promotion, and how tapped in he was to all current cultural moments in the digital sphere. And whilst commendable in itself, the idea of dismissing slower and more demanding art forms because they don’t fit into the conditions we have grown used to feels like it says a lot about how we value artistic relevance in the modern day.

A lot of what we are exposed in the creative industry, whether that be a 30 second animation on TikTok or a new 30 minute episode of our favourite series, is a short experience. Even Chalamet, whose 2 hour movie requires a longer attention span, knew to utilise short-form in his promotion to hook people into sitting in the cinema for longer than an hour. But opera and ballet are not passive experiences. The performers require sustained attention, practice, passion, and especially, emotional investment. As they unfold gradually, often over several hours, the audience must revel in that period of time. Without it, the shortcuts would discount the value and relevance of these traditional art forms. If it were condensed, then would it deliver the same emotional weight?

As films are marketed into digestible chunks for the generation obsessed with immediate gratification, we have our viral moments memorised before it hits cinemas. Digital interruption has fried our prefrontal cortex (responsible for the long-term attention span). The contained sacrility of cinema is not what it used to be.

The shift has consequences too, on all of us. University College London conducted a study that found regular engagement with live, in-person arts correlates to significantly higher life satisfaction and reduced levels of lonelinesss. Another body of research by the World Health Organisation found that engaging with the arts can help prevent mental illnesses and beat noncommunicable diseases. A major point made in both studies was the difference between short bursts of exposure and long sustained periods, crucially finding that these benefits are most associated with immersive and uninterrupted art forms.

A myriad of cognitive science studies have consistently shown that constant task-splitting (going from your phone to watching TV to listening to music all at the same time) can increase anxiety and quite frankly, ruin our memory and how we retain information. In essence, the way we relax is self-destructive. But there may be a saving grace: the opportunity to fully focus on a single experience.

If you sit through a performance of ‘Swan Lake’ or ‘Carmen’ for example, you are entering a different temporal rhythm. Biologically we have circadian rhythms, but socially they manifest as socio-temporal rhythms. These can be seen in rush hours, work weeks, or seasonal cycles framed around human activity. So then the restless mind can begin to settle… finally. You may have seen it described as “flow state” online, which is exactly what it is, a condition of deep immersion to improve mood, reduce stress, and help add a sense of meaning to life. This kind of pleasure can counteract quick hits, and become restorative for the mind and body.

Away from healing the brain, it also plays an important communal role through shared experience. Watching ballet and opera is a collective activity, shared with friends and strangers all experiencing the same narrative and emotional arc. Arts Council England found that sharing cultural experiences like the aforementioned can strengthen social bonds, and in turn reduce feelings of isolation.

The performers feel the benefits even more. Disciplining the body and mind over a period of time demands endurance, precision, and most importantly, self-awareness and emotional resilience. A study on dance psychology found that dancers have heightened emotional regulation, and musicians have been linked to improved memory and cognitive flexibility.

So whilst the media points to Chalamet as an ignorant symtpom of Gen Z, he is merely the scapegoat that reflects a broader issue. Opera and ballet can be inaccessible, due to financial and cultural differences. They may still be out of touch and disconnected from contemporary life. We rarely see a new performance that isn’t rooted in tradition from the works of Tschaikovsky and Mozart. And Chalamet is right, there are declining numbers in those attending, and in turn, ongoing funding challenges.

But could this be where their power lies? If they were relevant in digital culture, it may take away from how beneficial this art form is for the mind. As we see other traditions, in cinema for example, become adapted for online circulation, opera and ballet have managed to resist this change. It would be difficult to condense the ‘Nutcracker’ into a nutshell performance without losing something pretty important.

The insistence that opera and ballet must be fully consumed without giving way to adaptation means it retains a kind of sanctity. With the current mental health and loneliness epidemic amongst young people, there is evidently a need for these experiences. Instead of dismissing them as a forgotten art, perhaps they are the desperately needed remedy to counteract digital fatigue.