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Henry Jenkins redefines convergence from a technology-centric to a culture-centric concept, describing it as a major cultural shift in which consumers forge new, active relationships with media. For him, convergence does not stop at the technological integration of multiple functions into a single device like an iPhone; it is a macro-concept that resets the traditional hierarchy between media consumers and producers and fundamentally changes how content and culture interact. Jenkins’s theory clarifies that the explosive success of platforms cannot be explained by technological innovation alone [4]. Platforms succeeded because they offered a business model optimized for already-changed consumer behaviors and cultural desires—specifically, the desire to actively seek out content regardless of time and place and to participate in the creation of its meaning.

The concept of media convergence is a complex phenomenon that encompasses three key elements: the flow of content, the convergence of industries, and the migratory behavior of audiences. Digitized content is no longer bound to a specific platform or medium but flows freely across various screens. Previously distinct media sectors such as film, broadcasting, and gaming are now strategically collaborating to survive, blurring their boundaries. Furthermore, audiences actively migrate across different platforms in search of desired experiences, and this very migratory behavior of audiences acts as a primary driver of media convergence. The constant expansion of Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU) film content into Disney+ series, video games, and comic books serves as a prime example [8].

The concept of participatory culture signifies a qualitative shift in media consumption from passive viewing to active participation in interpreting, recreating, and circulating content. Participatory culture refers to the transition toward a mode in which consumers actively engage in the entire process of media production, distribution, and meaning-making [4]. Consumers shape public opinion by posting critiques of original content on social media, predict future developments by analyzing trailers, and recreate originals through secondary works like parody videos or fan fiction. Streaming platforms meticulously integrate this logic of participation into their business models through user ratings, reviews, social media sharing functions, and interactive content.

The concept of collective intelligence is a significant term that refers to the socio-cultural outcomes produced by this participatory culture. It describes a phenomenon where dispersed individuals share and combine their fragmented knowledge and information in online spaces to produce intellectual results of a higher level than could be achieved individually. For example, fans of a drama with a complex narrative gather in online communities to piece together clues they have found, collectively verifying hypotheses to unravel intricate symbols or foreshadowing hidden by the production team. Such activities demonstrate that fandom is no longer a passive consumer base but a social and economic force that can produce in-depth interpretations, sometimes surpassing the creators’ original intent [4]. Collective intelligence explains how distributed knowledge converges into a potent cultural force and is a key to understanding fan culture in the platform era.

Bolter and Grusin’s theory of remediation offers crucial insights into clarifying the complex relationship between cinema and platforms. Their central argument is that no new medium emerges in a vacuum; it inevitably establishes its identity by reshaping its predecessors to gain cultural significance and social legitimacy. In other words, a new medium defines itself not by replacing an older medium but through the process of borrowing and transforming its forms and conventions. Streaming platforms are a prime example of this complex remediation at work, and the contradictory dual logics they propose—immediacy and hypermediacy—provide a useful toolkit for analyzing the user experience on these platforms [5]. This dual logic clearly reveals the paradoxical nature of platforms, which on one hand promise an immersive experience akin to a movie theater, while on the other hand encouraging active user control and interaction.

Remediation is the phenomenon by which a new medium defines its identity through the process of borrowing from and refashioning earlier media. Every new medium is built upon the cultural foundations of existing media, expressing itself by borrowing their languages and conventions. The original series of a streaming platform is a hybrid product that remediates the narrative depth and visual spectacle of film while simultaneously remediating the serialized, episodic format of television. This remediation often manifests as a promise of “improvement,” whereby the new medium claims social legitimacy by vowing to overcome the limitations of the old medium and provide a more convenient, immediate, and immersive experience [5]. Netflix, for example, presents itself as a medium that overcomes both the spatial constraints of the theater and the temporal constraints of broadcast TV. This is a universal pattern that shows media evolution to be a process of gradual refashioning rather than disruptive revolution.

The logic of immediacy, which constitutes one axis of remediation, refers to the cultural desire to erase the presence of the medium itself. This logic denotes a tendency to make the mediating apparatus as transparent as possible, so that the user feels directly connected to the content without any interference. Its goal is for the audience or user to completely forget the existence of the mediating devices—such as screens, speakers, and interfaces—that lie between them and the content, and to become fully immersed in it. Streaming services seek to reproduce the deep immersive experience of the traditional cinema in the living room or on personal devices through technologies like 4K Ultra High Definition (UHD) video, Dolby Atmos surround sound, and High Dynamic Range (HDR) [5]. This is an attempt to provide a sensory experience equivalent to reality by transcending the technical limitations of the medium, a pursuit that reaches its apex in virtual reality (VR) technology.

Representing the opposite cultural impulse from immediacy is the logic of hypermediacy, which exists on the other axis of remediation. Instead of erasing the medium’s presence, this logic aims to make the user acutely aware of the medium itself and to actively interact with its interface. It deliberately emphasizes the visibility and manipulability of the medium over transparency, positioning the user “in front of” the content’s world rather than “inside” it. The user interface (UI) of subscription-based video streaming platforms is a prime example of this logic in practice [5]. Numerous interface elements—such as thumbnails, recommendation lists, play/pause buttons, fast-forwarding, segment looping, and subtitle settings—constantly prompt the user to make choices and exert control. This interface repositions the user from a passive spectator before the screen to an active navigator who charts their own viewing path through an endless sea of content.

Platform studies shifts the analytical focus from visible cultural phenomena to the underlying systems that enable them. It investigates the technological and economic foundations upon which creative expression occurs, defining these foundations as a complex computational system composed of hardware and software. This approach views a platform not as a neutral container for content, but as a technological, economic, and political construct intentionally designed with specific values (e.g., profit maximization, user retention) and goals. The objective of platform studies is to reveal how this invisible structure defines, constrains, and simultaneously enables specific cultural practices [6]. This allows questions—such as why certain genres of series are heavily produced on Netflix—to be answered not just through a surface-level analysis of cultural trends, but through an examination of the underlying business models and algorithmic logics.

The concept of the platform as a system is a foundational starting point for platform studies. It defines a platform as a complex of hardware and software that both supports and constrains creative activity. The invisible technical architectures of streaming platforms—such as video compression codecs, streaming protocols, and data collection and analysis infrastructures—are not value-neutral. These technological foundations deeply influence the form (e.g., the popularization of 4K video) and content (e.g., material targeting a global audience) of the media that circulate on them, and by extension, our cultural experience itself. Therefore, a task of platform studies is to understand how these technical specifications are directly linked to big data strategies [9] and how they subtly but powerfully control the direction of cultural production.

The concepts of affordance and constraint are useful for explaining the relationship between a platform and the content created on it. The concept of affordance, originating from Gibson, refers to the possibilities for action that a particular technological environment offers or encourages to a user [10]. Although platforms do not directly determine the content of media, they exert a powerful, albeit indirect, influence on cultural production by subtly encouraging certain types of expression (e.g., narratives optimized for binge-watching) while discouraging others (e.g., independent short films). The subscription-based business model, which needs to keep users on the platform for as long as possible, gives rise to the platform affordance of a content release strategy that encourages binge-watching by auto-playing the next episode and releasing entire seasons at once. This is also closely related to the operational logic of recommendation systems [11].

Historically, the business model of the Hollywood studio system was based on the strict and systematic control over the distribution process, namely the theatrical window system. A film was typically granted an exclusive theatrical exhibition period (a holdback) of 90 days before being sequentially distributed to other platforms such as home video, pay cable, and broadcast television. This system functioned as a sophisticated mechanism that generated new revenue at each stage and stimulated demand through artificial scarcity [7]. Within this model, a film’s theatrical release functioned as a cultural event that went beyond a mere premiere, heightening public anticipation to a peak and certifying the work’s value [3]. However, this established order now faces a fundamental challenge with the advent of platforms.

The platform model operates on a logic of abundance, the direct opposite of the logic of scarcity maintained by traditional Hollywood. Platforms offer users a vast, near-infinite library of content, promoting a “wealth of choice” as their core competitive advantage. For a low monthly subscription fee, users can instantly stream any content they desire, anytime, anywhere. In this model, content is not limited to an individually sold product, but exists in the form of a massive and continuous flow that constantly streams to maintain user subscriptions. Such streaming networks nullify the economic value of scarcity based on time and place, possessing the power to fundamentally dismantle the traditional windowing system [12]. This has resulted in the reorganization of the economics, technology, and power relations of distribution, shifting the center from studios to platforms.

The COVID-19 pandemic acted as a decisive catalyst in this process of changing distribution methods. As global lockdowns paralyzed the theatrical system, studios were forced to find desperate alternatives. In 2021, Warner Bros. made the groundbreaking decision to release new blockbusters like <Dune>(2021) simultaneously in theaters and on its streaming service, HBO Max, through its “Project Popcorn” strategy. This decision became a symbolic event that not only shook the long-standing relationship of trust between producers and the theater industry but also demonstrated that the shift to streaming was an irreversible trend [1]. Disney also accelerated its transition to a direct-to-consumer model by introducing films like <Mulan>(2020) via its “Premier Access” model, which required an additional fee for viewing. In the post-pandemic era, the landscape of the film market has been reorganized by entirely new rules [2].

In this process of reconfiguration, the screen does not disappear. Rather, it loses its singular centrality in the theater and proliferates explosively into personal, everyday spaces, interconnected through networks. Bong Joon-ho’s <Okja>(2017), produced by Netflix, is an important early example of this shift. The film was invited to the competition section of the Cannes Film Festival but faced intense backlash from theatrical purists because it was not intended for a French theatrical release, showcasing the conflict between theaters and platforms to the world. Similarly, Alfonso Cuarón’s <Roma>(2018) was screened in theaters only for the minimum period required to qualify for the Academy Awards, demonstrating the use of the theater not as a primary source of revenue, but as a strategic launchpad to secure artistic prestige for the work [8]. Martin Scorsese’s <The Irishman>(2019) also revealed the reality that even master directors have become dependent on the capital and distribution networks of platforms, following its limited theatrical run with a Netflix release.

Another significant aspect of these changes is that the social nature of the film-viewing experience is fundamentally changing. Traditional theatrical viewing carries the strong character of a complex social ritual that encompasses the act of watching a film. The experience of laughing and crying together with anonymous strangers while gazing at the same screen in a dark space forms a powerful sense of collective unity, with the theater functioning as a kind of social public sphere. However, viewing through a streaming platform is a thoroughly individualized and isolated experience. The 2020 agreement between Universal Studios and the theater chain AMC to drastically shorten the holdback period to 17 days industrially accelerated this shift toward private consumption. Although asynchronous communication through online communities or social media exists, it is difficult for it to completely replace the sense of collective unity that arises in a physical location. This presents new challenges for the era of convergence culture [4].

Subscription-based video streaming platforms are reconfiguring the entire process of content production by actively utilizing vast amounts of user data, a phenomenon often referred to as algorithmic culture. Algorithmic culture signifies the attempt to quantitatively classify cultural trends, predict potential demand, and scientifically measure the success probability of content by combining human creative judgment with the powerful computational processing of computers. When deciding to produce <House of Cards>(2013), Netflix discovered through its data analysis a strong overlap between three distinct user groups who favored the original British drama, director David Fincher, and lead actor Kevin Spacey. This was a landmark case that proved a new production paradigm was possible—one that could bypass the traditional verification process of producing a pilot episode to gauge market reaction and instead execute a large-scale investment based solely on the conviction derived from data [13].

This change symbolizes a paradigm shift in the content greenlighting process. In the traditional Hollywood studio system, the decision to produce a new film project was in the realm of “gut feeling,” heavily reliant on the intuition of a few senior executives, their past successes, and personal networks. It was essentially a high-risk investment decision based on the subjective judgment of a few experts. In contrast, platforms use as a basis for decision-making all the micro-activities users perform—such as when, what, and how they watch (searches, points where viewing was stopped, repeatedly watched segments)—by collecting this information as data and feeding it into sophisticated demand-prediction models. Through this, they aim to systematically manage the immense uncertainty inherent in the production process and maximize their return on investment [12].

It is more accurate to interpret the data-driven production method not as a radical break from Hollywood’s long history, but as a digital remediation of the traditional ways in which the studio system relied on genre formulas or the star system to replicate success. Traditional Hollywood also used its own forms of data, such as box office results and audience surveys, to predict success and reduce uncertainty [7]. The data-driven models of platforms pursue essentially the same goals: risk mitigation and demand forecasting. The only difference is that the type, scale, and analytical technology of the data used to achieve these goals have evolved incomparably. This can be seen as an attempt to turn the inherently uncertain realm of creation into the predictable realm of engineering, and as part of a digital solution for the entertainment industry [15].

As Matthias Frey points out [16], the “big data” myth that major platforms like Netflix actively promoted in their early days needs to be examined with a critical eye. In their initial stages, these companies tended to intentionally exaggerate the power of data and algorithms. This had a strategic purpose: to position themselves not as traditional Hollywood media companies but as innovative Silicon Valley-based tech firms to be valued more highly in the investment market. Recently, however, the limitations of data have also become clear. For example, Netflix’s ambitious series <1899>(2022) was cancelled early despite high viewership numbers, reportedly due to low completion rates according to internal data, drawing harsh criticism from fans. This shows that data is not a silver bullet that solves everything [14]. Similarly, Amazon Prime Video’s <The Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power>(2022) revealed the complexities of algorithmic production, as its massive production budget did not necessarily translate into critical and commercial success.

The automation of the creative process is another goal pursued by platforms, and it raises more fundamental questions about the future of production. Netflix conducts A/B testing for popular series like <Stranger Things>(2016), displaying dozens of versions of thumbnail images tailored to user preferences. The system learns in real-time which image maximizes the click-through rate for a user group with specific tastes and automatically optimizes it. The interactive film <Black Mirror: Bandersnatch>(2018), which directly collects data on user narrative preferences, is also a concrete example of this automation. More recently, there have been attempts to use AI technology to generate screenplays or automate the editing process, sparking new discussions about the role of human creators and the nature of creativity itself.

The unique and complex narrative forms of series predominantly produced and consumed on platforms can be effectively explained through the concept of “complex TV,” as proposed by Jason Mittell. These narratives share characteristics that clearly distinguish them from traditional television dramas of the past. Rather than each episode having a self-contained story, much greater emphasis is placed on a grand narrative arc and continuity that runs through the entire series. Consequently, these narratives demand a high level of immersion and intellectual concentration from the viewer, offering special rewards for fan activities such as remembering and inferring complex world-building and character relationships. This signifies not just that stories have gotten longer, but that the very poetics of television storytelling has fundamentally changed [17].

The emergence of this narrative complexity is directly and inextricably linked to the unique technological affordances offered by streaming platforms. The new viewing habit of binge-watching has led to a fundamental change in narrative structure. Netflix’s <Stranger Things>(2016) designs an entire season like one long movie, systematically placing powerful narrative cliffhangers at the end of each episode to compel viewers to watch the next one immediately. This viewing environment liberates writers from the commercial pressure of traditional broadcast dramas, where they had to recapture the audience’s attention every week [15]. Furthermore, the absence of commercials has a significant impact on narrative structure, allowing writers to freely design their own narrative pacing and structure without artificially dividing scenes to fit ad breaks.

Binge-watching acts as a driver that transforms not just viewing habits but the very grammar of narrative structure. Unlike traditional weekly broadcast dramas, original series on subscription video services have unprecedented creative freedom to construct an entire season as a single, long story. Netflix’s <The Crown>(2016) covers decades of British royal history over several seasons, achieving a narrative depth and character exploration impossible within the format of a two-hour film. This deep immersive experience is a key factor in increasing user loyalty to the platform and encouraging long-term subscriptions. This is also confirmed by research on the factors influencing the frequency and duration of binge-watching among college students [18]. The anthology series format of <Love, Death+Robots>(2019) showcases a platform-friendly narrative by offering a collection of short films from different directors and in different styles, encouraging users to explore the library.

Some complex shows, such as HBO’s <Westworld>(2016) or Netflix’s <Black Mirror: Bandersnatch>(2018), exhibit a self-reflexive tendency, making the narrative structure itself a central theme of the story. This can be described by the concept of metanarrative. These works prompt viewers not just to enjoy the story, but to philosophically reflect on how media experiences are constructed and whether free will truly exists. <Westworld>(2016) is set in a giant theme park where characters repeat the same narrative every day according to a meticulously designed script, and this setting itself functions as an elaborate metaphor for the series’ production process and the way media constructs reality [19]. Amazon Prime’s <Fleabag>(2016-2019) is an excellent example of narratively leveraging the streaming viewing experience, using the “breaking the fourth wall” technique where the protagonist constantly looks at the camera and speaks to the viewer, creating a sense of a one-on-one relationship through the personalized screen.

The change in narrative form also deeply affects the way characters are built and worlds are established. In platform series that unfold over dozens of hours across multiple seasons, it is possible to design multi-layered character arcs. There is ample time to deeply explore not only the protagonist but also the complex pasts and presents of various supporting characters and their gradual transformations. Marvel Cinematic Universe series on Disney+, such as <WandaVision>(2021) and <Loki>(2021), are prime examples of transmedia storytelling, where individual works are not self-contained but are directly linked to the cinematic universe or provide a foundation for new films. This clearly shows the characteristics of “world-building narrative” in the platform era, which aims for the continuous expansion of the entire franchise rather than the completeness of a single narrative.

The essence of the classic cinematic experience can be defined by the act of collective viewing in a public space. In the special space of a dark theater, anonymous strangers immerse themselves together in a single giant screen, forming a unique and shared cultural experience of emotional synchronization. Streaming fundamentally changes this traditional audience experience. It shifts the act of viewing from a public space to a private one, such as a bedroom or a subway, and transforms a collective, simultaneous experience into a thoroughly individualized and fragmented one. The most essential change that occurs in this process is the transition from the “audience,” an anonymous collective concept, to the “user,” an individual concept whose every action is tracked, identified, and managed [4]. The user is a dual subject who simultaneously consumes content and produces their own data.

Recommendation systems play a decisive technical and cultural role in this process of personalization. These systems are by no means neutral tools that passively reflect a user’s existing tastes. By dynamically personalizing the platform’s interface for each user and creating a continuous feedback loop that collects all user responses (clicks, viewing time, ratings, etc.) to feed back into the system, they are active agents that actively shape and guide users’ tastes in a particular direction. Subscription-based video streaming platforms collect data on every interaction a user performs within the platform to provide each user with a highly customized list of content recommendations. This necessitates a fundamental discussion of algorithms, film choice, and the history of taste [16].

Platform recommendation systems use complex and sophisticated technology, at the heart of which are collaborative filtering algorithms. Platforms move beyond traditional genre classifications to create and utilize thousands of micro-level “alt-genres” that are bizarrely specific, such as “Cynical 1980s Detective Shows.” These genres are not generated by human critical judgment but are algorithmically produced based solely on users’ actual viewing behavior data [11]. Such systems transcend national borders and traditional cultural boundaries to bind users with similar tastes into an invisible global community, or “taste community.” The formation of a global fandom for the German drama <Dark>(2017) or the Spanish drama <Money Heist>(2017) are prime examples of the power of this algorithmic connection.

Every action taken by the user becomes data that is fed back into the system. This endless cyclical structure changes the nature of the act of viewing, adding an economic dimension of “data production” to what was once a purely cultural act of consumption. Streaming platforms collect and analyze user data to improve their services and enhance the user experience, while simultaneously using this data as a core asset of their data-driven business model to maximize profits [13]. The “Wrapped” campaign by the music streaming service Spotify, which visualizes users’ listening data at the end of each year, is a prime example of how this act of data production becomes a social commodity that constitutes and showcases an individual’s identity.

These changes are redefining the concept of taste itself. As Bourdieu explained, in traditional society, taste was not a matter of personal aesthetic preference but a means of “distinction” that reflected one’s class, level of education, and social capital. In the platform era, however, taste is detached from this social context and reduced to a statistical pattern of an individual’s past viewing history and behavioral data. The success of Netflix’s <Bridgerton>(2020) well illustrates this new form of spectatorship. Fans of the series actively produced and shared related memes and videos on social media like TikTok and Instagram, creating a global buzz that the platform leveraged to attract new viewers. However, the “filter bubble” created by algorithms carries the serious risk of safely isolating users within their existing tastes, thereby depriving them of the opportunity to experience cultural diversity [20].

In summary, the reconfiguration of spectatorship signifies that the identity of the viewing subject has undergone a fundamental historical change. The collective and anonymous audience that once gathered in the public space of a dark theater is reborn as a new subject for a new era. This new subject connects to the platform through a personalized screen in their own private space and is a user whose every action is datafied and individually addressable. If the audience of the past was an undifferentiated mass sharing a single mass cultural experience, the user of the present is an individual entity whose every click and gaze is tracked and analyzed to form a unique data profile. The user’s act of viewing no longer remains a cultural consumption activity but becomes a form of invisible labor—data production—that contributes to accelerating the platform’s capital accumulation process.