Holding the Frame: Why the Long Shot Still Matters in Film and Television

Adolescence and the Return of the Long Take

At the 2025 awards season, Netflix’s Adolescence drew critical and popular attention for a bold creative decision: extended long shots that held on characters and action without the safety net of constant cutting. These sequences were technically ambitious and emotionally relentless. They played a major role in the show’s sweep at the Emmys and NMEs, and reminded audiences that the long shot is not an outdated relic of cinematic bravura but a living, evolving tool of storytelling.

But what exactly is the long shot? Why has it fascinated filmmakers and audiences for over a century? And how do directors, actors, and crews use it to create meaning? To answer those questions, we need to look back at the long shot’s history, its craft, and its enduring importance.

What We Mean by a Long Shot

The term long shot often confuses because it refers to two related but distinct ideas:

1. Shot distance: A camera set far enough back to capture a character’s entire body or a wide expanse of setting.
2. Shot duration: A long take, where the camera runs for an extended period without cutting.

In everyday usage, especially when discussing Adolescence, critics mean the latter: the sustained take that seems to go on endlessly, pulling viewers into the flow of real time. For clarity, we’ll focus on this meaning — the long take — while noting that historically, both concepts often intertwine.

Early History: Silent Experimentation

The long take is as old as cinema itself. Silent films such as The Great Train Robbery (1903) used long, uninterrupted shots to hold action within the frame, partly because editing was still rudimentary. As techniques advanced, filmmakers discovered the power of juxtaposition through montage. Yet even in montage-heavy traditions, the long take remained a tool to immerse audiences, especially in scenes requiring spatial continuity.

In the 1920s, directors like F. W. Murnau (The Last Laugh) and Sergei Eisenstein began experimenting with camera movement inside long takes, using cranes and tracks to extend action beyond a single static viewpoint. These technical innovations hinted at the long take’s potential not only as a recording method but as an expressive device.

Hollywood Classicism and the Studio Era

The golden age of Hollywood (1930s–50s) emphasised continuity editing — the famous “invisible style” that cut frequently but smoothly. Yet filmmakers sometimes broke the rhythm with extended takes. Orson Welles’ Touch of Evil (1958) opens with a legendary three-minute tracking shot, setting the tone of the film while showing off technical daring. Alfred Hitchcock took things further with Rope (1948), staging the entire film in what appeared to be one continuous shot (using hidden cuts when film reels ran out).

The point wasn’t just technical wizardry. Long takes created tension, theatrical intimacy, and a sense of being trapped in real time. Hitchcock used the device to turn a simple room into a psychological cage.

European Art Cinema and Realism

From the 1950s onwards, European filmmakers developed a distinct philosophy around long takes. Directors like Michelangelo Antonioni, Andrei Tarkovsky, and Jean-Luc Godard used them not for suspense but for contemplation. In Nostalghia (1983), Tarkovsky’s nine-minute candle-carrying sequence forces viewers to meditate on time, fragility, and endurance.

For these directors, the long take mirrored life itself. It allowed space for ambiguity, for the audience to notice the environment as much as the characters, and for emotion to emerge gradually rather than being dictated by quick edits.

The Modern Long Take: From Spectacle to Immersion

In recent decades, the long take has become both a prestige hallmark and a spectacle. Audiences talk about them, critics dissect them, and awards juries often reward them. Consider a few examples:

• Goodfellas (1990): Martin Scorsese’s famous Copacabana tracking shot follows Henry Hill through the nightclub, signalling his effortless entry into a world of glamour and corruption.
• Children of Men (2006): Alfonso Cuarón staged multiple long takes, including a harrowing car ambush and a chaotic urban battle. These weren’t flourishes but immersive experiences of danger and chaos.
• Birdman (2014): Alejandro González Iñárritu structured the entire film to appear as one continuous take, capturing both the theatrical setting and the mental unraveling of its lead character.
• 1917 (2019): Sam Mendes simulated a single-shot war epic, using hidden edits and digital stitching. The result made audiences feel they were marching alongside the soldiers in real time.

In each case, the long take is both technical flex and storytelling device, collapsing the distance between viewer and scene.

Why the Long Take Matters

The fascination with long takes isn’t about difficulty for its own sake. They matter because of what they do to audience perception.

1. Immersion in Real Time
   Long takes strip away the editorial control of montage. The audience cannot skip ahead or be manipulated by cuts; they experience the passage of time as the characters do. This builds tension in thrillers, intimacy in dramas, and awe in action films.
2. Spatial Continuity
   They show geography clearly: where people are in relation to each other, how environments unfold. In Adolescence, extended classroom or street scenes give viewers a visceral sense of place, heightening authenticity.
3. Performance Showcase
   For actors, long takes are a stage. Without cutaways, performances must sustain energy, rhythm, and emotional truth. This often produces award-worthy turns — Stephen Graham and Owen Cooper thrived under that pressure.
4. Technical Collaboration
   Long takes require flawless coordination between camera operators, lighting, set dressers, sound, and performers. When they succeed, they showcase cinema as a collective art form.
5. Emotional Weight
   A long take denies the audience relief. In violence, grief, or intimacy, it refuses to let us look away. That persistence gives certain scenes unforgettable power.

Long Takes in Television

Television has increasingly adopted long takes as prestige markers. True Detective (2014) stunned audiences with a six-minute raid sequence, executed in real time. Mr. Robot (2017) created entire episodes in apparent single shots. And Adolescence used long takes not as stunts but as its very grammar, demanding attention and heightening empathy for its young characters.

The small screen benefits uniquely from long takes: television often risks feeling “chopped” or episodic. Extended takes anchor viewers in sustained moments, making them linger longer than the average binge cut.

Risks and Criticisms

Of course, long takes can backfire. When overused, they risk looking like gimmicks — self-conscious flexing rather than storytelling. A poorly executed long take can feel tedious, or worse, draw attention to technical seams. Critics of 1917 argued that its stitched one-shot illusion became more distracting than immersive.

The key, then, is purpose. The most memorable long takes are not ends in themselves but serve the story: Scorsese’s glamour, Cuarón’s chaos, Tarkovsky’s spiritual meditation, Adolescence’s raw immediacy.

The Future of the Long Take

Digital technology has made long takes easier to execute and disguise. Drones, stabilisers, and CGI stitching allow filmmakers to extend shots beyond physical limitations. Yet the challenge remains the same: can a single take carry the weight of meaning?

In an era of short-form, fast-cut content, the long take may seem countercultural. But precisely for that reason, it retains power. It slows us down, demands attention, and creates shared time between viewer and character. For television especially, long takes may be the antidote to distraction, reminding us what it means to truly watch.

Conclusion: Why We Keep Watching

When Owen Cooper described his own Emmy-winning journey — “Forget three years ago. I was nothing about three years ago. I’m here now” — he captured the same truth the long take embodies. It is about presence. About holding the frame, refusing shortcuts, and trusting that if we stay with the image long enough, truth will emerge.

From Hitchcock’s experiments to Tarkovsky’s meditations, from Scorsese’s nightclub swagger to Adolescence’s teenage streets, the long take remains cinema’s way of saying: don’t look away, this is happening, right now, in front of you.

That urgency explains why Adolescence resonated so strongly. In a fragmented media world, it gave us something continuous, unbroken, and unforgettable. And in that sense, the long shot is not just a technique but a statement: of endurance, of collaboration, and of cinema’s ability to hold life itself in a frame.