The hypnotic power of natural flow: patiently waiting for a majestic moose to emerge from the waters of the Ångerman River has become a national sport in Sweden and, surprisingly, a global phenomenon. Slow TV is overturning all the rules of television marketing, those that made us believe that the audience's attention can only be captured with emotional rollercoasters and plot twists. Instead, millions of people tune in for hours to unedited footage of seemingly empty forests, where absence itself becomes the protagonist.
This authentic paradox fascinates me: As the entertainment industry invests billions to continuously stimulate our senses, we are rediscovering the zen pleasure of watching nothingness occasionally transform into something.
"The Great Moose Migration" Swedish public broadcasting network SVT, has become a case study for those who, like me, work in communications. Since its debut in 2019, the program has seen its audience grow exponentially, reaching over 9 million global viewers last year. And, according to the executive producer Johan Erhag, this year's numbers could be even higher.
Do you understand what this is? Maybe it's not clear enough. We're talking hours and hours of footage of trees, birds, the occasional bear, and if you're lucky, a moose crossing a river. Most of the time, absolutely nothing happens. And yet it works. And it works beautifully. Why?
Slow tv: a shared journey beyond screens
What are Swedes (and not only) really looking for when they tune into these broadcasts? It's not just naturalistic voyeurism.
I think people love it because it has EVERYTHING. All the boring parts, and all the exciting parts: everything that could happen.
The words of Thomas Hellum, producer of NRK (Norwegian public broadcaster pioneer of this genre), touch on a fundamental point. In an age of curated, selected and filtered content, slow TV offers something radically different: unmediated reality.
There is no script. There is no producer who selects the best moments for us. We are the ones who have to understand what is interesting and what is boring. The “format” is our eyes, just like in real life. It is an experience that, paradoxically, brings us back to a more authentic dimension of existence.
And then there's the community aspect. As Hellum says:
“This program created a kind of community among those watching, as if we were all passengers on the same train, taking the same journey, sharing the same view.”
In an increasingly atomized world, slow TV simply offers a shared experience, a common point of reference.
The protagonists' journey
From late April to late May, between 300 and 500 moose migrate from their winter refuge in the Bothnian Bay to their summer refuge in the mountains on the border between Sweden and Norway. According to Goran Ericsson, dean of forestry sciences at theSwedish University of Agricultural Sciences, moose in northern Sweden They can migrate up to 90 kilometers, much more than their southern cousins who move just 10 kilometers.
I like to think that there is something deeply metaphorical in this journey: a slow but steady movement toward a goal, dictated by biological rhythms and the primary necessities of life. In a certain sense, it is the perfect antithesis of contemporary frenzy.
The Slow Future of Television
The phenomenon of slow TV clearly responds to the profound needs of our hyper-connected and hyper-stimulated society. It represents a form of digital detox (paradoxically enjoyed through a screen). It's passive meditation for a generation who has forgotten how to slow down.
Given the evolution of the trend, I wouldn’t be surprised to soon see similar formats adapted to different contexts: animal migrations to other countries, cyclical natural events, or even slow and methodical human processes. I can already imagine a 24/7 streaming of the artisanal construction of a cathedral, or the growth of a garden through the seasons, or a grandmother from Puglia making orecchiette by hand.
The success of slow TV reminds us of a fundamental truth that the entertainment industry tends to forget: sometimes, less is more. Sometimes, even patience is a form of pleasure. And in a world that pushes us to run, there is something deeply subversive in sitting and simply watching life flow at its natural pace, without filters, without acceleration, without manipulation. And maybe even doing it live, of course: time permitting.
Because maybe that’s the real contemporary luxury: the time to wait for a moose to emerge from the water.
