Hate Long, Rambling Speeches? Try Pecha-Kucha
It's the bane of students, business people and even the military: If you've ever yawned through a slideshow, you're probably familiar with that dreaded malady of modern times, known as "Death by PowerPoint."
Now, for the long-suffering audience, there's some good news. Tokyo architects Mark Dytham and Astrid Klein hit on the antidote to presentation overload -- a style they dubbed pecha-kucha, Japanese for "chitchat" -- and their elegant solution is taking the world by storm.
Dytham and Klein are easygoing by nature, but if there's one thing they can't stand it's slideshows full of hot air. So when the pair staged a forum featuring the work of their architect friends, they laid down one rule as simple as it was extreme.
"The problem with architects is they talk too much. So how could we find a way to stop them? You get passionate about whatever you're talking about and you go on forever and ever -- so we came up with 20 slides, 20 seconds a slide," he says. He says 10 slides, 10 seconds per slide was too short and 30 slides, 30 seconds per slide was too long.
"We were trying to find a catchy 5 minutes or so for the architect to present," he says.
With speakers allotted a draconian 6 minutes and 40 seconds each, Dytham and Klein were able to pack 20 speeches -- or rather, speechlets -- into a single evening. Klein named these curious events after a quaint old Japanese onomatopoeia.
"We were looking for a name, and somebody says, 'It's just chitchat, it's pecha-kucha, pecha-kucha, pecha-kucha -- people talking too much. So that's where we came up with pecha-kucha," she says.
Pecha-Kucha Goes Viral
At first, pecha-kucha (pronounced: peh-CHAKH-cha) was purely local. But then, something strange happened. Without any prompting or publicity, and to the astonishment of its founders, the format went viral.
In just the past three years, the speech events have taken root in hundreds of cities in the U.S. and worldwide, from Amersfoort, Netherlands, to Saragossa, Spain. New cities are added, on average, every 72 hours. Nearly a quarter of a million people every year gather in warehouses, old prisons and forest clearings for pecha-kucha nights -- a spectacle that seems to belie the pretenses of the online age.
"People really like to get together physically," Dytham says. "We forget that on Facebook. They say they're 'social networks,' but they're not really; they're anti-social networks. People in a city want to get together and have a chat and a beer. And this was a way to pull people together."
Since it began, in 2003, pecha-kucha has spawned imitators, like Ignite, and corporate consultants have appropriated the speed technique. Unwittingly, Klein and Dytham seemed to have stumbled across an apparently universal longing of audience members listening to those who pontificate: just get to the point.
It all began in a grungy basement club in downtown Tokyo, called Super-Deluxe. Pecha-kucha nights nowadays give the floor to just about anyone who's been struck by the muse. It's amateur hour meets college lecture meets vaudeville and performance art.
On any particular evening, the audience will have heard from a Finnish scholar wryly explaining the science of "partying," an aid worker trying to sell her book about human-rights abuses in the Congo, and a man doing card tricks on his iPad.
"It's just supposed to be a small glimpse," says Will French, an Australian artist who unveiled his invention at a pecha-kucha -- a motorcycle-powered sewing machine. "And if it whets their appetite, then they can find out more. It's more like a performance itself rather than a lecture or a forum."
The Power Of Catching Only A Glimpse
But here's the irony of pecha-kucha: As TV news shifts ever closer to entertainment, and images flash by in a second or two, pecha-kucha's 20-second slides actually force the viewer to focus and think, Dytham says.
"We did the whole fundraising activity for Haiti; some of the images were quite moving -- images of the first two to three days in Haiti," he says. "And when you have to look at those for 20 seconds -- and you've got time to think about the images -- that's very different from when you see images on TV, which are there for three seconds. ... You kind of miss the point."
Dytham and Klein knew they were on to something, when a request to start pecha-kucha nights came from Silicon Valley. The writer was a Microsoft employee and, a member of the team responsible for PowerPoint.
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MELISSA BLOCK, host:
From NPR News, this is ALL THINGS CONSIDERED. I'm Melissa Block.
ROBERT SIEGEL, host:
And I'm Robert Siegel.
It is the bane of students, business executives, even the military. If you have ever yawned through a slideshow, you're probably familiar with that dreaded malady of modern times known as Death by PowerPoint.
Well, there's good news. Two designers have hit on the antidote to presentation overload.
And as Lucy Craft reports from Tokyo, their elegant solution is getting the world's attention.
LUCY CRAFT: Tokyo architects Mark Dytham and Astrid Klein are easygoing by nature. But if there's one thing they can't stand, it's slideshows full of hot air. So when the pair staged a forum featuring the work of their architect friends, they laid down one rule - as simple as it was extreme.
Mr. MARK DYTHAM (Co-Creator, Pecha Kucha): The problem with architects is they talk too much. So how could we find a way to stop them? You know, you get very passionate about whatever you're talking about, and you go on forever and ever. So we came up with this notion of just 20 slides, 20 seconds a slide.
CRAFT: Why that particular configuration?
Mr. DYTHAM: Because 10 slides in 10 seconds was too short. And 30 slides, 30 seconds was - so we're trying to find a catchy five minutes or so for the architect to present.
CRAFT: With speakers allotted a draconian six minutes and 40 seconds each, Dytham and Klein were able to pack 20 speeches - or rather, speechlets - into a single evening. Klein named these curious events after a quaint, old Japanese onomatopoeia.
Ms. ASTRID KLEIN (Co-Creator, Pecha Kucha): We're looking for a name. And somebody said, well, you know, it's just chitchat. And it's pecha kucha, pecha kucha, pecha kucha, pecha kucha, people talking too much. And so that's where we came up with Pecha Kucha.
CRAFT: At first, Pecha Kucha was purely local. But then, something strange happened. Without any prompting or publicity, and to the astonishment of its founders, the format went viral. In just the last three years, the speech events have taken root in hundreds of cities in the U.S. and worldwide, from Amersfoort to Zaragoza.
New cities are added now, on average, every 72 hours. Nearly a quarter of a million people every year gather in warehouses, old prisons, forest clearings, you name it, for Pecha Kucha Nights, a spectacle that seems to belie the pretenses of the online age.
Mr. DYTHAM: People really like to get together physically and we forget that on Facebook. They say they're social networks, they're not really. They're anti-social networks. People in a city want to get together and have a chat, you know, and a bit of beer. And this was a way to pull people together.
CRAFT: Since it began in 2003, Pecha Kucha has spawned imitators like Ignite. Corporate consultants have appropriated the speed technique. Unwittingly, Klein and Dytham seemed to have stumbled across an apparently universal longing for pontificators to just get to the point.
The subject matter defies easy description.
Ms. KLEIN: A group of women who decided to embroider, to kind of keep the art of embroidery alive, they decided to embroider pornographic images.
Mr. DYTHAM: Just to keep it interesting.
CRAFT: Oh, my goodness.
(Soundbite of laughter)
Mr. DYTHAM: I think the other interesting one is somebody who collects Nana Mouskouri records. He has 40 or 50 of the same album from different countries around the world.
(Soundbite of music)
CRAFT: And here is where it all began, a grungy basement in downtown Tokyo called Super Deluxe.
(Soundbite of music)
CRAFT: Pecha Kucha Nights nowadays give the floor to just about anyone who's been struck by the muse. It's amateur hour meets college lecture meets vaudeville and performance art. And then (unintelligible) may yield the mic to schoolchildren.
On this particular evening, the audience will have heard from a Finnish scholar wryly explaining the science of partying; an aid worker trying to sell her book about human rights abuses in the Congo, and a man doing card tricks on his iPad.
(Soundbite of a motorcycle)
CRAFT: A motorcycle powered sewing machine is unveiled, the invention of Will French, a young artist from Australia.
(Soundbite of applause)
Mr. WILL FRENCH (Inventor): And it's supposed to be just a small glimpse. And if it whets their appetite, they can find out more. It's more like a performance itself rather than a lecture or a forum or...
CRAFT: But here's the irony of Pecha Kucha: As TV news shifts ever closer to entertainment, and images flash by in a second or two, Pecha Kucha's 20-second slides actually force the viewer to focus and think, says Dytham.
Mr. DYTHAM: We did a whole fundraising activity for Haiti. Some of the images that we showed were quite moving images, the first two to three days in Haiti. And when you have to look at those for 20 seconds, and you've got time to think or look here and think about the images, that's very different to when you see images on TV, which are there for three seconds.
There's Anderson Cooper in the bottom third and it's all swirling around. And it's - you kind of miss the point.
CRAFT: Dytham and Klein knew they were onto something when a request to start Pecha Kucha Nights came from Silicon Valley. The writer was a Microsoft employee, member of the team responsible for PowerPoint.
For NPR News, this is Lucy Craft in Tokyo. Transcript provided by NPR, Copyright National Public Radio.
