Rebecca Barry: Keep it brief and keep them interested

Quickfire culture is dwindling our attention spans. Photo / NZ Herald

It was due to start at 8.20pm. At 8.15pm we abandoned a plate of salmon sashimi and, high on wasabi, bolted up the road.

"Don't go in there," warned a sweat-soaked man on his way out the door.

"It's packed," added the woman who reluctantly stamped our wrists.

Galatos is used to hosting sticky crowds but even standing so close to the fan where I ran the risk of being shredded did little to thwart the heat.

This time there was no throbbing bass but the murmur of a crowd anticipating an evening of stimulating conversation.

What? Since when did Aucklanders queue up for Powerpoint presentations on a Thursday night? Are we that starved of personal contact that we're willing to pay nine bucks to hear someone talk about their day-to-day?

Apparently so. Pecha Kucha Night has garnered a serious following since German product designer Luka Hinse introduced the format to New Zealand a few years ago. They are now held regularly around the country.

The idea is that talented creatives present and talk about their work in an informal setting. Before you can say "death by Powerpoint", each speaker is limited to 20 slides, 20 seconds per slide. That's six minutes and 40 seconds each to keep the crowd engaged.

The sashimi was apt and not just for brain food. Pecha Kucha started in Tokyo when a couple of architects wanted to share ideas without the risk of putting their contemporaries to sleep.

The concept might seem quaint but it's also a perfectly modern formula for time-poor individuals keen to make the most of the knowledge economy but not prepared to do it via their computer screens.

Hinse considers them social networking events. He's seen presentations by all kinds of people - blacksmiths, sculptors, performance artists - who go on to get all kinds of interesting job offers.

Judging by Thursday's crowd, speed culture is thriving Downunder, much like fast food, Japanese style. Last week's event was unusual in that it was themed for the "book-obsessed". The line-up featured a novelist, graphic designers, illustrators, editors, a magazine publisher, a scriptwriter.

The irony was not lost that this chat about writing, that rare form of entertainment that requires prolonged attention, was reduced to a few words and pictures on the big screen.

But the format did the speakers' work justice. It also showed how differently people approach something as primitive as public speaking.

Novelist Emily Perkins ventured away from talking about her own stories, exploring instead the act of reading as consumption. She'd tried out the oddball foods described in Iris Murdoch's The Sea, The Sea, producing a memorable dish of egg poached in scrambled egg.

Comic book creator Dylan Horrocks showed several examples of his irreverent work on Hicksville, confessing his fear of comics, his penchant for the internet and drawing sex.

Designers Sarah Maxey and Keely O'Shannessy displayed their typographical, whimsical work that showed you can judge a book by its cover, front or back, ripped, defaced or otherwise.

Paula Green lamented that she had to wait until "mother's exhaustion" had abated before she sat down to create her beautiful children's books, born out of her love of poetry. For anyone interested in words, it was an inspiring evening.

It's a sign of the times that Pecha Kucha exists at all. We spend so much time online we've forgotten to connect in person. When we do, our short attention spans, truncated by years of media saturation and texting, crave short, sharp bursts of information.

I recently received a long, hand-written letter from an old pen pal determined to do away with email and bring back the art of letter-writing. I haven't had time to respond yet.

This quickfire culture is everywhere, battling it out for our dwindling attention. Express gyms promise a full workout in half the time. Twitter has made Facebook look leisurely. Speed dating relies on first impressions to make a love match. Twenty20 has brought legions of new fans to cricket.

Our impatient brains could also explain the rise of the "experiential" ad campaign, the ad that tricks us because it doesn't look, sound or feel like an ad. A viral email or a competition to create a new chocolate, for example.

We would've stayed for the second half of Pecha Kucha, only it was getting late and the heat was oppressive. And our attention was waning.