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Thanksgiving break: the holiday that's all about tense family politics, revisiting awkward stories from your childhood, and endless moments we wish we could avoid. Luckily, there’s a solution—a trip to the movies, otherwise known as two hours of no conversation over freshly buttered popcorn.
The Lighthouse is a hard film to watch and an even harder one to explain. Its premise is that Robert Pattinson and Willem Dafoe are stranded on an island together for four weeks, and clearly they're beginning to go insane. There's a female siren, who shouts in a terrifying half–song, half–scream, a seagull who attempts to make Robert Pattinson’s existence a living hell, and an incessant humming noise from the lighthouse that seems to be driving each character mad. Director Robert Eggers, who previously gained critical acclaim for his breakout film The Witch in 2016, has crafted this film in black–and–white and an oppressive 1.19 by 1 aspect ratio. There's also the glaring, holy light of the lighthouse, omniscient and pseudo–religious. Suffice it to say, The Lighthouse is a very strange film, but certainly an interesting one.
The King, on all accounts, should be a home run—it has Timothée Chalamet, Robert Pattinson, men rolling around in the mud, and it’s released on Netflix, meaning its mass of Twitter fans can watch it right from their bedroom, free of charge. The film initially gained traction when its trailer was released and people drooled over Timothée Chalamet’s dirt–stained face and messy hairstyle. Even within hours of its release, people were already talking about Robert Pattinson and his weird accent. Yet, despite the fact that The King seemed primed for success, it fumbled with a boring plot, peculiar pacing, and some uninspired performances.
It comes as no surprise that the era of female superheroes is upon us. As Marvel has gained mainstream and critical attention with the massive productions of Avengers: Infinity War and Endgame, it's become clear that this specific genre of superhero movie cannot escape from popular media trends. This year’s Captain Marvel, starring Academy–Award winning Brie Larson, confirmed Marvel’s desire to follow the popular trope of the girlboss: a woman who breaks glass ceilings and stands up for herself.
The first scene you see in Netflix’s new show, Living With Yourself, is Paul Rudd clawing his way out of a grave with nothing but a diaper and a plastic bag on. It’s bizarre, kind of frightening, and vaguely off–putting—but it makes you want to keep watching.
There were petitions calling for the cancellation of Netflix’s Insatiable before the show was even released. After watching the trailer for the first season back in 2018, a number of outraged viewers felt Insatiable was unbelievably problematic. Having attracted criticism for homophobia, fatphobia, and racism, it seemed unlikely that Insatiable would ever survive its initial release. Now, over a year later, the show’s second season made it Netflix’s most binge–watched program on the internet.
I’ve seen Midsommar four times since its release this July. Three times in theaters and once on Amazon Prime. I love the movie—it’s bright, violent, and exhilarating in ways that horror rarely is. I’d even call it my favorite movie of this year. Midsommar is distributed by A24, an entertainment company that’s become well known this decade for its wild, stylish lineup of distributed independent films and devoted fans who’ll pay for a movie ticket (or three) without even watching a trailer, just because of their faith in the studio’s quality.
Philadelphia Eagles fans are definitely known for being passionate. The new film Maybe Next Year—released by Wavelength Productions at the 2019 Philadelphia Film Festival—is about these fans, and it paints a more nuanced picture of these Philadelphians. According to Jenifer Westphal, founder and executive producer at Wavelength, the film is an exploration of what “makes [Eagles fans] tick” during football season—specifically that of the 2018 Super Bowl win. Westphal, an Eagles supporter herself, acknowledges the terrible characterization of the fans—and yet she is staunchly opposed to the image. “Everybody in Philly, you know, bleeds green.” This devotion to not only the Eagles, but to Philadelphia, is something Westphal feels proud of—and it is the very essence of the film.
What is love? That's a tricky question—just look at the millions of songs and movies lamenting it. It’s one many people spend their entire lives seeking to answer. Some say it’s an unexplainable, hit–by–a–truck feeling, while others try to spell it out more scientifically, with numbers and chemicals. Modern Love, Amazon Prime’s new eight–episode anthology series, puts it much more simply: love is whatever it is to you.
When the first Zombieland came out ten years ago, it featured a pre–fame Emma Stone and Jesse Eisenberg, alongside Woody Harrelson and a young Abigail Breslin. The film was a critical and commercial hit, full of dark, irreverent humor and a cast with unexpected chemistry. The backdrop of a gory zombie apocalypse, of course, just added to the entertainment. On Oct. 18, the original cast returns—now all Academy Award nominees or winners—in the horror–comedy sequel, Zombieland: Double Tap. The chemistry is still there, and the gore is turned up to 11, but though the cast (now with a few new additions) still brings a lot of fun, they have very little to work with.
Any respectable Millenial–Gen Z cusper has fond childhood memories of watching American Idol back in its heyday. In the emerging world of reality television, the celebrity judges’ state–wide search to find the next pop star dominated the prime time slot. For nearly twenty years it churned out—to the behest of the American public—a number of impressionable entertainers including Kelly Clarkson, Jennifer Hudson, and Carrie Underwood. Since the noughties, the show has lost its luster and programs like The Voice and The X Factor have attempted, and mostly failed, to fill its niche. This is where Netflix’s new series, Rhythm + Flow comes in. In a contemporary pop landscape commanded by rap and hip–hop, a refreshing and enticing televised competition has finally emerged.
The Philadelphia Film Festival opened Oct. 17 at the Philadelphia Film Center and will continue through Oct. 27, showing over 120 movies ranging from locally–produced films to bona fide Oscar contenders.
Ryan Murphy just might be the iconoclastic arbiter of taste that television needs. With his keen sense of style, tone, and comedic timing, the showrunner has definitively changed the industry over the past couple of decades. As the creator of series like Glee, American Horror Story, Pose, American Crime Story, Feud, 9–1–1, The New Normal, Scream Queens, and Nip/Tuck, Murphy is a veteran, a veritable powerhouse of pop culture. And though each of the creator’s works are different, they all feel interconnected by Murphy’s singular vision. Looking back, Murphy’s career trajectory reads as exactly that: a career trajectory, in which every work is influenced by the one that came before and will have a part in what comes next. So, in honor of the release of Murphy’s latest series, The Politician, (the first of several projects to be released through his monumental Netflix deal), it’s time for a retrospective.
In 2012, Laika Films released ParaNorman. I remember watching it when it came out—I was eleven years old and nearly missed the throwaway line at the very end confirming that the character Mitch, a stereotypical “dumb jock,” had a boyfriend. Even at that age I recognized how novel it was for any of the characters to be in a same sex relationship. It was the first mainstream animated film featuring a gay main character.
Last November, actor Bryan Cranston sent the Breaking Bad fanbase into a frenzy when he announced that the show’s creators were working on a movie to bookend the franchise. The film, El Camino: A Breaking Bad Movie, was released on Netflix and in select theaters on Oct. 11 and takes viewers on a nostalgic journey through the past and present lives of Jesse Pinkman, played by Aaron Paul. So buckle up, because this ride is a crazy one.
Interstellar often gets tossed around when people talk about their favorite films or recall the canon of Christopher Nolan. And the score is arguably one of the most distinctive aspects of the movie. The music, colored by frequent organ instrumentation and high levels of intensity, crystallizes each scene in the movie as memorable and breathtaking. This is no surprise, given that it was composed by Hans Zimmer.
Ang Lee is a peculiar director. While he perhaps garnered the most acclaim for his 2000 classic Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, he is equally renowned for the touching Brokeback Mountain. In many cases, Lee's films jolt back and forth between fast–paced action to tender drama, like in the critically adored Life of Pi. Lee’s most recent film, Gemini Man, leans in the action direction, but stops short of fully becoming a sci–fi flick, a comedic drama, or even a guns–blazing, nonsensical action, making it feel muddled and half–finished.
At the Heart of Gold: Inside the USA Gymnastics Scandal is a heartbreaking, moving, and empowering documentary that exposes the systematic and institutionalized abuse of hundreds of young girls.
Trailers are the most unpredictable form of advertising, and likely one of the most important ones. Often, trailers are created by companies that are not associated with the film and are responsible for crafting the 3–minute videos without full knowledge of the film itself. Generally, trailer–making begins before principal photography is completed. This art form is precarious, because it must straddle the line between teasing the film for those who have already been anticipating it, and advertising it to those who have never heard of it. For this balancing act, trailers often fall flat because they fail to accurately represent the source material—take Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind or Batman Begins, whose trailers don't accurately represent their movies.
Last week, Netflix hit off their “Netflix and Chills” series with a flawed, but entertaining thriller: In the Shadow of the Moon. This week, Netflix’s grasp on “chills” continues to tighten with its release of In the Tall Grass.
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