Below are your search results. You can also try a Basic Search.
Unlike its predecessor, the latest cinematic fight club features no pink soap, no toxic masculinity, and certainly no rules banning the discussion of fight club. In fact, leaders PJ and Josie are begging you to talk about their fight club, and please, bring all your hot cheerleader friends.
Workplace dramas are no newcomers to our television screens. From medical series like Grey’s Anatomy, to police comedies like Brooklyn 99, it would seem that general audiences like to spend their time after a 9–to–5 watching other people in their own 9–to–5s. It’s no real surprise that a legal drama like Suits, starring Gabriel Macht and Patrick J. Adams, would rack up numbers—but if the show premiered in 2011, why is it suddenly blowing up in 2023?
There used to be a standard method of viewing television. You’d pick up the remote, turn on the TV, pick a channel, and voila! You’re watching television. It was simple and nice and required minimal thinking. Today, the formula is not so simple. There is watching the show, looking at what people on the Internet are saying about the show, and then, listening to a podcast about it.
In the realm of cinema history, it has become rare to be surprised by the superhero genre, especially by origin stories. Unfortunately, “Blue Beetle” adheres to a generic formula as it introduces Jaime Reyes, his family, and the alien scarab that grants him superhuman abilities. From initial reluctance to acceptance of the “call to adventure,” to personal tragedies, Jamie goes through all the commonplaces in his first live–action contact with the public. Still, the film based on DC Comics manages to stand out and disappoint at the same time, thanks to the “Latinidade” brought by director Ángel Manuel Soto.
By now, Greta Gerwig’s Barbie requires no preamble. The film has not only grossed over $1.4 billion at the worldwide box office but has become a cultural phenomenon of proportions not seen by a major studio film in years. “Hi, Barbie!” and “I am Kenough” have already entered the mainstream lexicon, and the film’s soundtrack has been successful, with Dua Lipa’s “Dance the Night,” Nicki Minaj and Ice Spice’s “Barbie World,” and Billie Eilish’s “What Was I Made For?” all charting on the Billboard Hot 100. Along with Christopher Nolan’s Oppenheimer, Barbie has been hailed as a saving grace for the film industry: an original story backed by a big–budget studio that features two movie stars and has delivered both critically and commercially.
When put in the always–uncomfortable situation of sharing fun fact ice breakers, my go–to answer has always been, “My home town is obsessed with zombies.” It’s more than a little strange and, while not a lie, there’s more to the story. Night of the Living Dead, the horror movie credited with first bringing zombies to the big screen and putting an unexpected critique of racial tensions onscreen in the 60s, was filmed in my hometown’s cemetery. Moreover, that cemetery is right behind the backyard of my childhood home. As a kid, I could slip between the grave stones and envision hoards of corpses stalking me. I have a love–hate relationship with zombie media, because it's so integral to how I grew up and because, to this day, I still occasionally wake up in sweat and terror over a nightmare of living through the apocalypse. “They’re coming to get you, Barbara!” Oh, the amount of times I’ve heard that line.
The Cannes Film Festival is addicting. Not just because of the luxurious assemblage of the grandest and most star–studded films of the year, all demanding one's attention, but because it's combined with the frantic atmosphere of a carnival. Covering the festivity for a Chinese media outlet, I attended the 76th Cannes Film Festival this May. Every morning—even after a mere four hours of sleep—in a small apartment I shared with four other reporters, I was instantly energized by yet another day exclusively dedicated to a cinematic world: where every conversation, every chance encounter, belonged to a magical experience.
“I’m certainly not cutting open brains today, I’ll tell you that,” Jonnell Burke (C’18) laughs over our Zoom call in early August, almost one hundred days into the WGA strike. But her cog–neuro degree is, oddly enough, where she first got interested in entertainment. She tells me that one of her professors encouraged her to take classes that were “all the different building blocks of how your brain works,” like philosophy, logic, and anything else that helped Burke become “a more holistic person.”
Editor’s Note: This article contains spoilers
Attending screenings of Red, White & Royal Blue in New York and Philadelphia, I had planned to sit back and enjoy a light–hearted “romance of the summer." But this was no average romantic comedy. In a genre often plagued by surface–level meaning and limited representation, Red, White & Royal Blue emerges as a swoon–worthy yet culturally significant film that authentically explores an intersectional spectrum of queer identities and experiences.
Every once in a while, a great movie battle shakes the foundations of the Internet. There are classics like Star Wars vs. Star Trek. There was the Epic Rap Battles of History duel between Steven Spielberg and Alfred Hitchcock (and Quentin Tarantino, Stanley Kubrick, and Michael Bay). But in 2023, the film gods have blessed audiences with an instant classic: Barbenheimer.
You don’t tend to hear drivers honking their horns in LA. It’s just another example of the stereotypical laid–back nature of Southern California that my East Coast upbringing hasn’t prepared me for while working here this summer. But I was easily guided to the picket lines by the sounds of supportive beeps flooding downtown Culver City on Friday, July 14, as I headed to the Sony and Culver Studios lots to march with the strikers.
By many metrics, the Western has been one of the most important genres in cinema history. Tales of the Old West were hot commodities in Golden Age Hollywood. Similar to the superhero movies of today, it wasn’t stars or exciting stories that made these movies popular; it was the genre itself that sold tickets and made people like John Wayne stars. And the idea of a Western proved adaptable, especially with European Spaghetti Westerns, which in turn incorporated elements from Japanese samurai films. The Western even served as a launching pad for other genres, with Stagecoach being the prototype for the Hollywood action movie.
Everyone in Asteroid City is obsessed. Each character is achingly devoted to their craft, be it writing or acting or pushing the bounds of scientific innovation; and, just as Wes Anderson does himself, everyone is telling their story.
Nothing can dominate pop culture forever. No matter how good the plot, how passionate the fandom, or how high the box office, eventually, all stories run their course. Westerns were once considered a permanent moneymaker. Then it was musicals. Star Wars was thought to be invulnerable to the public: now over six films and television shows have been sent back to development.
Editor's Note: This article contains spoilers for Season 3 of 'Ted Lasso'
America's obsession with the true crime genre is no secret. The never–ending re–enactments are everywhere, from documentaries to television shows and podcasts. But as the genre reaches peak saturation, the question emerges: are these traumatic true stories really binge–worthy?
With skies darkened by wildfire soot, melting glaciers, and oceans littered with plastic, it’s easy to feel like the world is burning. Nature documentaries are an escape from this reality where it feels like all we do is threaten the outdoors. Last week, Netflix premiered Our Planet II, the sequel to the award–winning nature documentary series, Our Planet. The episodes showcase the stunning imagery associated with the genre, but also acknowledge the threat that humans pose to our environment. Our Planet is one of many nature documentaries on streaming services. Wild Babies, Dancing with the Birds, Life in Color, Chimp Empire, Our Great National Parks, Wonders of the Sea, Magical Andes … the list goes on. So why do streaming services keep churning out nature documentaries, and what does Our Planet II have to say about this growing genre?
Picture this: It’s 2021, and you’re seventeen years old. Your family is watching Friday Night Lights together as a COVID–19–era bonding activity, with your parents, who love the show, showing it to you and your little brother for the first time. You adore Jesse Plemmons’ nice–nerdy guy Landry and his relationship with not–bad–just–troubled girl Tyra (Adrianne Palicki). He kills a guy who is attempting to assault her. The season abruptly ends while halfway done, and the next one does nothing to resolve this plotline. You are very, very confused. The writing, prior to this, was very good. This … this is bad.
Lorenzo di Bonaventura (W ‘86) was in crisis.
Get 34th Street's newsletter, The Toast, delivered to your inbox every Friday morning.
Newsletters