The Problem of Postfeminism in Television
With yet another attempt to be “woke,” America is actually harming one of our most vulnerable demographics of society—adolescent girls.
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With yet another attempt to be “woke,” America is actually harming one of our most vulnerable demographics of society—adolescent girls.
Amid the sea of seats in a dimly lit, empty theater screening the horror–thriller Barbarian, there was just me and my bucket of buttered popcorn. Watching horror films alone is already sort of a death sentence for someone who gets scared easily. However, what frightened and excited me the most as Barbarian began was not the emptiness of the theater or the prospect of watching a horror movie alone in the dark. My excitement was because I knew absolutely nothing about the insanity I was hurling myself into.
When the first season of Hulu’s The Handmaid’s Tale premiered in the spring of 2017 to critical acclaim, pundits, critics, and journalists interpreted this dystopian tale through a frighteningly current lens. The show, based on Margaret Atwood’s 1985 novel of the same name, follows June Osborne as she is forced into childbearing labor by an America consumed by religious extremism. Premiering a few weeks after President Donald Trump’s inauguration, the show was backdropped by Trump’s presidency. The show’s villains were often compared to corrupt members of Trump’s cabinet, and even the show’s lead actress, Elisabeth Moss, and showrunner Bruce Miller were vocal on their belief that The Handmaid’s Tale was crucial to resisting the current political moment. The show quickly found its cultural niche as a narrative of feminist resistance. Yet even as much as it abhorred the Trump presidency, the show heavily leaned on the Trump administration and particularly its hard line on abortion for inspiration and relevance.
Put your right hand here. Try moving your hips down a little. This position looks odd.
Ten years after his bizarre, stylized neo–noir crime story, Killing Them Softly, Andrew Dominik returns with his newest, almost three–hour long feature film: Blonde. The film, which premiered at the 79th Venice International Film Festival and arrived on Netflix on Sept. 28, has faced heavy criticism over its extreme exploitation and overt simplification of Marilyn Monroe’s tragic life events. The runtime may seem to promise an in–depth, holistic rediscovery of Monroe’s life. Yet, Blonde is not a biopic, and despite the film’s blatant flaws, Dominik’s intention may lie somewhere other than an authentic representation of the blonde bombshell.
Warning: this piece contains spoilers and mentions topics relating to suicide and mental illness.
An arts–and–crafts project may not seem like the scariest premise for a film, but make the medium a blood–thirsty cardboard monster complete with a vicious minotaur and an all–seeing paper vulva, and you get the most wonderfully absurd horror movie to exist. The 2017 picture Dave Made a Maze, directed by Bill Watterson, can't be constricted to a single genre. It combines fantasy, adventure, and horror with comedic and even romantic elements, creating the perfect choice for a Halloween movie night or just when you're craving something different.
2022 may turn out to be a banner year for queer cinema. Not for melodramatic period dramas starring Harry Styles, but for films that celebrate joy and the pleasure of community. Bros, the first gay romcom from a major studio, hit theaters last week. Earlier this year, Fire Island was lauded for its portrayal of queer Asian American identity (as well as being hilarious). While it’s exciting to see how mainstream queer romcoms are finding their own identity, I’ve been reflecting a lot on my favorite movie of the genre. This honor goes to the utterly charming, trailblazing, and in–need–of–a–resurgence indie: Saving Face.
My childhood, along with that of many other young girls, was given an extra dash of magic by the 30 minutes I’d spend each week watching the animated fairies of the Winx Club sparkle across my TV. Naturally, when I heard Netflix was releasing a live–action reboot in January 2021, I parked myself in front of my computer for six hours to binge–watch their version of the series. Although the reboot may not have gotten everything right, Netflix took an admirable first stab at a concept I’d love to see continued—creating mature versions of children’s series to parallel the original audience’s age and growth.
Avatar is, by most accounts, a modern classic: a technological masterpiece and the arguable founder of Hollywood’s current CGI era, all while consistently defending its spot as the highest–grossing film of all time. And yet, before last week, I had never seen it. Remaining an Avatar virgin, so to speak, wasn’t a deliberate move; I just happened to miss it when it came out and never felt very compelled to catch up on it. There isn’t exactly a lack of graphics–heavy Disney content these days, after all, and there is much more media touting that the movie’s plot is mostly forgettable than singing its praises.
Summer of Soul (...Or, When the Revolution Could Not Be Televised) opens with shots of curls, coils, kinks, and fros being glazed by the New York City summer rain. Fresh presses are covered by bright, patterned scarves. Brown hands with fire engine red nails dance in the air. A sea of dark eyes bounce from corner to corner of the stage, and a different kind of light comes from the smiles of dark faces when a 19–year–old Stevie Wonder steps on stage in a cocoa brown suit.
In a contemporary United States, backlash over a Black woman being chosen to play a mythical creature princess reinforces the racist undertones in our nation’s film industry.
Imagine Disney+ or Kevin Feige doing a Game of Thrones prequel about House Targaryen. There would be more dragons, for sure. An amusing tour of the dragon pit with a flippant guide is warranted in the first ten minutes of the pilot, including several self–referential jokes. They might even have two dragons spew fire at each other, although no one would be harmed by the end of the episode.
Don’t Worry Darling, Olivia Wilde’s second directorial film after Booksmart, appears to be a mysterious thriller that follows Alice (Florence Pugh) and Jack Chambers (Harry Styles), who live perfect lives in a 1950s utopian town called Victory until things soon go awry and secrets emerge. The film is meant to be a drama—it tackles serious themes like manipulation, abuse, and paranoia. Yet, ironically, Don’t Worry Darling might be the year’s funniest movie.
A year ago, if someone told any television executive that the hottest new comedy was going to be a half–hour sitcom on ABC, that executive would’ve had their assistant’s assistant laugh in that person’s face, and for good reason. Until the premiere of ABC’s Abbott Elementary, nearly every new network sitcom in the last ten years has been dead on arrival. And even if shows like Young Sheldon and The Conners are able to maintain a consistent viewership, Abbott Elementary is the one being watched and adored by all of Hollywood for its nearly impossible feat of being successful both commercially and critically on a network.
This summer, Warner Bros. Discovery went on a cost–cutting spree, removing films and shows from its streaming service, HBO Max, and permanently shelving a number of upcoming projects. One of these projects was DC Films’ Batgirl, a $90 million film in post–production that was set to be a part of the DC Extended Universe (DCEU). Originally scheduled to be released on HBO Max in December 2022, Batgirl was shelved to serve as a tax write–off for Warner Bros., according to Variety. DC Films’ handling of Batgirl and its cancellation is one of many problems the studio faces in the upcoming months, as its future slate of films remains uncertain.
Some of the most scrumptious food porn can be found on the big screen—in everything from mob flicks to rom coms to animated movies. But food scenes aren't just there to get the audience's mouth watering. Rather, the meals depicted on screen can represent bigger concepts and themes that drive the plot and reveal characters' true colors. Here are some of Street's all–time favorites:
After decades in development hell, Neil Gaiman’s “unfilmable” magnum opus, The Sandman, has finally reached the small screen as an 11-part television series on Netflix. The Sandman is an ultra-faithful adaptation of Gaiman’s evocative, cerebral, and critically-lauded The Sandman comic book series beginning in 1989. Under Gaiman’s guidance as an executive producer and writer, the show is a near replica, regurgitating precisely what lies on the page of the comic. Yet, the show suffers from its loyalty, as it takes few creative liberties when it should feel free to rework Gaiman’s original words. With all of its consistencies, The Sandman lacks a pulse, as its writing reflects the comics’ own meager pacing.
We’ve seen it time and time again: female protagonists going head to head over a guy. It’s Blair against Serena, Meredith against Addison, Peyton against Brooke, and—a more recent favorite—Kate against Edwina in season two of Bridgerton. The love triangle is often used to create tension between two female characters in film and television. This trope has been present in popular culture and storytelling practices for a very long time, and it seems as though it isn’t going away any time soon.
After the success of Thor: Ragnarok, many fans had high hopes for director Taika Waititi’s sequel Thor: Love and Thunder. However, the film released to mixed reviews, becoming one of the worst–rated Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU) movies on Rotten Tomatoes.
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