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At some point during rehearsal, language stalls. The music director pauses mid–sentence, searches for a word, then switches to Korean. “There’s just no word for it in English,” says Jaein Han (C’ 26), co–music director, finishing her note to the singer. It might seem like a small moment, but it’s exactly how PennSori operates—not through clean translation, but through the imperfect, ongoing, and productive attempt.
Arrogant but brilliant doctors have occupied a timeless place in popular imagination. Gifted with a talent for medicine, characters like Marvel’s Dr. Strange and Grey's Anatomy surgeon Christina Yang spend every shift taking heat from their colleagues and patients alike for their lack of empathy, inflated egos, and pursuit of greatness—all at the expense of someone’s emotional well–being.
It's January 22, just another quiet Thursday afternoon at the Philadelphia Independence Mall, when a clattering sound fills the air. This isn’t the ordinary clamor of Philadelphia construction or the rumble of traffic: it’s the sound of federal agents prying a monument off the side of the President’s House.
Unless you’re living under a literal rock, you’ve probably noticed the extent to which artificial intelligence has taken over our daily lives. All Google searches come with a (questionable) AI summary, household appliances like dishwashers have started integrating AI, and AI–generated images are all over the internet, fooling our older relatives every day. Necessarily, as AI has entered our daily lives, it has also become increasingly prevalent in media, with major discussions over its use in scriptwriting, AI–generated “art,” and even completely AI–generated actors taking place over the last couple of years. However, the idea of AI as a theme in film and media as a whole has been a prevalent topic far longer than there has been tangible AI in the public sphere. These predictive stories, although not perhaps the deepest films ever made, confront issues we still ponder today, and are incredibly entertaining while doing so.
War Machine arrives on Netflix with the kind of blunt–force appeal its title promises: heavy artillery, heavier stakes, and a lead performance built like a tank. Starring Alan Ritchson as an unnamed sergeant, the film begins as a familiar entry in the modern military action canon before swerving—sometimes effectively, sometimes clumsily—into something stranger. It’s a movie that both wants to be a boots–on–the–ground war story and a high concept, sci–fi survival thriller. For long stretches, that ambition works. But in the end, War Machine becomes another example of a film that can’t quite resist setting up the next installment instead of fully delivering on its own.
Sorry, maybe I should rephrase. What is a video game adaptation supposed to do?
For a moment, it looked inevitable that Netflix would become the owner of Warner Bros., but that’s not how it played out. On the surface, the outcome is straightforward: Company A absorbs company B and becomes monstrously bigger. But what does this deal signal beyond the transaction itself? Is this a one–off bidding war or part of a larger shift in how Hollywood is reorganizing around streaming? At least for now, streaming is not taking over Hollywood; Hollywood is consolidating in order to keep up.
Luna Chen’s (C ‘26) passion for cooking emerged during COVID–19, when late nights of scrolling through YouTube cooking videos turned into hours spent in her home kitchen experimenting with new recipes for her family. Drawing inspiration from YouTube cooking creators, Luna brought this hobby to Penn, joining the entirely student–run dining pop–up, every now & then, where she helped create curated, home–cooked dinner parties for students across campus. Fueled by a genuine passion for food, the club became a defining part of Luna’s Penn experience and cultivated lasting friendships. Beyond the kitchen, Luna built a close–knit community through SPARK and on the women’s club volleyball team, connecting her with students both within and beyond the computer science community. Whether she’s perfecting clay pot rice recipes, building apps in Spark, competing on the volleyball court, or exploring the Philly food scene, Luna is always seeking out new ways to connect with those around her.
We made sure this crossword is "maxx" difficulty.
Let’s be clear, there is nothing wrong with seeing a headlining artist at Union Transfer or The Filmore, but your Philly music–going experience should absolutely not (and doesn’t have to) be defined by these $100 ticket, once–every–few–months, 6–foot–WWE—wrestler—man–blocking–your–view–in–GA experiences. Even more, you don’t need a pretentious music nerd to tell you to go see Oklou or Dave at these venues. What this pretentious music nerd hopefully can provide you with is a few lesser–known venues, upcoming Philly artists, and some Philly music repertoire with better–known music you may not have known had origins in the City of Brotherly Love. This way, instead of taking your S/O to bot out in the GA section of a Lorde concert, you can have that experience and impress them with a smaller, more intimate, and interesting show.
In an era defined by likes, streams, and shrinking attention spans, horror continues to be an example of tried and tested evergreen content—content that stays fresh, relevant, and keeps us coming back for more. There is something timeless and familiar about supernatural spirits, axe–murderers, and the undead—for this reason, they are stories that never die.
Charli xcx just unfollowed the Blue Man Group on Instagram. Don’t repeat her mistake.
In an interview with Apple Music, Harry Styles described his newest record, Kiss all the time. Disco, Occasionally. as a search for music that makes being on stage feel like being in the middle of the dance floor. As it turns out, Styles’ time on Europe’s dance floors in between Harry’s House and Kissco was more contemplative than sweaty—the carefully placed “Occasionally” in his new album’s title should have let us know that it wouldn’t be a full–out dance record. The album is a sobering check–in with Styles, seeing him take inspiration from electronic artists like LCD Soundsystem and Floating Points. But instead of chasing the ecstatic highs of his disco and techno influences, Styles wields them in his simultaneous questioning of and indulgence in self–mythological nostalgia. Though he attempts to interrogate the emotional bankruptcy involved in being a teen girl heartthrob ever since One Direction, Styles seems out of place and unconvincing in his new meditative persona.
What is the point of award shows? To a pessimist, it is a room full of adults deciding which other adults deserve tiny gold statues for pretending to cry on camera—all while wearing outfits whose price tags could fund a small charity drive. To an optimist, it is a celebration of the human race: our ability to create art and make strangers feel emotions they have never experienced. The truth, like most things in Hollywood, probably sits somewhere in the middle.
I don’t tend to think too much about being culturally Chinese. It’s like breathing—it doesn’t require much conscious effort, and it only stops when I die. Recently, however, TikTok, YouTube, and other media channels have pushed me to think about being Chinese a lot. Gua sha, qipao, Labubus: As a full–time Chinese person, it’s astonishing to suddenly find millions of non–Asian people exploring the nation and culture I was raised in. All the more surprising to me is that this surge in interest is happening now, when the United States and China are locked in fierce conflict on technological, economic, and geopolitical fronts. The fight for the “real” China—an implacable Communist police state or lifestyle brand—is no longer happening in the Taiwan Strait, but on TikTok.
Where were you when Clavicular ran into a frat leader at Arizona State University and got brutally frame–mogged by him?
The air inside the Pennsylvania Convention Center is warm in a way that feels suspicious for late winter. Street Photo Editor Connie Zhao and I spill out from SEPTA platforms alongside tens of thousands of other flower enthusiasts, all surging towards the flower show. We step into the constructed spring, and, as I hear Indila’s “Love Story” playing, I feel like I’ve wandered into the secret garden.
The blank white insides of Blah Blah Gallery shine like a star in the late winter afternoon. But inside those tightly bound walls, bursts of color and play erupt as you enter its enclosure of whimsy. Blah Blah Gallery’s juried exhibition, Holding Pattern, shown from Jan. 15 to Feb. 28, encapsulated its theme of transitory contradiction in life while also speaking to the role that art has in our lives, outside the white cube and in our imagined communities.
Over 90 years after Bride of Frankenstein (1935) turned a silent, two–minute performance into one of cinema’s most enduring images, Maggie Gyllenhaal is revisiting the myth from a different angle. The Bride!, which arrives in theaters March 6, stars Christian Bale as Frankenstein’s creature and Jessie Buckley as both Mary Shelley and the titular Bride—an intentional echo of Elsa Lanchester’s dual role in the original film. Where James Whale’s version is essentially about the Bride in name only, Gyllenhaal’s film shifts the emphasis away from horror, instead focusing on autonomy, companionship, and identity.
I got my first tattoo last summer. A simple one, referencing a Walt Whitman poem on the back of my arm, but it’s enough to strike up a conversation anytime it’s hot enough for me to wear short sleeves. And now that conversation will follow me to the ends of the earth, or at least until I get sick of teenage decisions and save up for a coverup.
Solutions by The State News