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Some individuals have comfort people while some have comfort blankets. Others, though, have comfort TV shows. Comfort shows—with their specific storylines, immersive worlds, and fictional characters that we grow to know so deeply—as a type of emotional support aren't a foreign concept, but they're arguably more important now than ever before, given the current climate of the world.
If you take everything else away, I would contend that my defining characteristic is my hair. As a kid, my nickname was broccoli, based solely on the fact my hair resembled a sprouting floret. Coming into the COVID–19 pandemic, I remember a teacher noting that while he struggled to recognize the rest of his students in their masks, he always knew I was approaching because of my signature mane. Everyone’s first compliment was of my curls and their last question was an inquiry into my hair routine—to which I always falsely answered, “I don’t even know,” as if I didn’t spend hours on Sunday pre–conditioning, co–washing, plumping, or whatever other tips I picked up from the endless curly hair influencers I followed.
Of the 3,404 students admitted to Penn’s Class of 2024, 168 of them hailed from the city of Philadelphia. While it is highly unlikely that every Philadelphia admit accepted their offer of admission from Penn, it can be assumed that around 5% of the 2,400–person junior class possesses the unique perspective of attending college in the same city where they reside based on the number originally admitted. Statistically speaking, then, being included in this percentage is a rarity on this campus.
One of my favorite introductions to a film is that of Quentin Tarantino’s Inglourious Basterds. (Which, if you haven’t seen, you should go and watch immediately before reading this spoiler.) In it, a Nazi colonel (Christoph Waltz) visits a French farmer’s (Denis Ménochet) house, responding to rumors that someone in the area is clandestinely sheltering a Jewish family from the Holocaust. The first ten minutes play out, slowly building tension as the audience attempts to piece together which character knows something that the other does not. Then, as the farmer details the ages and features of the family’s children, the camera slowly pans down to reveal them quietly hiding beneath the floorboards.
As I entered Union Transfer, the demographics of the Wednesday night crowd struck me. Twenty–something women in New Rocks coexisted alongside seventy–something men wearing pullovers, making it the most generationally diverse concert I’ve attended. This universality is unique to this small band from the UK.
In the summer of 2016, construction workers stumbled upon a mystery while performing centennial renovations on the historic Thomas Evans building in Penn Dental Medicine. “My phone rang one day that summer, and Elizabeth Ketterlinus, Senior Associate Dean, announced that construction workers had located two boxes in the [Penn Dental Medicine] basement that might be of interest. An hour later, I was perusing their contents,” says Lynn Marsden–Atlass, director of the Arthur Ross Gallery, remembering the start of a nearly decades–long artistic mystery.
The Oscars are having an identity crisis.
The Traces by Mairead Small Staid is a philosophical exploration of happiness in which the author interweaves musings by figures like Aristotle, Cesare Pavese, and Alain de Botton with her own. She turns her self–reflection outward onto the reader, making this debut memoir both revealing and introspective. Small Staid discusses place, longing, and memory, journeying back through her life–altering time as a student abroad in Florence, Italy where she spent idyllic days studying “poems and paintings below oaken ceilings” and "[drinking] espresso in a sunlit courtyard.”
After R&B singer Jhené Aiko lost her older brother Miyagi in 2012, she spent the next five years losing herself. Whether it was abusing controlled substances, immersing herself in meaningless relationships, or jetting across the world to escape her feelings, there wasn’t much she wouldn’t do to find solace from her pain.
Maybe it’s the highly dramatic acting that feels almost mimed at times, or maybe it’s the flamboyant clothing sported by Lily Collins’ character, but whatever it is, the fact remains that Emily in Paris is a show that, while highly entertaining, is usually laughable. Ask someone if they’ve watched the Netflix original series, and they’ll almost certainly roll their eyes and laugh, indicating their dislike for the cheesy program.
The Guy in Question: “I love the guy using the virginity as a social construct argument to get in a girl’s pants.”
Okay yeah sex is good but have you ever had the creamy crab and shrimp risotto from Quaker Kitchen after your first day of classes and followed it with the creamy tiramisu for dessert and your body literally shook—well, in the case of this strategically named dining hall, quaked—with pleasure?
This is how this story starts: I’m sick to my stomach. I wasn’t at the time, but I am now thinking about it. I wonder sometimes if I was in love with her. Let’s establish some characters. Me: naive, your typical middle school loser, unknowingly in the closet. Her: we’ll call her Mary. Funny, sweet. Graceful, too.
How I met them: at Wawa (agh), on Tinder, on Tinder again, six months later (aghhghh), through mutual friends, in class, in the 4th floor of DRL, the math lounge, of all places.
I walk through the air–conditioned corridors of the São Paulo Museum of Art (MASP), appreciating oil paintings in golden frames and white marble statues. Suddenly, I am stuck by a bright yellow poster, “Do women have to be naked to get into the São Paulo Museum of Art?”
Venturing through the Philadelphia Museum of Art (or any art museum really), you're guaranteed to see a hypersexualized, “ideal” version of the female anatomy: ample bosoms, round bottoms, and long flowing hair. Male physiques at the museum are seldom presented with the same objectification for voyeuristic purposes.
Bones and All is impossible to turn away from. Grimy, gory, gross—absolutely. Swooningly romantic, gentle, and beautiful—also yes. Many viewers may be turned off by the premise of cannibals eating their way across America’s great plains and sprawling highways, but those who find their interest piqued will surely be rewarded. This is a film with a lot of meat on its bones.
The story of Penn's upcoming student–run and produced Bifocal Film Festival doesn’t start where you would expect it to—in Philadelphia. Rather, it begins in Kenya.
The frenzied buzz over Bong Joon–ho’s phenomenal Parasite (2019) seems to have just been yesterday, with both a sweeping victory at the Oscars and the box office (the fourth highest grossing foreign film in the United States). Decision to Leave (2022), a crime thriller from the celebrated Korean auteur Park Chan–wook, was recently released in the United States, and the film has been often described by the press in tandem with Parasite. Decision To Leave had its world premiere at Cannes Film Festival with a tremendous success, and it also aims to be a leading contender in the 2023 Oscar race. While it is still extremely hard to replicate Parasite’s success, Decision to Leave is in no way less glamorous. In fact, the audience may be left much more emotionally struck after watching Decision to Leave.
Oneness: Nature & Connectivity in Chinese Art is bringing the Chinese artistic tradition and landscape to Benjamin Franklin Parkway. Containing works by four prominent contemporary Chinese artists, the show tackles the intersections between humanism and environmentalism. It creates a continuous dialogue through the timeline of Chinese art, placing works like a 16th–century hanging scroll and Emperor’s Dragon Robe (Mang Pao) (c. 1840) alongside modern sculpture and ink paintings. For those looking to journey across the globe and through history, look no further than this immersive exhibition at the Philadelphia Museum of Art.
Solutions by The State News