Watching ‘The Inside Outtakes’ From the Outside
Bo Burnham is back with some more “Content.” Open wide.
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Bo Burnham is back with some more “Content.” Open wide.
The human experience exists in color and motion. Visuals and emotions often capture events better than words, no matter how complex or provocative the event may be. When we see stories adapted on screen, we’re bound to gravitate towards lingering camera work, color contrasts that match the mood, and graphics that force us to look and listen. So it makes sense when Love Death + Robots describes itself as mind–bending. Its use of animation generates unseen adventure, both familiar and unfamiliar, and bends the rules for how humans see themselves in fiction.
On the first warm day of 2020, I rode my bike to Franklin D. Roosevelt Park, or as Philly natives call it, “The Lakes.” At Broad Street and Pattison Avenue, I followed the gravelly, soiled path that faded into a vast grassy lawn (it was once a golf course) but was now undoing itself into a knee–high meadow of yellow and purple weeds after the city shut down. I would sit under the same tree each day, kicking some leftover golf balls or watching groundhogs peek through the islands of trees, just waiting for a person to pass. During the first week of June 2022, the abandoned golf course that recently became “the South Philly Meadows” was gated to prepare for the hundreds of people expected there for the annual Philadelphia Flower Show.
Shopping for bras and underwear of any kind can be difficult.
Content warning: The following article includes mentions of suicide and eating disorders and can be disturbing or triggering for some readers. Please find resources listed at the bottom of the article.
For those who have been to Repo Records—an unskippable stop while walking down South Street—one of its trademark qualities is its attic–like crowdedness. The smell of incense wafts in from one corner and shelves of music memorabilia are squished in another. Band T–shirt racks fill the center of the store, and of course, the uncountable vinyl across its walls. It’s a space definitely known for its record signings, but one you wouldn’t expect to fit a concert inside.
Sophia the Robot, Robert Zemeckis’ The Polar Express, and Aldous Harding can all make you feel discomfort. But—barring any technofuturists or early–aughts CGI fanatics—only one has the power to make you feel something beautiful.
My mom recently reminded me of a call we had in the first weeks of my freshman year at Penn. She asked me if I felt comfortable at school. I responded, “Yes, but Penn is nothing like home.” My response suggests that I grew up in a sunny beach town or a quaint suburban neighborhood with pools in backyards and 50–person graduating classes. But surprisingly, the place I call home is a 20–minute walk from the Quad. I spent my first 18 years living in the same row home on the same pesky–to–drive–down narrow street, two blocks away from the Philadelphia Museum of Art.
The set of School Girls; Or, The African Mean Girls Play is made of an earthy color palette of oak, grass, and desert yellow, taking place in the cafeteria of Aburi Girls Boarding School in the mountains of Ghana. But the moment the Arden Theatre’s Arcadia Stage dims, the white–paper window paneling and tranquil plant silhouettes explode into a hot pink, covering the stage as an electric guitar cues five girls to sit down for lunch.
If you frequented YouTube in the 2010s, you probably came across Marcel the Shell With Shoes On, a three–part series of under–one–minute stop motion mockumentary–style videos following a one–inch–tall shell and his tiny life within the corners of a house and the comparatively large objects within it. The brainchild of filmmaker Dean Fleischer–Camp and comedian–actress Jenny Slate (at the time a couple, since separated), the Marcel the Shell with Shoes On shorts have now been expanded into a feature–length film produced by A24 and set for a summer release.
Lisa McGee’s hit dark comedy Derry Girls wrapped up season three on May 18. While the announcement of a season three left me eager to see my favorite characters again, I was also confused, since the end of season two felt like the perfect end to both the season and the series.
Over the footsteps of heels, you hear cackling as Florence Welch sings a monotone, a cappella harmony that stratifies into an indistinguishable sound of spoken and sung voice: “I met the devil / You know, he gave me a choice / A golden heart or a golden voice.” Florence + the Machine’s new album, Dance Fever, is threatening—a presence you can feel but can’t see. For the first time after her premier poetry book Useless Magic: Lyrics and Poetry was published, Welch’s new album comes with three “poem versions” of songs, literally challenging the lines between lyricism, vocals, and verse.
Nov. 6, 2021. Saturday Night Live’s (SNL) Cecily Strong takes the “Weekend Update” stage dressed in a costume reminiscent of Loonette from The Big Comfy Couch: an eccentrically patterned button down and vest, a bowtie, and two voluminous ponytails teased out of a little fuchsia hat.
United Kingdom–bred One Direction heartthrob–turned–solo–rockstar Harry Styles has entered a new phase of his dynamic music career. On May 20, Styles released his third album Harry’s House. Prior to this release, Styles debuted his self–titled album in 2017 and Fine Line in 2019—Styles’ introduction to rock and '80s–style hits respectively. Inspired by Haruomi Hosono’s '70s record Hosono House, Harry’s House takes another step away from Styles’ rock solo origins to mainstream pop.
On May 6 at 6:25 p.m., a chatty line of people wait outside in the rain for Washington D.C.’s hip music venue, The Anthem, to open its doors. In just over two hours, singer–songwriter Laura Pergolizzi, professionally known as LP, will take the stage. The line lurches forward and the first concertgoers enter the hall. As we complete a brief security check, attendees stumble past the merch stand and take their positions at the front of the pit.
As an avid Marvel movie fan since my preteen years and a loyal follower of the Disney+ shows, I’ve been ecstatic for the release of the newest Dr. Strange movie, Dr. Strange: Multiverse of Madness. Going in, I’d been intentional about avoiding spoilers or any news whatsoever. I didn’t want to know what was going to happen. I didn’t even want to know who the villain was. I had hoped that the movie would be good, seeing the upwards trajectory that the past few Marvel shows and movies had been taking, such as Loki, Moon Knight, and Shang–Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings.
Museums and art galleries are known as places that answer our existential questions. However, over the last two months, the Institute for Contemporary Art (ICA) has only posed said questions.
When you type in “Heartstopper” on Google, a few pastel leaves will flutter across your screen, serving as a reminder of how author Alice Oseman’s illustrations went from a black and white webcomic series to one of Netflix’s most—watched shows of the year. After receiving a 100% average Tomatometer score on Rotten Tomatoes and sitting on Twitter’s trending chart for more than three consecutive weeks, the show was recently renewed for two more seasons due to its tremendous success.
Machiavelli, Yassified: "He’s never thought to look through my phone because he's just stupid that way."
Last semester I was scrolling through Instagram stories when, among the mind–numbing piles of reposts and sports updates, something caught me by surprise—something that triggered a very deep emotional reaction that I couldn't quite explain. Was it a flashy news headline filled with tragedy? A gut–wrenching story about love? A nihilistic look at the climate crisis?