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In 2015, I entered Gershwin Theatre to see the musical Wicked. I was left captivated by the catchy music and the enthusiastic dances. Nine years after my first introduction to the Broadway show, I returned to one of my favorite musicals … in movie form.
Content warning: This article contains mentions of rape and sexual harassment that can be disturbing and/or triggering for some readers.
I was raised in a typical suburban, Jewish family. Hebrew school once a week, Shabbat dinners Friday night, never setting foot in a synagogue if it wasn’t a high holiday, the usual. That fact isn’t usually that relevant to the movies I write about, but this week it is.
In late fall, the two of us got on the train to our hometown—New York. As arts and culture reporters, and as 18–year residents of the greatest city in the world (sorry, Philadelphia), we were hungry to sink our teeth into the best the New York Film Festival had to offer. Official press badges in hand and pencils poised for note–taking, we filtered into Lincoln Center, and found ourselves watching a series of stories about what it means to retain identity during the rise of far–right influence.
I sat in the Cinemark University City Penn 6 with my boyfriend waiting for our 9:40 p.m. screening of The Wild Robot to start. Our only other option this late was Smile 2, but we weren’t in the mood for anything too heavy. Our middling expectations for The Wild Robot were set by a decent 30–second teaser and the vague knowledge that Kit Connor (the heartthrob from Heartstopper) would be doing an American accent. We went into the film essentially blind, seeking mere childlike wonder and excitement.
The cozy, home–like atmosphere of Kelly Writers House, reminiscent of idealized 1950s movie living rooms, provided the perfect setting for a visit from one of the most outstanding creative media executives of the 21st century, Rob Sharenow. He serves as the president of programming for A+E Networks, overseeing all creative development and production for their brands. A writer, artist, cultural explorer, and businessman, Sharenow came to share his insights on failure and success in the entertainment industry. “Speaking about failures is a way to see things holistically,” he emphasized early in the evening, setting the tone for what became the event’s unofficial motto.
As I was relaxing in my dorm room and scrolling on Netflix at the beginning of the month, the warm orange hues and retro font of the Woman of the Hour banner caught my attention. Despite not being a big fan of psychological thriller movies, I’ve always loved reading psychological thriller novels. Endless nights of turning pages, afraid to go to sleep. The pages’ words infiltrated my brain and created paranoia that can only be described as a sinking feeling. I was filled with curiosity surrounding the film and clicked play.
Every fall, the air becomes crisp and the leaves turn from green to shades of red and yellow. Pumpkin and apple pie spices begin to waft through homes, and chunky sweaters start to appear on individuals walking down Locust Walk. During the fall, many gather under their warm, fuzzy blankets and turn on Netflix to reunite with characters of a small town in Connecticut. What show are they watching? Gilmore Girls.
Sexuality: society loves to package it, police it, profit off it, and then pretend it’s too taboo to talk about.
Korean horror cinema is a beautiful sickness. It contains that slow, creeping dread that nestles in your bones, a shadow that won’t leave even after you turn on the lights. It doesn’t just haunt; it stains, sinking under the skin, warping everything familiar into something chillingly wrong.
Who is Mavis Beacon?
How many actresses need their own Cinderella story before the narrative becomes overdone? At this point, everyone and their mother has seen a Cinderella adaptation; and as clever as some of these filmmakers think they are, their homages to Grimm’s fable are never really all that subtle (although many aren’t trying to be, and that’s okay, too). Cinderella’s plight represents the all but futile idea that you can achieve the American dream entirely separately from the system that makes it so difficult; a golden individual who maintains a fiercely humble set of morals yet still in the end attains all of the benefits enjoyed by the top percentile of a capitalist society. Throw a storybook romance in there too and how could it not be alluring?
The familiar old Cinemark seats and nachos with Diet Coke, backtracked by endless trailers for movies we’ll probably forget about by the time they release in a year or two. But, we’ve been waiting for the Joker sequel ever since the first whispers about it emerged back in 2019. Surely, you remember the debates on social media about who would make a better Harley Quinn: Margot Robbie or Lady Gaga.
The undead in Kingdom don't just rise from the grave—they emerge from the rot at the heart of the Joseon dynasty.
2024 has certainly been a year for film and television! Coming off the heels of a historic joint strike from both the Screen Actors Guild and the Writers Guild of America, the industry has been in a somewhat shaky place for the past 12–and–some months. Still, audiences have been fed with a bevy of delicious cinematic treats, from Apple TV originals to Palme d’Or winners to solid, good–old–fashioned seasons of quality comedy writing. Personally, I’ve found my own way with entertainment this year, journeying to Cannes and Los Angeles, and searching for that static buzz of excitement that comes with good television in Philly and New York. In an overwhelming senior year, it’s been nice to know that I’ll always have my friends on my TV set by my side. And if you’re looking for something to engage you, distract you, or just show you the many multifaceted ways that humanity gets depicted on screens small and large, let Street recommend this year’s best offerings. I think I speak for all of us when I say that I hope 2025 brings many, many more things to argue about, fawn over, and watch and rewatch again.
Buying a ticket to see a new release is also a pass to the experience of the movie theater—where the smell of freshly popped popcorn fills the air; displays of candy, nachos, and slushies surround cashiers; enthusiastic audience members talk about what they enjoyed and disliked about the movie; vibrant and colorful posters hang throughout the building; and claw machines play music similar to an ice–cream truck. Before you sit in the leather seats with a bucket of buttered popcorn and start the screening, you don’t know whether you will love the movie or if you’ll hate it. Regardless of how we view films after watching them, it’s always true that when you enter a movie theater, you set foot into a new world, if only for two hours. And sometimes, a new world means a new wardrobe.
There are clear skies in a lovely little Northern Ireland town, and John Paul “The Prick” Williams is dead.
Before I first watched Devilman Crybaby, I had been warned: “Isn’t that the gross pervy one?”
Since its inception in 1994, HGTV has made a name for itself by popularizing a genre of shows that mix reality TV and home renovation. Successful programs like Fixer Upper and Love It or List It—which follow charismatic duos on their journey to renovate dilapidated houses—have garnered loyal, almost cult followings. The channel has mastered a formula for viewership which blends aspirational, farmhouse–chic design with just the right amount of witty banter and practical advice. This combination has allowed HGTV to become a cultural hallmark, influencing everything from real estate to home decor.
Dinner in America has had a resurgence of popularity long past its fifteen minutes of online fame, warranting theatrical rereleases two years after its initial release. It’s a deservedly–praised movie with chaotic energy and an unorthodox love story, and though the romanticized clips going viral on TikTok might lure you in, they’re not reflective of the full story.
Solutions by The State News