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You survive the crash. You tend to the injured and mourn the dead. You descend, ravenous, on the burned body of your fallen teammate because you know that’s what you have to do to make it through to another day.
Dinner in America isn't just another indie darling—it’s a film that makes misfits feel like main characters. It’s a love letter to outsiders, weirdo girls, punk boys, the neurodivergent, the anxious, the ones who spent middle school clutching their iPods like a life raft. If its massive TikTok resurgence is any proof, young women—especially neurodivergent ones—have claimed it as their own.
From Some Like It Hot and Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid to Superbad and The Hangover, the buddy comedy has established itself as a distinct cinematic genre, separate from the rom–coms we fawn over and the action movies that captivate us. They exist somewhere in between, typically blending elements of emotional depth with ridiculous, almost farcical action sequences (usually some sort of car chase or fistfight), but when they’re done right, what we remember most is the friendship around which the film revolves. It just so happens that, for most of the genre’s existence, the friendships it’s chosen to showcase have been male.
Episode nine opens with Helena Eagan swimming laps. She’s in an indoor pool in a glass–walled mansion in the middle of the frozen wasteland that seems to make up most of the outside world of Severance. She goes for a post–swim breakfast with her freak of a father, Jame (Michael Siberry), who admonishes her for not eating her eggs raw. Instead, Helena eats them hard–boiled. With a knife and fork. What a weirdo.
If I thought last week’s “Gemma’s been trapped in the basement this whole time” twist was jaw–dropping, it has nothing on how this 37 minute exploration of Harmony Cobel ended.
… dary.
Maybe it’s Hinge. Maybe it’s Tinder. Maybe it’s your one–night–stand–turned–ex–situationship whose eye contact you avoid like the plague on your way to class. No matter where you place the blame, the fact remains that the 21st century is flipping the script on romance movies. Gone are the times when wholesome films like 10 Things I Hate About You and My Best Friend’s Wedding ruled the screen—modern audiences seem to have a taste for something a little bit darker these days. A taste, even, for blood.
An email enters your inbox. The subject line reads “POV: UR AT THE WHITE LOTUS.” It’s from the clothing brand Cider—you know, the one all over TikTok that defines itself as an “Earth–Conscious Brand” while contributing to the erosive trend cycles of fast fashion. Scrolling through the email allows recipients to pick out boho–chic bikinis or cream, knit midi dresses listed under labels like “pretend like nothing’s going wrong in these tropic–ready pieces” or “just another retired millionaire, nothing to see here.” If none of these specifically curated looks tickle one’s fancy, there’s a whole page dedicated to playing dress–up for the “Lotus Escape.” For a little under $30 and the small price of potentially unethical labor, you too can look like the glamorously troubled vacationers of the White Lotus Hotel.
Soft wind accompanies the sound of golf clubs brushing the perfectly cut grass. The sun’s rays illuminate highlights and shadows on the caps of the attendees. It’s the perfect golf weather. Surely, every player should be performing to the best of their abilities, right?
I fucking called it once again, I have to say.
The clock reads 8:30 p.m. Although you are sitting in the comfort of your own home (or dorm), it’s almost as though you’ve won standby tickets and are sitting in the iconic Studio 8H. After all, New York City is only an hour and a half Amtrak ride away. Usually, you watch on Saturday night at 11:30 p.m., but tonight is different. It’s a Sunday evening, and “Saturday Night Live’s 50th Anniversary Special” is on NBC. Suddenly, the iconic band introduction plays, the lights go up, and a host enters a Grand Central Station–inspired set and recites a monologue. Live from New York, it’s Saturday Night!
Best performance, or best narrative?
Thirteen cold–pressed juices a day, every hour, on the hour. Five coffee enemas. Everything green, everything clean. No need for chemotherapy, surgery, or long, terrified stays in hospital rooms. If you’re just diligent enough, your cancer will go away.
Since President Donald Trump’s inauguration into office, several executive orders have been passed that either directly or indirectly target the transgender community. Tensions have begun to grow, as these orders have affected different corporations, companies, and other industries. Tertiary educational institutions have taken an especially large hit, as a more recent executive order has called for the dismantlement of LGBTQ+ policies. Trans lives are once again strongly endangered. Hate crime charges arespiking, and the current political landscape is becoming very similar to past movements of other historically marginalized people. But times and circumstances like these tend to produce impactful media centered around perseverance and connection within these affected communities. So far, 2025 has not disappointed.
There’s a problem with modern movies. Well, there are a lot of problems—terrible CGI, a general lack of trust in the audience, an unwillingness to take bold chances. There’s a lot that Hollywood needs to improve. There is, however, one problem that stands out above them all. One problem that makes older movies tower above the modern sensibility: Today’s directors have a fear of earnestness.
We pick up this week where we last left off, with Mark Scout and Reghabi in Mark’s garage directly after a reintegration flash. Mark is telling Reghabi about what he saw, and she tells him that she doesn’t know what exactly is going on, but clearly Gemma is “essential” to Lumon, and perhaps Mark should consider letting her speed up the reintegration process.
I watched Babygirl the way God (A24) intended—through some grainy, shaky, likely–illegal cam coverage. The latest entry in A24’s unhinged female protagonist cinematic universe, Babygirl isn’t a girlboss redemption arc or a carefully crafted feminist statement. It’s about a woman in free fall, clinging to whatever scraps of control and validation she can find. If the 2010s gave us the “cool girl” (Gone Girl) and 2020 gave us “girlboss” (Promising Young Woman), we are now deep into feral goblin woman cinema, where the messiness is not just emotional but physical, visceral, and deeply uncomfortable.
As of a few days ago, Down with Love, 2003’s overlooked masterpiece of a rom–com, has become my most rewatched movie. This recent addition to the Criterion Channel is a perfect picture, and that’s no exaggeration. Or, well, maybe it might be, just a little. It would have been even better were it a musical, and it’s shocking that it isn’t, considering it stars Renée Zellweger straight off the heels of Chicago, and Ewan McGregor fresh from Moulin Rouge!.
'Trojan Horse' begins with some ominous whistling. A man is taking a cart to the export hall, and The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald is setting the tone for the rest of the episode.
The episode kicks off with that dolly zoom that we’ve all come to know and love, flipping a switch on Irving Bailiff and turning him into Irving B.
Solutions by The State News