Who are the Oscars for?
Awards shows care about being cared about.
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Awards shows care about being cared about.
The bright hues emanating from your laptop light up your dark living room, casting highlights across your face. After ten minutes of browsing Netflix, you finally choose a new show to binge–watch over the weekend. As you cozy into the couch, your phone vibrates. A Snapchat notification pops up and as you start to reply to your friends, a two–minute distraction slowly transforms into four episodes’ worth of scrolling, replying, and messaging. But the catch? You haven’t missed anything that is happening on the show.
If seasons one and two of The Sex Lives of College Girls were a long term relationship, Season Three is a series of meaningless hookups after a life changing breakup. The show follows four roommates—Bela, Leighton, Kimberly, and Whitney—as they navigate their first few years at a fictional Ivy League–esque college. It was announced in July 2023 that singer and actress Renée Rapp, who plays Leighton in the show, would be limitedly featured in season three with an eventual departure from the show. This prompted significant outrage from fans, who see her as the most compelling storyline and are sad to lose the queer representation.
Although it is still early in the year, I can hardly wait for summer. The frigid winds are traded in for cooling breezes, long days spent in classrooms turn into beach days that extend from sunrise to sunset, and the television series that stream year–round are replaced by seasonally topical content. One of the most anticipated releases this summer happens to be Season Three of the guilty–pleasure romantic comedy show The Summer I Turned Pretty: a show about friendship, coming of age, and a teenage love triangle that leaves audience members on the edges of their seats.
In a small mall in Brazil, a movie theater buzzes with life as a long line snakes past the popcorn stand, the ticket office, and all the way out to the theater's exit. Among the crowd, teenagers stand side by side with their grandparents—groups rarely drawn together by modern films. But the 2024 Oscar–nominated drama I'm Still Here has become a unifying force in Brazilian cinema, a phenomenon the country hasn't seen in years.
My Street friends know that I am an Emilia Pérez apologist. Well. Maybe just a non–hater. Despite the mediocre soundtrack and colossal insanity of Jacques Audiard’s vision, the concept and performances and chaos just work for me. That being said, I don’t think it deserves anything close to a repeat of its run at the Golden Globes; I’d happily give it Best Editing, maybe Cinematography. Best Actress? Let Demi Moore have her Globe, but Sean Baker didn’t write the character of Anora with Mikey Madison in mind for nothing, so please lock in for me, Oscars judges. I will most likely want Best Director for Baker too, while we’re at it. Jeremy Strong was snubbed Best Supporting at the Globes, so I hope he gets it this time for his masterful and almost—but not quite—sympathetic portrayal of Roy Cohn. The Apprentice being snubbed so hard in general was surprising to me; it’s a great film and obviously topical for the year it was released. And it seems like watching The Brutalist, A Real Pain, and Conclave has become my homework before March, so for now, jury’s still out on Best Picture. My little Anora heart might still pull for it, though.
It’s never been easy to put Steven Soderbergh neatly into a box. From his extremely varied filmography to his incredible yearly culture diaries that document all the media he consumes year–by–year, Soderbergh has always been one of the most unique figures in Hollywood. With the release of Presence, his 35th(!) feature film, Soderbergh proves he’s still as vital an auteur as ever.
It’s been three years since we last saw the inside of the Lumon office building, and, according to Mr. Milchick, the newly–promoted head of the severed floor, it’s been five months since Mark S., Helly R., Irving B., and Dylan G. have, too.
It’s not hyperbole to say that David Lynch changed my life. There are those precious few artists whose work hits you at precisely the right moment in your life that forever alter its course. Through the perfect combination of circumstance and substance, they literally expand your field of view. They show you what art can be, and immediately your life is never the same. David Lynch did that for me and for so many others.
When you think of a superhero movie, you are probably thinking of bright supersuits and dramatic action scenes with even more dramatic villains. In today’s Marvel Cinematic Universe, you probably think of snarky one–liners, less saturation than you would traditionally imagine, and a balancing act between gritty darkness and fun action. Perhaps after all this time, the movies and television shows sort of blur together with some standing out but most falling into a tapestry of mediocrity. We have been long overdue for a show that takes a new angle on a classic story.
I’m going to be honest, I almost fell for it too. Big Ridley Scott Haters almost got me.
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.