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I’m only being a little dramatic when I say that Severance should get an Emmy for best editing for the last two minutes of season two, episode three alone.
The second episode answers some of my questions, and asks a lot more. It kicks off right where the first season ended, with Mark interrupting a book party his sister, Devon (Jen Tullock), and his brother–in–law, Ricken, were hosting, shouting that Gemma is alive.
A little while back, I got the chance to write 8,000 words worth of a recap of a television show that tackled corporate greed, the liminality of living in a cold, small town, and the most complicated love square known to man, all while being gorgeously lit and creatively shot. But now that Riverdale has gone on to the great Chock’lit Shoppe in the sky, I need to get my fix of those things somewhere else.
Awards shows care about being cared about.
The first month of 2025 brought with it several powerhouse releases for rap. In the mainstream, there was the hauntingly brilliant Mac Miller album Balloonerism, and in abstract and conscious rap, a few big(ish) names showed up with some of their best projects to date. Notably, MIKE’s psychedelically resonant Showbiz!, Ghais Guevara’s densely conceptual Goyard Ibn Said, and Pink Siifu’s industrial odyssey Black'!Antique (a wildly invigorating record that has me thinking society’s progressed way past the need for JPEGMAFIA) were releases to celebrate.
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.
Abel Tesfaye has spent the last five years making highly thematic albums, revealing to us the inner workings of his hedonistic, dark The Weeknd persona. His last two projects—After Hours and Dawn FM—contained highly visual, conceptual imagery, and leaned into this focus, featuring cinema–inspired narratives that slowly depicted The Weeknd's inevitable descent into madness. Regarding After Hours, The Weeknd’s costume designer Patrick Henry, more popularly known as “Fresh,” told Billboard, “When he did this, it wasn’t just Abel anymore. He created a persona and took this guy through a whole experience.” Dawn FM picked up where After Hours left off—inserting The Weeknd into a state of purgatory, followed by a journey towards escape. Hurry Up Tomorrow is the light at the end of this tunnel, offering the same immersive experience. Announcing this album as his last as The Weeknd, Tesfaye lets this infamous persona take his last breaths in Hurry Up Tomorrow. But one question remains: Just how great of a finale is this?
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.
The air is cold and dry. We yawn, stretch tired limbs, and squint crusty–lidded eyes into the bleak sunlight as we trudge down Locust Walk to our 8:30 a.m. classes. It's another day we won’t touch grass or see green. Each week is an endless rotation of Pret coffee, Van Pelt, and classes we can’t stay awake for. It’s February at Penn.
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.
Solutions by The State News