This past Saturday saw the discovery of a drug lab in a freshman dorm at Georgetown. The whole story had “perfect scandal” written all over it: college kids at an elite school, making their own drugs from the comfort of their Twin XL–equipped room!
In Hereafter, every character has been touched by death. The serious television journalist from France sputters water after surviving the 2004 tsunami.
Betty Anne Waters almost single–handedly got her wrongly–accused brother, Kenny, out of jail. For almost 20 years, she studied law, pursued witnesses and collected DNA evidence to prove his innocence.
Film Festivals are fun — no doubt about it. What isn’t fun is boarding the terror train back to West Philly in the middle of the night.
This weekend, the Film Editors held each other tight as they faced disgruntled riders, flash mobs and a near gang–war.
Tonight at the Annenberg Center for the Performing Arts, Darren Aronofsky’s highly-anticipated Black Swan will kick off 10 days of geeky cinema appreciation.
Released just in time for John Lennon’s 70th birthday (but almost a year after it came out in the UK), Sam Taylor-Wood’s Nowhere Boy portrays the early life of eventual nowhere man John Lennon.
By contrasting the radically different relationships of two couples, Jack Goes Boating, Philip Seymour Hoffman’s directorial debut, presents a sincere, yet staid picture of love among middle-aged adults.
It’s official, we’re infested! Only New York City has more cases of bedbugs than Philadelphia, and they aren’t expected to go away anytime soon.
While you are probably in the clear, it’s nevertheless easy to become paranoid.
Before Mark Zuckerberg became the world’s youngest billionaire, he was as awkward at talking to women as anyone in Skirkanich Hall.
The opening sequence of The Social Network depicts a rapid-fire, cringe-worthy exchange between Zuckerberg (Eisenberg) and his girlfriend.
“Why won’t anyone take me seriously?” asks Joaquin Phoenix in I’m Still Here, a “documentary” about the star’s bizarre transition from acting to rapping.
Alexander McQueen’s passing in February was easily the biggest tragedy to hit the fashion world since the Orange Mocha Frappuccino “Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go” gasoline freak fire of ’01.
Not to be outdone by their fictional Zoolander counterparts, the fashion elite gathered this week in a virtual reenactment of Rufus, Brint and Meekus's funeral to pay tribute to the late designer.
Anna Wintour delivered the heartfelt eugoogly, no doubt sporting her signature sunglasses, mirroring Derek’s unforgettable blue-steel tinted frames.
Naomi Campbell channeled Katinka Ingabogovinanana in feathers, dressed as a Greek fury.
Sarah Jessica Parker, keeping it somber with a tasteful beehive not topping out at more than 10 or 12 inches, might have cast a critical eye at her fellow mourners, asking in typical voice-over fashion: “I couldn’t help but wonder, were these people here to pay tribute to a great man, or to try and one-up each other with their batshit crazy getups?”
But what does it matter, Carrie?