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(This article contains spoilers for La La Land.) All forms of art possess an innate ability to create retrospective and spur forethought. These modes of thinking can lead to criticisms of anything and everything, most often critiques of childhood, relationships, and career paths. Each genre of film is a lens by which to see the world, and while there are countless hybrids of genres, Hollywood sure does love a mirror. While more common in film’s earlier stages, Hollywood has been romanticizing and vilifying itself since its inception. From Behind the Screen to Sunset Boulevard, Singin’ in the Rain to The Player, and even 2016’s Hail, Caesar!, filmmakers love using the art of their craft as a means to explore themes and relationships. The Hollywood genre is rife with self-discovery, leading to success and fulfillment or failure and denial. Damien Chazelle explores the struggles of commitment and the torture it takes to follow a dream in his 2014 film, Whiplash. While he does not shy away from the psychological trauma suffered to pursue the profession of a jazz percussionist, he uses the thriller lens to focus on the physical torture of chasing said dream. His 2016 musical film, La La Land, instead explores a journey from fantasy to reality, and the pain that comes with it. Not only do his protagonists sacrifice years and self-respect to the Hollywood gods, they sacrifice the film itself and all the whimsical scenes they share to “make it.” La La Land is a beautiful testament to transcending what Hollywood teaches audiences to accept as the path to a perfect life. La La Land opens on a busy Los Angeles highway with a rousing musical number about every new day being an opportunity to catch that coveted big break. Its optimistic mantra, “Another Day of Sun,” implores those dreamers that even if today didn’t work out, there’s always one more day. The mood is seemingly broken at the conclusion of the first number with honks of car horns and shouts of frustrated road rage at the gridlock surrounding the ensemble cast. But never fear, there’s another musical number to explain your big break could be right around the corner (if you’re in the right crowd, to schmooze the right person at the right time). When Sebastian, an aggravated jazz musician, and Mia, an undervalued and aspiring actress, finally share a conversation, they are forced to confront their approaches to success. Unchallenged, both are almost at the end of their creative journeys. Together, they vow to upend the system and write themselves into a script that fits them, instead of waiting for the perfect opportunity to come along. The pursuit of artistic integrity is an amalgam of intent and reception. Both protagonists value intent and reception to various degrees. From birth, we are raised to perform to the best of our abilities, but are always plagued by at least a small degree of fear that our actions won’t be well-received. It is this fear that inhibits action, and we do well to have those in our lives that challenge us and prompt us to act. La La Land confronts this fear by having two characters who speak to both sides of reasoning. Although it is important to have something original or insightful to add to the ongoing conversation of life, it is equally important to throw caution to the wind and not give a damn about inevitable criticisms. La La Land isn’t any different from a lot of films in that it does set up its third act to be the reconciliation of a failure, but it flips the script by presenting an alternate reality to the typical romantic ending. La La Land urges its audience to have a romantic experience with life and not be limited to the romances of only partners or careers and the conception of the “perfect ending.” Sebastian stresses his love of jazz comes from the endless possibilities it presents. He embraces the improvisation of life and helps Mia see that a lack of control can be the ticket to artistic freedom. The audition that scores Mia her breakthrough role is an improvised story she tells about her aunt who lived in Paris. She sings, “Here's to the ones who dream, crazy as they may seem. Here’s to the hearts that break. Here’s to the mess we make.” The course we think we need to be on is frequently not the one that gets us to our desired destination. Mia repays Sebastian by teaching him along the way, that catering to a crowd doesn’t necessarily mean the death of his creative freedom. There can be a merger between the two: intent and reception. Both help the other to achieve complete career satisfaction. Retrospection breeds a wonder of what could have been if we would have done even one thing differently. After five years apart, Sebastian and Mia see each other again, and are thrust into a romanticized version of their realistic relationship. Each scene is echoed, through music from when they first met, to when they eventually parted ways, and even beyond. La La Land does not discredit the relationship they shared or the way they made each other feel, even though they ultimately do not end up together. The film speaks to the beauty in each step in life that gets us to the next. We’re all on different paths that lead to different destinations, and it’s okay (even necessary) to feel a sense of whimsy every now and then. With today’s political, social, and cultural climates, Hollywood’s infinite lenses can provide a much needed break from reality. La La Land is a great distraction: just remember to come back down. Bernadette Gorman Bernadette graduated from DePauw University in 2011 with a Film Studies degree she’s not currently using. She constantly consumes television, film, and all things pop culture and will never be full. She doesn’t tweet much, but give her a follow @BeaGorman and see if that changes. #Review #Newsletter #2016 #BernadetteGorman #LaLaLand

Listen, 2016 has been a real turd of a year and my memory is not as good as it once was (it was never good). So, presented here (in no particular order) are five movies that even at the end of December 2016, still stand out as memorable. The Lobster The Lobster is not a fun movie. There’s a fair argument that the film actively challenges you to enjoy its two-hour runtime. In fact, I’d be hard pressed to admit that I actually enjoyed watching it. However, the one-two gut punch of this movie’s midpoint and finale left me reeling in a way that I rarely experience from film. Coupled with humor so bone-dry and dark as the night that it could break even the toughest skin, The Lobster, left an impression that still haunts me months later. Arrival Arrival’s heady brand of sci-fi expertly postulates the question of first alien contact with a far out metaphysical twist that sunk in deep. How would we ever communicate with extraterrestrial beings whose very principle understanding of reality may seem foreign to us? Would the governments of the world remain peaceful and cordial, or react to invaders with itchy trigger fingers? With a twist that may leave certain literature fans with a familiar “ah-ha” moment, (I won’t name the book, just to avoid spoilers) Arrival delivers an emotionally heavy story in conjunction with a hard sci-fi setting that fills a similar niche to last year’s Ex Machina, another of my favorites. Swiss Army Man The surreal nature of Swiss Army Man presents a story that blurs the line between delusion and magic. You’re never quite sure whether the events that unfold are all in the mind of a very sick, very lonely person, or if Daniel Radcliffe's farting corpse actually has magical survival abilities. And that’s exactly where the beauty of this film lies. Ultimately for Paul Dano, the film’s lead protagonist, it doesn’t matter whether or not his conversations with this corpse are real. To him, he’s found a true source of love, compassion, and friendship in a world that has otherwise rejected him. For me, that’s a pretty warm message, especially for a year that I think left the majority of us in dire need of a hug. Bone Tomahawk Bone Tomahawk saw limited release among festivals in 2015, but only gained wide release when it landed on Amazon Prime in 2016, so I’m counting it. Bone Tomahawk expertly blends the lines between western and horror, creating a genre mash-up that practically has my name stamped right on it. Kurt Russell’s grizzled lead chews scenery and slings six-guns like he was born on the back of a horse. The design of the horrific troglodytes is nightmarish, and the use of gore is incredibly effective while remaining restrained and tactful. There’s a real sense of tension and danger throughout that leaves an unrelenting feeling of unease. On top of all that, I’d challenge anyone to come up with a name harder than Bone Tomahawk. The VVitch That thing I said about no particular order to this list? That was a lie. The VVitch is my #1 movie of 2016 by a very, very wide margin. I rarely watch movies more than once, and I hardly make it out to theaters anymore. I saw The Witch in theaters three times. The film oozes with atmosphere brought to life by Robert Eggers’ washed out color pallet and haunting soundtrack that provides the feeling of starving to death in the harsh New England winter. Seeds of cancerous paranoia plague the characters as they turn on each other, one by one, in the same religious hysteria that caused the Salem Witch Trials. The Victorian English is beautiful to listen to, and the hushed, rapid dialogue left me picking up more and more detail with each successive watch. The VVitch was not only my favorite movie of 2016, but has firmly solidified itself amongst my all time favorites. Jack Kolodziejski Jack makes drugs for a living, but not necessarily the fun kind. He enjoys international travel and discussing music, movies, and games in excruciating detail. #2016 #Top5 #Articles #Newsletter #JackKolodziejski

In a strange nameless town in Nowhere, USA, with streets lined with Barbadian-style homes, a gothic Frankenstein pops a suburban bubble with an innocent prick of his scissor-hands. In a true testament to the filmmaker, this cultic fable presents itself as pure entertainment, but below the surface, the message slowly rises in suspense to keep its viewers engaged until the very end, going beyond the typical confines of its genre. Though Edward Scissorhands may seem like another phantasmagoric Tim Burton film, it is unexpectedly profound, full of stark symbolism as a commentary on American culture. On a planet of stifled creativity and individuality, there is bound to be a clash between two worlds: the outcasts and the conformists. Each character represents various overarching facets of society - the Pariah, the Pollyanna, the exploiter, the bully, the growing teenager struggling to uphold social expectations, etc. which all serve as important players in a symbiotic civilization. This factor on its own, ever so slightly roots the story in reality at its most basic state. Collectively, the townspeople are the personification of the fear of judgment of others in the struggle to conform. The film’s mise en scene of panoramic shots capturing both the pastel town and Edward’s dark and bizarre mansion sets the narrative: a looming fear of the outside world penetrating an isolated world of sterility. It’s clear that Burton placed a lot of value on the importance of viewer perspective to act as a platform for conceptual thought that exists beyond the script. Intimate shots of Peg, (the surrogate of a mother he never had) and Edward, imply that they exist on a similar wavelength in the same world, the difference being Peg’s desperate grasp at uniformity hides the fact that her values fundamentally differ from her neighbors’. As opposed to being portrayed as a true monster, the contrast of Edward’s shocking appearance paired with close up shots of his wistful eyes, his scarred face and his whisper of a voice, reinforce the fact that eccentricity is often feared, though it is largely harmless. Throughout the film, Edward accidentally cuts himself or others in an expression of emotional pain, and though they eventually scar over, he is still marked with the memories of prejudice and rejection. Initially, his “handicap” appeals to the community’s self-centered sensibilities, and he is therefore regarded as “exceptional.” Yet later on in the film, his arrest for a framed robbery attempt is the beginning of his decline, and the true starting point of his failure to fit in. He is subsequently deemed untrustworthy and a threat to the town’s hollow lifestyle. The constant attention from nosy neighbors slowly shifts from amazement and intrigue to harmful rumors that threaten the Boggs’ livelihood and Edward’s physical safety. In a moment of chaos, the police sergeant makes the choice to lie to the town, telling them that Edward is “taken care of,” while secretly letting him go free. He understands that people conform out of a need for security, but that the world can be dangerous for those who penetrate those barriers. In allowing Edward to retreat back to his home, he sends the message that it is better to exist in a place where you’re free to be yourself. This scene in particular stands out because it is one of the very few moments of intimacy between two characters, because eavesdroppers and gossipers are always within earshot. It is a moment of mutual understanding, and it is first time throughout the entire film that someone breaks through the facade and really communicates with Edward on a personal level. The movie comes across as crazy: a gothic outcast with scissors for hands in a colorful town full of nutty, intolerant, busybodies, eating 1960’s Jell-O party ambrosia salad. Peppered throughout the film are scenes of Edward, wielding his scissor-hands as hair shears, creating masterful ice sculptures and pruning the neighbor’s bushes into dinosaurs. The true underlying theme of the film becomes apparent within the last ten minutes, when Kim realizes that she loves Edward, even though he is regarded as some kind of freak, leading her to reject both the town and their values which speaks to the moral of the story: that “different” is not a bad word. Though chased from the town with fire and pitchforks, Edward undoubtedly left his mark. When he retreats, it snows for the very first time in town and continues every year after, essentially making people realize that change is an unavoidable fact of life. Oftentimes, the best films are those that can be simultaneously weird and entertaining, while acting as a tool to discuss the world at large. Whether you’re seeking entertainment or substance, Edward Scissorhands has the ability to satisfy the cinematographic desires of any and all moviegoers. Amanda Spinosa Amanda is an artist/writer with a degree in visual and critical studies from the School of Visual Arts, though 90% of her day is spent looking at pictures of dogs. Instagram: @spin.osa #EdwardScissorhands #December #AmandaSpinosa #Newsletter #Review

A family man who’s, “Getting too old for this shit,” and a suicidal, ex-special forces operative, attempt to solve the mysterious death of a banker's daughter in Richard Donner’s infamous buddy cop action flick, Lethal Weapon. The film has all the makings of your typical action movie - drugs, shootouts, catch phrases, martial arts, explosions - all wrapped up neatly with a Christmas bow. But why the holiday setting? This isn’t some arbitrary Hollywood move of “Hey, the movie comes out during the holiday season so let’s throw some Santa’s in there." The choice appears to be deliberate; Lethal Weapon was released March 6th, 1987, months after the holiday season. The film constantly reminds you that it’s Christmas: from playing Jingle Bells over the opening title screen, to its ending on Christmas day. It’s a theme that’s so strangely at odds with the actual plot of the movie that you wonder why it’s even there at all. If you take out the holiday decorations, the occasional Santas and the Jingle Bells, the plot of Lethal Weapon remains the same: two cops trying to solve a suicide case who stumble onto something greater. So again: why is the film trying to tell us it’s Christmastime? The film is set in Los Angeles, which I’d imagine to be a strange place during the holiday season. L.A.’s hot climate and lack of snow seems (at least to myself, a New Yorker) strange. Even visually, to see folks wearing shorts and t-shirts amongst holiday décor is an odd juxtaposition. Christmas in L.A. is a battle of tropes; this perhaps speaks to the duality between buddy-cop power-couple, Roger Murtaugh (Danny Glover) and Martin Riggs (Mel Gibson). Murtaugh is a family man, a cop who plays by the rules, but more importantly he’s happy. He’s the “Christmas." Riggs on the other hand is suicidal; he’s a loose-cannon narcotics officer with a history of being trigger-happy. He has no fear; after his wife’s death, he has nothing left to lose. He’s the “Los Angeles." This mismatching of characters creates a sort of yin and yang between the two. The film on the other hand, doesn’t necessarily find the same harmony as a Christmas-wrapped action movie. As much as the film is trying to tell us it’s Christmastime, its other major element is suicide. The film's inciting incident is the suicide of banker, Michael Hunsaker’s (Tom Atkins) troubled daughter-turned-prostitute, Amanda Hunsaker (Jackie Swanson). This death sets the plot into motion. We are also constantly reminded that Riggs himself is suicidal. In a scene (that’s far too good to actually be in this ridiculous movie) Riggs puts a gun in his mouth and cries as he contemplates suicide. Later in the film we have back-to-back suicide attempts. Riggs and Murtaugh respond to a "jumper" and Riggs saves the man’s life by making them both jump off of the building into a safety net. The next scene features Riggs confessing to Murtaugh his own suicidal thoughts, almost pulling the trigger on himself in front of a painted storefront window saying, “Everything must go.” When Riggs confronts the jumper on the roof, he tries to calm him down by saying, “A lot of people have problems, especially during this silly season.” This line may reveal why suicide is so prevalent in the film. A common myth about the holiday season (that a few searches on google can disprove) is that suicide rates skyrocket during this time of year. Perhaps Lethal Weapon is trying to show us the ugly side of the holiday season. In a time sugar-coated with happiness, there are people among us who are depressed, there are people who are experiencing great loss, there’s no stopping the cold reality of everyday life. As most action movies tend to do, the last two-thirds of Lethal Weapon is an orgy of violence abandoning a lot of its holiday motifs - excluding the death of Michael Hunsaker: he gets shot in the back and the bullet exits through a half-gallon of eggnog he’s holding (it’s literally the best thing I’ve ever seen). The film ends on a happy note. Riggs is invited over to the Murtaugh household for Christmas dinner and gives his partner a gift: the hollow point bullet he was saving for his suicide, claiming he doesn’t need it anymore. So why is this movie set during Christmastime? It’s cheesy, but I think it’s what saves Riggs’ life. The gift of friendship between these two cops saves Riggs. The holiday spirit is somewhere deeply hidden in Lethal Weapon, you just have to take out a few drug lords to find it. Robert Anderson Robert has a degree in Screenwriting and Playwriting and works in multiple genres. He's just your typical man-child who enjoys most things nerd culture. You can follow him on Twitter @RoBaeBae #LethalWeapon #RobertAnderson #December #Newsletter #Review

At this time of year, when it seems rampant consumerism has usurped the spirit of Christmas, it helps take the edge off to watch a movie whose message is, “put a little love in your heart.” An updated take on the Dickens’ classic A Christmas Carol, Scrooged, is a campy tale of redemption and holiday cheer with a dark sense of humor. Bill Murray is in his element as cold-blooded television executive, Frank Cross. Cross views Christmas as a marketing gimmick to be exploited for ratings and profit. When a soft-spoken employee suggests that the network’s promo for a live Christmas Eve special might scare people, Cross fires him and cancels his Christmas bonus. He gifts the majority of his friends and employees hand towels, including his younger brother. Cross brings selfishness to new heights of absurdity in his black high-rise office and he seems to enjoy it. Visited by the ghost of his former boss, Cross is warned that he’ll meet a fiery end if he doesn’t change his ways. Forced to relive the pain and joy of Christmas’ past with a foulmouthed cabbie, and knocked senseless by a fairy in the present, the film is a wild ride of highs and lows. The guiding light of Cross’ redemption is his old flame Claire, a humanitarian sweetheart who calls him “Lumpy.” Part of what makes Scrooged so enjoyable is nostalgia – a time when VCR’s were an expensive novelty, and offices had both stocked bars and full-time secretaries. Murray is by turns charming and frightening as Cross, but always a delightful miscreant. At its heart, the story of Christmas is one of salvation. Cross finds his own through his love for others and isn’t that just what Christmas should be about? Liz Velez Liz has a background in film & television production and has worked with NBC, Comedy Central, VH1, and Spotify. Her interests include diversity/representation in media, gender & sexuality politics, social justice and the impact of pop culture in shaping popular opinion. She also slays at drunken karaoke. You can follow her on Twitter @telitlikeitliz #Scrooged #December #Newsletter #LizVelez #BillMurray #Review

Little Shop of Horrors is one of the greatest musical-films of all time. Period. The campiness, humor, look, tone and its execution of most musical tropes are unparalleled, even with the tongue-firmly-in-cheek world of off-branded musicals like The Rocky Horror Picture Show, Sweeney Todd and Rock ‘n’ Roll High School. Its power is almost limitless, from the opening title crawl, to the final wink at the audience; Little Shop of Horrors performs above and beyond expectations of a musical that is generally referred to as, “the story of a boy, a girl and a man-eating plant.” Based on the 1960 film, The Little Shop of Horrors and an Off-Off-Broadway play, which shared the dropping of the word “The” from its title, the 1986 film blended aspects from both mediums to form its story about a hapless flower shop assistant, the girl he adores, his boss, a demented sadist who works as a dentist and the mysterious plant that brings them all together or eats them. (Fun fact: the original 1960 film is considered a huge joke in the film world as it was made on the basis of a dare to see if a film could be shot in 2 days. It was. And that fact is gloriously apparent when you watch it). Howard Ashman, the writer of the original play, penned the script that Frank Oz brought to the screen. With a supporting cast of awesome cameos including: John Candy, Bill Murray and Christopher Guest (!!!), it almost feels more like a sketch comedy show with an overarching story that connects all the gags together. I would watch an entire movie of just Steve Martin’s sadistic, Orin Scrivello, DDS and Bill Murray’s masochistic Arthur Denton. Christopher Guest’s short appearance is almost too funny to watch and Jim Belushi’s late turn-up as licensing schmuck Patrick Martin, is the very definition of forced climax, but done with enough charm and bravado that it still plays honestly with the setting and characters involved. While the main stars are all wonderful (you’ll never hear a bad word from my lips or fingertips about Rick Moranis; the man is a machine of comedic timing and grace), all love and admiration has to go to Ellen Greene’s, Audrey (I). She is such a great character and presence, and Greene executes her with almost zero show of trying. It all just seems so natural, even though you know no one would talk like that and no one would possibly be comfortable wearing that! Her singing voice is unique and still hits all the right notes (both musically and true to the character), but when she finally lets the chords out to play in “Suddenly Seymour,” you can practically see the show stopping. It’s no surprise that Greene was the originator of the Audrey character in the musical play version and was the only actor brought from the medium into the film version. The producers and filmmakers involved just didn’t believe there could possibly be someone out there that could do it better. They even considered Barbara Streisand for the role, but decided against it. Barbara Streisand! In 1986! That’s chops, man. Then there’s the practically mind-numbing practical effects of Audrey II, the Levi Stubbs-voiced plant that causes all this mayhem. More than fifty performers were required to operate the multiple different versions of Audrey II, from cables in vines, to lip and head movement and more. Director Frank Oz was very particular about the mouth lining up with Stubbs dialogue and singing; he didn’t want any “hamburger flapping” when it came to audiences watching the performance. This proved insanely difficult for creature developers and performers alike, but the final product is stunning, and remains visually captivating even 30 years later. Audrey II feels real and alive, just as any of the other human performers do. Lastly, let’s talked about the famed alternate ending. If you haven’t seen it, I suggest you skip over to Youtube and look it up. It’s something else, alright. Oz originally intended to have the film share the Broadway musical’s ending, in which our two lovers are eaten by the evil space plant, who then proceeds to conquer the world. The final shot of multiple Audrey II’s ascending the Statue of Liberty while fighting off Army helicopters is one of the coolest things I never even thought I’d see. And if that sentence didn’t just give you goose-bumps, wake up, man. This is what life is all about. Apparently, the deaths of Seymour and Audrey (I) were so devastating to test audiences that Oz was forced to scrap the original finale, which cost over 5 million dollars (!!!) to make in the first place, and replace it with the happier ending that we’ve all come to know and love. Is either ending superior to the other? It’s tough to say. While the “happy ending” is perfect in its’ own regard, the effects-work and the cheeky darkness of the original ending is just too charming and, frankly, fucking cool to be beat. I can’t imagine how hard it was for everyone involved to scrap such a joyful, crazy ending. C’est la vie. All and all, the question of if Little Shop of Horrors still stands up today, 30 years after its original release upon the unsuspecting world, isn’t really even a needed question. The film being set in the 1960’s allows for its timelessness to stay just that. All the jokes still land, the performances are all incredible and memorable and the songs are still as catchy as ever. And it also contains one of this writer’s personal favorite moments in film: when Seymour and Audrey (II) see Scrivello hit Audrey (I) and realize that he sure looks like plant food to them. Absolutely engaging on every level. It’s just that timeless. Mike Burdge Founder of and programmer for Story Screen. Lover of stories and pizza in the dark. When he isn't watching movies, you can find him reading things about people watching movies. He lives in Beacon, NY with his cat who is named after Kevin Bacon's character from Friday the 13th. #December #LittleShopofHorrors #MusicalComedy #MikeBurdge #Newsletter #feedme #Review

When it comes to Christmas movies catered towards adults, there are usually two extremes: your raunchy comedies like Bad Santa, with a Christmas setting where Billy Bob Thornton irreverently curses out the holidays with a drunken slur, or the classic National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation, which puts the ugly side of visiting relatives during the holidays front and center. On the other hand, you have your horror and action movies that use Christmas as a juxtaposition of tone to emphasize the horrible and violent actions occurring onscreen – whether it be sorority girls being brutally murdered by toy unicorns in Black Christmas, or a barrage of bullets from a machine gun (ho ho ho) being fired 20 feet adjacent to the office Christmas tree in Die Hard. Michael Dougherty’s Krampus, however, reaches both heights in a more accessible and light-hearted fashion without losing the true essence of what makes both genres so enjoyable. Dougherty accomplishes the unique tone of Krampus by balancing comedy, drama, and horror and showing proper restraint on everything, while still retaining quality. Krampus never leans into the comedy too hard by being too vulgar or by pandering to the lowest common denominator with fart jokes or slapstick. It never leans too hard into the horror either, at least when it comes to explicit violence. You don’t see innocent people being pulled apart by gingerbread men, or people’s eyes being gouged out by icicles, or snowballs being used as frag grenades blowing people’s arms off into bloody bits, which are then stuffed into Santa’s bloody Christmas sack as blood drips down Santa’s beard, turning it from white into crimson red… Anyway, you don’t necessarily see any main human character die onscreen. The way the titular Krampus and his bag of evil toys operate is quite similar to how Willy Wonka and his Oompa Loompa’s function in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. Most of the children (or family, in Krampus’ case) aren’t quite killed by all the demented contraptions of Willy Wonka, but are instead dragged off screen by some various kind of weird device, and death is only implied, but not necessarily confirmed. The comedy and horror instead rely on each character’s interactions with each other. The whole family fits into many of the caricatures associated with both the comedy and horror genres. The parents, Tom and Sarah, are too wrapped up in their own egos and daily stresses to even notice that their son, Max, just wants the family to come together and be happy again. The Southern gun-happy Uncle Howard, and the hesitant Aunt Linda, come to visit with their tomboy children, adding to the pure disconnect the family has with each other. And their misunderstandings of each other just add to the awkward humor the first act presents itself with anchored by Conchata Farrell’s belligerent and drunken, Aunt Dorothy. You’ve seen this dysfunctional family in countless holiday films: (usually in the Hallmark Channel films my mom watches on a daily basis this time of year), the family learns their lesson through communication, melodrama, and the “power of love and Christmas” or whatever. In Krampus, the family learns the hard way what happens when you’re douchebags to each other during Christmas time by getting their asses handed to them by an army of Christmas demons. When said army of Christmas demons, led by the titular Evil-Goat-Santa, arrive at the Engel family’s front door, they arrive hard and relentless. The tension is real, and the creatures while humorous in their design, with cutesy high-pitched voices, are a real threat to the family’s lives. While the characters are initially unlikeable, we watch them grow together through their horrible circumstances. The humor, sprinkled throughout the horror, is grounded, and makes the characters more relatable, and thus, we care about their fates and whether or not they get out of their Christmas nightmare scenario alive. The balance keeps you at the edge of your seat, but you’re laughing while leaning on the edge, and that’s what makes it so enjoyable to watch. All these traits make Krampus a truly well rounded Christmas horror comedy, and I hope it becomes a staple tradition for many folks in the mood to celebrate the holidays with a little, but not too much, edge. Jeremy Kolodziejski Jeremy is younger than he looks, and has passionately studied the art and craft of filmmaking for as long as he can remember. He is currently a freelance wedding videographer, and is also heavily involved in Competitive Fighting Games. IG: jeremyko95 #Articles #Newsletter #Krampus #December #HorrorComedy #Family #Holidays #JeremyKolodziejski

A young boy’s Christmas wish comes true when he wakes up to an empty house, a house filled to capacity the night before. Home Alone opens in total disarray as a family of fifteen scrambles in preparation for a vacation in Paris. Feeling overlooked, young Kevin acts out in frustration, resulting in his being banished to the attic. Before he’s shut away, Kevin exclaims to his mother that he wished he didn’t have a family; she’s left hurt, he’s furious. The following morning, the family wakes and hurriedly makes their way to the airport, accidentally leaving Kevin behind. Kevin’s wish has seemingly come true when he finds the family gone, leaving him to his own devices. His sensation of freedom is short lived though, as feelings of dread and loneliness set in, further agitated by the introduction of two burglars eyeballing his house. As the story progresses, its surreal qualities emerge with the use of asides, slapstick comedy, and cartoon contrived tactics. The evolution of our little protagonist is expedited as he progresses from an invariable brat to scrappy hero, outsmarting the burglars at every turn and dazzling the audience with his ingenuity. Retrospectively, and in re-watching this childhood staple as an adult, once overlooked ideals of loneliness and forgiveness are made all the more apparent while not losing nostalgic triggers. Though somewhat minimized in comparison to the overarching action between the boy and burglars, one would be remiss in neglecting to acknowledge the message of hurt and healing. The momentum of this tale is anchored by the approach of Christmas Day, notoriously known as a day of giving, family, and memory. A backdrop as such does well in adding to the heart-clench factor. The touching subplot of scary neighbor turned wounded Good Samaritan, poetically bleeds into the reconciliation between Kevin and his mother. Coming full circle, Kevin makes one last wish – this time, to have his family back, regretting his initial desire. A classic, Home Alone encapsulates the surging feelings many face during the holiday season, keeping it both contemporary and timeless – a story to return to time and time again. Stamper A Beacon transplant having moved to town two years ago. With a background in photography, literature, and a fondness of nature she does well in keeping busy in this bustling little community. #December #KatelynStamper #Newsletter #HomeAlone #Xmas2016 #Quinns #CheesePizza #Review

It’s hard to know where to start when writing about a Tarantino flick. If you know a thing or two about film, you no doubt have a concrete opinion on Quentin Tarantino and every one of his movies. Shit, even if you don’t know dick about movies you probably have a solid opinion on which is better: Kill Bill Vol. 1 or Vol. 2 (the correct answer is you’re supposed to really see them as one complete movie, or, Vol. 1 is better). Regardless of your aptitude towards the silver screen, a Tarantino flick has no doubt graced your eyeballs. Over his twenty-five year legacy Tarantino has risen to the mainstream blockbuster level without ever watering his films down. If anything, his work has grown more and more complex. Tarantino constantly puts out movies that subvert your expectations, unlike anything else out there. He’s his own genre; a culmination of pulp and noir with a dash of revenge, that all create a film that draws us out to the theater so that we can see “that new Tarantino joint.” The Quentin Tarantino phenomenon all begins with a little low-budget darling called, Reservoir Dogs. “K-Billy’s super sounds of the 70’s weekend just keeps on truckin’…” In 1992, Reservoir Dogs graced the Sundance stage and although it didn’t win any of the festivals awards, it was the talk of the show. The film was made with a $1.8 million budget and generated $2.8 million at the box office. Tarantino originally planned to make the flick with $30,000 in a 16mm black and white format. Described as a “dialogue driven heist movie,” the film became something mainstream audiences had never expected. The film’s infamous torture scene made Michael Madsen (Mr. Blonde) so uncomfortable during filming he had trouble shooting the scene. With such a limited budget, Reservoir Dogs makes the most of its 1.8 million dollars. The warehouse that serves as the group’s post-heist meet-up spot was actually an old mortuary, the upstairs of which became Mr. Orange’s (Tim Roth) apartment. The film’s budget did not allow for police traffic control, so in the scene where Mr. Pink (Steve Buscemi) is running from the cops and forces a woman from her car, it could only be filmed while all the traffic lights were green. For future filmmakers Reservoir Dogs outlines how to make an incredible movie with an incredibly small budget. The structure of Reservoir Dogs becomes the template for most of Tarantino’s future films. Its main plot moves linearly – the cold open at a diner is the true beginning of the tale Tarantino is telling – the ending being the now legendary standoff in the warehouse. However, the use of flashbacks makes the film flow non-linearly. Flashbacks are used not only to fill in the gaps and give the audience context for our ensemble of characters, but also as a way to give context to the film thematically. The flashbacks themselves range drastically: from seeing Mr. Pink outrun cops after the heist goes awry, to seeing Mr. White or Mr. Blonde’s relationship to kingpin Joe Cabot (Lawrence Tierney), to the film’s entire last act, the twenty minute flashback where we learn how an undercover cop, infiltrates a crew of thieves. Future Tarantino movies build on this structure and in cases like Pulp Fiction, become completely non-linear. This style creates a plot that uses the sum of all its parts. We skip the road that gets us to the end quickly; instead we take the scenic route, still getting to the destination right on time. There is one very important scene we never see in Reservoir Dogs: the actual heist. Two major themes of the movie are anonymity and ambiguity. Our group of shit-talking thieves only knows each other (at least at first) by their code names. The reason for this is control and protection; if anyone involved gets caught by the cops they can’t rat out the rest of the group. When Mr. White (Harvey Keitel) just mentions a sports team he won a bet on, members of the team get a clue to where he is from. Staying anonymous is tantamount to survival in the film. The opening of the film gives us characters without letting us learn their origin stories or full relationships to Joe Cabot. What we do learn is their opinions on Madonna and tipping waitresses, and that’s enough to teach the audience just exactly who these people are. The ambiguity of the heist scene makes it far more effective. Hearing that Mr. Blonde “went psycho” and shot unarmed civilians makes his appearance later in the film that much more terrifying; we learn how dangerous this man sipping on soda is by the other character’s reaction to him. Learning, slowly, about just how wrong the heist goes helps us keep up with the characters emotionally. The heist is given to us in bits and pieces; it’s a muddled story that would’ve been far too clear if we were to actually see it. The heat of confusion, and just how fucked everything that went down (in that five minutes we didn’t actually see) is fully expressed by dialogue, more so than if we witnessed the shoot out. Reservoir Dogs is Tarantino’s origin story as a filmmaker. It’s the DNA where all his films derive from. Though his films have become more complex with even bigger budgets, while his skills as an artist have grown over the last of twenty-five years, Reservoir Dogs still stands the test of time as an incredible film, because Tarantino’s brand of storytelling remains timeless. Robert Anderson Robert has a degree in Screenwriting and Playwriting and works in multiple genres. He's just your typical man-child who enjoys most things nerd culture. You can follow him on Twitter @RoBaeBae #Articles #November #Newsletter #RobertAnderson #ReservoirDogs #SHH

(Warning: The following article contains light spoilers for Green Room.) True suspense relies upon relatable, empathetic characters placed in believably dangerous scenarios. The thrill of tension comes from immersion into the atmosphere of a setting. When that setting has character, and the protagonists within it evoke genuine empathy, the result is a truly nail-biting experience. Jeremy Saulnier’s Green Room achieves this suspense by evoking an impressively accurate depiction of the punk scene, a topic whose previous silver screen portrayals often range from gag-inducing embarrassment to cartoony at best. Saulnier creates a familiar sense of place for any who have been involved in punk, and twists a feeling of nostalgia to create a horrific nightmare. Green Room follows the story of a four-piece punk band from Washington, D.C. (Arlington, VA technically,) on their tour across the United States. From the jump, Saulnier does an admirable job portraying the slogging of a band on tour, desperate to scrape enough gas money together to make it from gig to gig. Anton Yelchin leads the cast as Pat, the band’s relatively mild-mannered bassist. Yelchin, in what is tragically one of the final roles of his career, sells Pat as the film’s main protagonist and the audience’s surrogate; he’s typically the first to declare that, “this is fucked, man.” Yelchin’s joined by Alia Shawkat’s Sam on guitar, Joe Cole’s Reece on drums, and Callum Turner’s Tiger on vocals. Together they make “The Ain’t Rights,” a motley crew of characters whose traits seem instantly familiar. Between Tiger’s green hair and anarchy stick n’ pokes, Sam’s laid back demeanor, and Reece’s natural tendency to turn to aggression at a moment’s notice, the band fills all the conventional roles of a punk rock ensemble. From the moment we are introduced to the band, they are already in a place of desperation. Strapped for cash and in a run-down van plastered with familiar band stickers, “The Ain’t Rights” siphon gasoline to continue the next leg of their tour. Along the way, they crash with the promotor of their next show, Tad. After a night of partying, Tad conducts an interview to be premiered on a college radio station and printed in a zine. The scene, while dipping dangerously close to corny territory, (particularly when the band makes their stance against social media), allows for some fun dialogue reminiscent of late night talks with friends about favorite bands. Some punk favorites like Iggy Pop, Poison Idea, and the Misfits are mentioned as the crew discusses their choice for a “desert island band.” While lines like, “I don’t think I want to be in my seventies still listening to Minor Threat,” may feel a little cheesy, the interview does well to establish a feeling of nostalgic familiarity. The characters here are just ambiguous enough to feel reminiscent of the type of folk you might find shooting the shit at a house party or basement show, and serve as stand ins for likely acquaintances. The interview is cut short when Tad reveals that an overabundance of bodily fluids at the last show has left him unable to continue booking at the community center. His tale of vomit and fecal matter is a familiar story of shows getting shut down by cops or veteran’s halls no longer welcoming “aggressive music” after a window gets kicked in. Tad’s character is your typical grease-ball promoter, complete with a 12-inch Mohawk and promises that never quite seem to pan out. He’s the guy who’s always got a back-up plan, and offers “The Ain’t Rights” a consolation gig at a Mexican Restaurant to make up for the cancelled show. For anyone who’s played or attended a last minute relocated show, the scene at the Mexican restaurant is likely to bring sharp pangs of embarrassment. “The Ain’t Rights” play their brand of noisy punk rock to a sparse handful of patrons who barely outnumber the members of the band. When the ill-fated show reaps a meager payout, the band finds themselves desperate for cash to fill their tank in order to continue their tour. Without some sort of funds, their run is effectively over. They are all but ready to throw in the towel and siphon their way back home. This desperation is a feeling likely familiar to anyone who’s hopped in a van on a lengthy tour, where a single show can often make-or-break it. An off night, broken down van, or stolen equipment can doom a small act on tour. Just when it seems all hope is lost for “The Ain’t Rights,” Tad, the ever-resourceful promoter, offers another consolation gig that could save the day. He’s got a cousin who can hook the band up with a gig that’s close by and guarantees a solid payout. Just one catch, though: the venue is run by a gang of Nazi skinheads. It’s here that Green Room is most effective in laying the groundwork for an effective thriller. From the moment the band arrives at the venue, they are clearly not welcome. Tad’s cousin is a dick from moment one, the band is labeled with the misnomer of “The Aren’t Rights,” and nearly everyone present seems intent on staring a hole through our protagonists. The inherent anxiety of an unfamiliar venue in a remote town that’s part of a scene you clearly are not a part of is pervasive throughout the bulk of the film and incredibly effective at establishing tension. While a wholly Nazi-run venue may be a slightly exaggerated example, the discomfort of feeling out of place at a show is painfully relatable. This is especially true within punk, a scene that is an idealist refuge to all manners of misfits and outsiders but often becomes regimented to a clique-based structure. It’s easy to feel like an outsider at a show that’s out of your comfort zone, especially one largely populated with tight-knit locals. At the Nazi venue, the band finds themselves in over their heads at a place that evidently does not take kindly to newcomers. For those involved in punk, or any sub-genre for that matter, the tension felt by “The Ain’t Rights” the moment they step foot into the venue is intimately and personally relevant. Green Room firmly establishes a sense of place with a venue that is immediately recognizable. The walls are covered with stickers and graffiti, and every corner is host to a collection of empty beer cans. The venue evokes a typical punk bar, with dingy lighting and a PA that constantly blares familiar tunes between sets. Green Room presents a familiar place and twists it into a hostile one by adorning the walls with swastikas, SS symbols, and confederate flags. This subverts a space that is likely a source of comfort for anyone involved in the punk scene and transforms it into a house of horror. By the time the violence kicks off and the members of “The Ain’t Rights” become hunted by Nazi henchmen, bloodthirsty dogs, and a bone-chillingly cold and calculating Patrick Stewart, I was fully enraptured by the film’s atmosphere. A lifetime of attending and playing shows just like this one left me feeling a strong sense of empathy for the characters and the danger they were immersed in. From there, the film becomes a gripping thrill ride propelled by disturbingly realistic violence that comes suddenly and without warning. For the remainder of its brief ninety-minute run time, the film maintains a very present sense of danger that does not lift until the final moments. It preys upon a very specific sense of nostalgia that introduces horror to a setting familiar to anyone with a close relationship to punk. It uses the tensions and anxieties inherent to that sense of place that for many will hit very close to home. Jack Kolodziejski Jack makes drugs for a living, but not necessarily the fun kind. He enjoys international travel and discussing music, movies, and games in excruciating detail. #Newsletter #GreenRoom #JackKolodziejski #Perspective #November #Review

(While this post tries to avoid spoilers whenever possible, it is highly recommended that you watch Swiss Army Man before reading on.) Not often do you come across a film like Swiss Army Man. It’s one of those experiences that sticks with you, from the first time it grabs you, to all the times you may revisit it for the rest of your life, either in memory or reviewing. The film functions on so many levels it's hard to know where to start, or whether some are even worth discussing. Like the obstacles our two heroes face, the metaphors and themes within this film force us to examine what it means to be a human being, and to hopefully overcome these truths changed for the better. Birth is hard, but rebirth is an entirely different beast to defeat. So I guess we can start with that one… Swiss Army Man is a story about a young, lonely man named Hank, who befriends a rotting corpse by the name of Manny. Manny’s farts allow him to serve as a "multi-purpose tool guy" for Hank to escape from the deserted island he has become trapped on. It is eventually revealed that Hank and his father have a strained relationship at best. The two accept lies and false-truths from one another in the form of automated birthday email cards once a year. We learn that Hank’s mother passed away early on in his life, but late enough for him to retain the memory of her, as well as his own sanctioned feeling of guilt when he remembers her. While Hank teaches Manny to talk, walk and about life in general, we see him repeat phrases that both his parents have said to him in the past, even going so far as to calling Manny “retarded” out of anger and impatience. In this sense, Hank is acting as a parental figure to Manny, a newborn child in the vast world with no knowledge of anything, but still with a strong eagerness to learn and grow. Hank overcomes his own parental hang-ups by imparting the good, (and sometimes the bad) onto his own “child.” But that’s just one way of looking at it. Hank’s journey with Manny is also very much about loneliness, friendship, love, loss, confidence and hope, just as much as it is about farts, boners, decapitating raccoons and riding on the bus. The intimacy shared by the two main characters grows throughout the story – mainly due to the ever-present possibility that Manny is really all in Hank’s head (and that he is, in fact, very sick). But the beauty of their bond and how they teach each other the same lessons over and over again is also reflective of the lies we tell ourselves in the real world on a day-to-day basis. It’s shown very early on that Hank considers himself a weak person, whether that is true or not. Hank’s self-image is that of a lonely boy thrown out like trash from a world that neither approves of or wants him. It is these characteristics that Hank projects onto Manny. As Manny learns, he teaches Hank some hard truths to accept about himself. And as Manny breaks through Hank’s shell of isolation and fear, with every acceptance, Manny powers up with a new skill to help Hank get a little closer to civilization, a little closer back to home. But that’s just one way of looking at it. When we first meet Hank, he is about to commit suicide, nearly hanging himself to avoid the fear of dying alone on his island. The only thing that stops (saves) him is Manny’s body washing up onto shore. At the end of the film, we learn that Manny (or whatever his real name is) was likely a jumper from a nearby bridge where suicides often occur. With this change in the lens, the journey of Hank and Manny as two people who have given up on life because they believe life has given up on them makes many of the interactions that much sweeter, but also that much darker. The dance scene in particular (which is actually a HALLOWEEN dance if you look closely; swoon) is quite sad when seen as these two anti-social misfits who get to experience the joy of freely moving to the music, even if the music is just in their heads. This of course is assuming that Manny was anything like Hank in his former life. In no way is this discussion meant to steer you into thinking all people with suicidal tendencies and depression exhibit the same traits in the real world. That is just simply not the case in any way. But looking at it through Hank’s eyes, it’s hard not to see how these two got along together so well, even after one of them died. They are both broken individuals, broken by the world, broken by their parents, and, finally, permanently broken by themselves. But that’s just one way of looking at it. The ending sequence in particular is a loaded message, directly from the writer/director duo of Daniels. Throughout the film farts are treated with a sense of whimsy. Hank thinks farts are disgusting and feels ashamed of them, so he hides them, holding them in at times or releasing them in private. Manny thinks they are beautiful and that they make him special. Hank explains that everyone in the real world would be disgusted if they saw how Manny acts, farting all the time, growing erections left and right and just speaking whatever comes to his mind, i.e. “bad talking.” Farts are utilized as a metaphor for our emotions, our feelings: the things that make us unique and vulnerable. Hank holding in his farts (emotions) is what got him lost in the first place, unwilling to rejoin society for fear of rejection. But through Manny’s constant flatulence and blunt advice, Hank is able to finally let his feelings (farts) out in front of the whole world to see. And just who is staged at the final scene on the shore of a California bay? His father, the woman of his dreams, a parent and child, two police officers (authority figures) and the media (a reporter and cameraman): all the things in normal society that we tend to act on our best behavior in front of. Hank’s adventure with Manny teaches him that even if people think something about you is disgusting, it’s really about how you feel about it. They are your farts (emotions) and you should be proud of them, freely. All of this lines up with the discussion of looking at the human body as the beautiful thing that it is, faults and all. And that extends to the soul living within the body. But that’s just one way of looking at it. The music is great. The directing style is out of this world (look up how little this movie was made for; your jaw will drop). Paul Dano and Daniel Radcliffe turn in some of the most honest, raw and fun performances of their careers. It’s funny. It’s sweet. It’s emotionally devastating in the best way. It’s filled with great set pieces and memorable dialogue. It’s able to make “Cotton Eye Joe” an emotionally moving song, (now THAT’S the miracle right there). The Daniels pitched the idea of Swiss Army Man as a "fart dramedy" where the first fart makes you laugh and the last fart makes you cry. That’s how they were able to pull this off in the first place to such the success that it became. You can look at every fart as a fart joke or you can look at every fart as an extension of the farts that have come before and what they mean for the farts that are still to come. You can choose to care about someone’s farts more than how they simply disgust you, or you can laugh yourself silly with some close friends at all the crude, body humor on display. But that’s just two ways of looking at it. Mike Burdge Founder of and programmer for Story Screen. Lover of stories and pizza in the dark. When he isn't watching movies, you can find him reading things about people watching movies. He lives in Beacon, NY with his cat who is named after Kevin Bacon's character from Friday the 13th. #November #MikeBurdge #Newsletter #SwissArmyMan #Perspective #2016 #Review

What can be said about a cult-comedy classic that took the world by storm over 20 years ago? A lot of time has passed and it can be easy to forget just how big of an impact Wayne’s World really had on our culture, not just here in America, but just about everywhere. Catchphrases became normal dialogue, jokes were repeated dead-horse style, and even this past Halloween, 24 years later, we all saw a Garth or two partying on. Mike Myers and Dana Carvey were catapulted to stardom pretty much overnight, spreading their characters across the covers of magazines, commercials, billboards and arriving in England by plane to a crowd of over 5,000 screaming fans, Beatles-style. Cut-off jeans were back. But does this movie really still hold up after all these years? Back before the first rough cuts were shown to test audiences, many people behind the scenes of Wayne’s World thought they had somehow pulled off a dud. After all the hard work, it seemed the sketch from Saturday Night Live just didn’t have enough breath to last a full-length feature. And Mike Myers agreed. He was known to be inconsolable about the state of the film before its release. He and Carvey had transferred from the wacky, edgy 11:30 pm on a Saturday night in NYC setting, to a quiet, well-lit studio with marks on the ground and take after take after take. They had the precision of Penelope Spheeris, who was riding high after her documentary sequel: The Decline of Western Civilization II: The Metal Years, was still making huge waves even during Wayne’s World’s filming. People already knew the characters, the set-up's, the one liners; they got the shtick. What could go wrong? Myers believed almost none of the jokes landed, and that the story, at best, worked only in 3 minute intervals, which seemed liked cheating when converting a 3-6 minute skit into an 1 hour 35 minute film. He even thought some of the jokes were so bad that he didn’t want to shoot them in the first place, but through Spheeris, Carvey and Producer, Lorne Michaels, many of the scenes he found devastatingly bad were shot, cut and are in the movie you’ve watched on late-night TV time and time again. But we all know where it goes from here, right? Wayne's World was a hit. First test screenings were such a mess because people were laughing so long after jokes finished that viewers were missing dialogue and build-up to other jokes. Rob Lowe remembers the "Cream of Sum Yung Gai" joke being weird to film on set and that half the crew thought it wasn’t funny at all. Lowe persuaded Myers to keep the joke and when it first screened, the laughter from the crowd was so insane that the rest of the scene was practically useless to the audience. Lowe and Myers looked at each other and shrugged. The next time you’re watching that scene, notice the long pause that was put in between Myers’ delivery of the joke and the next line of dialogue. (If you’re into that sort of thing). But look beyond jokes landing, does the film still hold that energy everyone fell in love with back in 1992?? Ed O’Neill is still straight up on fire in every scene as the overly dark and depressed manager of the donut diner, Glen. I still laugh my ass off at his delivery of, “Well, the world’s a twisted place...” Dana Carvey is brilliant (as mostly always) as Garth. It has a super silly Terminator 2 reference that I think still works very well even today. Penelope Spheeris does a very good job mixing together the sketch comedy strokes implanted by SNL with the music video background she had come from. The film's ending with Cassandra’s band playing in Wayne’s basement feels just like an introduction to a live performer on the Saturday night sketch show. Oh, yes, let’s talk about Cassandra. Cassandra may be a side character and Wayne’s love interest/girlfriend, but your Bechdel test can take a lap on this one. Cassandra’s story from playing shows in clubs where fights break out on the regular, to scoring a 6 album deal with one of the hottest producers in the music industry, is just as upfront as Wayne and Garth’s journey from their basement to commercial television. She doesn’t take shit from Wayne when he’s being a child, she doesn’t let the idea of fame and money distract her from her growing distrust of a slimy producer and she rocks the fuck out. Wayne even gives up his dreams of his show reaching the big time to get the word out on Cassandra’s band. It’s her project and her dreams that are fully realized by the end of the movie. And while many other women in the film are objectified to dream girls or super crazy ex’s, there’s something to be said for a musical-comedy from 1992 written by Mike Myers where the female lead is an Asian punk-rocker who wins the day. So does Wayne’s World hold up? Well, Rob Lowe is in the middle of a huge comeback, Dana Carvey just released a new stand-up special on Netflix, Mike Myers is rich somewhere and the cry for films to feature stronger, independent women has never been louder or as well heard. That’s pretty good for a movie. And it’s really good for a movie that still makes you laugh at Bugs Bunny jokes. That's just excellent. Mike Burdge Founder of and programmer for Story Screen. Lover of stories and pizza in the dark. When he isn't watching movies, you can find him reading things about people watching movies. He lives in Beacon, NY with his cat who is named after Kevin Bacon's character from Friday the 13th. #Articles #Newsletter #MikeBurdge #WaynesWorld #November #Music #Comedy #PartyOn