What's that, you say? You're looking for a deconstructive/ psychological/ symbolic/ feminist reading of Pan's Labyrinth that's weird and kind of hard to explain? That's… bizarrely specific... But look no further! Here we go: The women of Pan's Labyrinth - Ofelia, Mercedes, and Carmen - are three aspects of a psychic-thematic apparatus, in the spirit of Freud's model of the human psyche. These three aspects unify thematically, during a process of Jungian individuation, and ultimately seize character agency in defiance of the available patriarchal narrative roles. Okay, I know that was a lot, all at once. Don't panic; we'll break it down a bit. First, some definitions: Character agency: A character's ability to make decisions that impact the narrative. This is a frequent deficiency in cinematic depictions of women. For a recent example, consider last year's Star Wars : Rogue One , in which an ostensibly strong female lead spends two hours doing whatever a parade of random dudes tells her to do. That's just lazy storytelling, no matter how awesomely satisfying that one scene may have been. (You know the one.) Individuation: Founder of analytical psychology and psychotic mystic Carl Jung defined this as the process by which aspects of the psyche integrate into a unified “Self.” Imagine your psyche is a puzzle (you complicated, mysterious person, you). Individuation is putting the pieces together, and Self is when you finally finish, look at the completed Monet painting (or whatever) and think “...eh.” Psychic-Thematic Apparatus: In between cocaine binges (or perhaps during one), Sigmund Freud outlined a model of the psyche made up of the Id, Ego, and Superego. We could study Ofelia, Mercedes, and Carmen in a strictly Freudian context, but that would be too easy. Instead, let's apply the general concept of the psychic apparatus to thematic development, as well. Think of the three women as three parts of a single mechanism designed to deconstruct its own story. Having fun yet? Next, we'll divide the plot of Pan's Labyrinth into two narrative worlds, both dominated by masculine Masters of Ceremony: The mill, ruled by Captain Vidal, and the fairy tale, presided over by The Faun. The demands on the women of the film are the same for both worlds: obedience without question. The women, however, have a different idea. As the film opens, Ofelia and her mother, Carmen, arrive in the domain of the (cleverly gender-reversed) evil stepfather, whose son Carmen is carrying. In Captain Vidal’s world, this baby is not Carmen’s, nor theirs, but his. Women are only vehicles for his priorities. Meanwhile, in the magical world of the Faun, Ofelia is offered a tempting alternative narrative: A fairy tale, with the role of “princess” waiting. This offer comes with an insidious condition: Ofelia must suppress her sexual awakening, remaining perpetually, and non-threateningly, prepubescent. This is a common way to undermine female narrative power; audiences are more comfortable with strong, female protagonists when they're of the Little Orphan Annie variety than with, say, a female equivalent of James Bond. By entering the labyrinth, which symbolizes the pathways of the psyche, Ofelia engages herself and, by extension, Mercedes and Carmen in a shared process of individuation. At this point, the first of three major symbolic markers is introduced: the fig tree. If you've watched Pan's Labyrinth with an eye for symbolism, you probably know we have to acknowledge something about the fig tree right off the bat: it's a womb. This symbolism is reinforced in many ways, but just look at that tree; it has ovaries. Are we on the same page, here? Good. Ofelia, who has been called upon to assume a maternal role towards her physically and narratively weakening mother, must confront her ambivalence about the pregnancy. This ambivalence towards her brother is realized as a monstrous toad, which Ofelia must face. Meanwhile, Mercedes receives the opportunity to give the anti-Fascist guerrillas (among them her brother) access to a locked storeroom filled with valuable supplies. Ofelia and Mercedes have arrived at a key turning point, literally. Their key turning point is a key-turning point. It's keys, is what I'm saying, here. This is the second symbolic marker. Mercedes passes the storeroom key to the guerrillas, and Ofelia ventures into the subterranean hall of the Pale Man, a nightmarish reflection of Vidal’s above-ground dominion. Here, Ofelia disobeys twice. First, she chooses to unlock the next symbolic marker, the knife, and then eats the “forbidden fruit” of puberty, which is symbolized by, well… forbidden fruit. Some of this is pretty self-explanatory, I’ll be honest. As a result of her disobedience, she is rejected from The Faun’s narrative, and a mandrake root which had been used to improve Carmen's condition becomes useless. For Ofelia, magic is gone. For Mercedes, the safety of her housemaid facade is about to crumble. For both, the moment to seize narrative control is at hand. What about Carmen? She's been the passive, uncertain aspect of the psychic-thematic apparatus, so now that Ofelia and Mercedes are becoming more self-possessed, how does Carmen fit in? Well, she doesn't. She dies. In turn, Mercedes and Ofelia face and wound Vidal, by mutilation and medication, respectively. However, to fully unify the aspects of the apparatus into a single thematic “Self,” one more trip into the psychic labyrinth is required. There, Ofelia confronts both Vidal and the Faun, directly and at the same time. Strengthened by newfound character agency, Ofelia rejects both narratives, refusing to obey either man. Her death, while tragic, completes the puzzle of “Self.” All elements are now unified in Mercedes, who overthrows the patriarchal expectations, seizes control of the narrative, and claims her own agency within it. There are many ways to view this richly-complex film, but as Hollywood, at long last, takes faltering, uncertain, often incompetent steps towards improved depictions of female characters, let the women of Pan's Labyrinth serve as a new archetype: a princess who writes her own fairytale, according to her own rules. Edward Gibbons-Brown (Sometimes) a theatrical director/actor/producer and writer, and (mostly) a bartender and New Beaconite often found in semi-aimless wander. #Newsletter #Articles #PansLabyrinth #EdwardGibbonsBrown #May2017 #Feminism #Pschology

A convulsive cycle of love, sacrifice, and revenge marches to an inevitable conclusion in the final ten minutes of Michael Mann's 1992 film, The Last of the Mohicans . Eloquent visual storytelling, austere performances, majestic settings and a soul-stirring score imbue this end sequence with ineffable beauty and power. If you've never seen the film, Mann's “Definitive Cut” is available to stream. If you just want to brush up on the closing sequence I'm discussing, it begins around the one hour and thirty-eight minute mark, although I'd recommend starting about seven minutes earlier; the Huron Sachem scene provides context for what follows: a masterpiece of minimalism and grandeur which could very nearly stand alone as a self-contained piece unto itself. From the moment Major Duncan Heyward trades his life for Cora’s, to the film's final shot, few words are spoken. The drama plays out instead, through decisive action, unspoken understanding, and a sense of inevitability against the scale of the natural order. The physicality and energy of the performances can be striking; Chingachgook’s raw, brutal charge on Magua is an exhilarating and cathartic piece of action, especially following the anguish twisting the old warrior's face just moments prior, as he watched his son being killed. Chingachgook’s sudden roll beneath Magua’s tomahawk swing; the bitterly casual way several well-placed strikes of the old man's war club incapacitate his foe; that venomous, withering look he holds on Magua, forcing him to wait in anticipation of the fatal blow. The film lingers on moments like these – when so much passes unspoken between characters – by look and by motion. Consider Chingachgook and Uncas, crouching in the bushes, as Alice Munro is dragged away, captive. Uncas touches his father's shoulder. Chingachgook meets his eye and immediately understands: Uncas loves Alice, and must pursue Magua. Does Chingachgook realize, even then, that his son is likely going to his death? Perhaps, for there is a quality of inevitability to the proceedings. Uncas can no more abandon Alice than Cora can, and Hawkeye can no more abandon Chingachgook than Chingachgook can leave Uncas. The stage has been set, the decisions made, and all players have accepted their roles. All that remains is for the repercussions to unfold. Yet for all this operatic tragedy, there is no trace of melodrama to be found in the performances. Consider Eric Schweig as Uncas: stoically realizing Magua outmatches him and he will fail to rescue Alice, but he must stand and fight regardless. Or, if you will, consider the stunning simplicity of Jodhi May’s Alice, as she moves to the cliffside, numbed by grief, and quietly makes the decision to leap to her death. May’s restrained performance in that moment is commensurate with the straightforward visual tone throughout the entire sequence. The violence, while brutal, is regarded with certain frankness. Neither gratuitously romantic, nor dramatically grotesque, it just is. Beneath the surface of this austerity, of course, runs a tidal wave of passion, and both the disciplined performances and camera work serve as a counter-balance to the majesty of the film’s setting and score. The human drama is placed in perspective against a backdrop of magnificent (and disinterested) natural splendor. The Hurons, picking their way along a Cliffside, look tiny compared to the untamed mountain range, four hundred-foot waterfall, and precipitous drop. Fascinatingly, the interplay of minimalism and grandeur introduces a quality of detachment to the events onscreen. We observe Magua’s heartlessness, Chingachgook’s fury, Hawkeye’s loyalty, and Uncas’ courage, as if from a distance. This remove contributes to the sense that everything occurring has been predetermined by the nature of humanity, and the dominion of the natural order. Of course, we can hardly fail to factor in the film’s score, among the most unforgettable and moving in cinema history. It's not outlandish to imagine that, with a different score, the film would be nowhere near as effective. As a matter of fact, Mann initially asked composer Trevor Jones for an electronic score, before changing his mind during editing. Mann’s sudden, last-minute request for an orchestral score, as well as continuous re-cutting of the film, required the assistance of a second composer, Randy Edelman, and yielded final recordings which were later viewed as rather flawed. Luckily, this marries perfectly with the wildness of the setting, and the rough-hewn authenticity of the footage. The oddly Gaelic theme (borrowed from Scottish singer-songwriter Dougie MacLean) is hardly an obvious choice to underscore this sequence, yet this incongruity actually functions in service to the sense of detachment created by the contrast of restraint and spectacle. The score, like the land itself, exists independently from the action. That a hodgepodge score, poorly-recorded and assembled at the last-minute from the distinct work of two composers could, nevertheless, stand among the great cinematic scores, speaks to the accidents and happenstance that often separate great from good when it comes to art. As an example, let us examine the evolution of the film's pitch-perfect final scene, in which Chingachgook offers a prayer for Uncas, some of the first words spoken aloud in nearly ten minutes. In the screenplay, this scene is dialogue-heavy. Hawkeye and Cora discuss whether she'll return to England, agree to marry, and discuss travel plans for winter and spring. In the theatrical cut, Chingachgook muses, prophetically, on the future of the frontier (seeming to stop just short of predicting Wal-Mart by name). In Mann's definitive cut, however, he speaks only the prayer: “Great Spirit, and the maker of all life, a warrior goes to you swift and straight as an arrow shot into the sun. Welcome him, and let him take his place at the council fire of my people. He is Uncas, my son. Bid them patience and ask death for speed, for they are all there but one. I, Chingachgook, last of the Mohicans.” Hawkeye and Cora embrace, and the three gaze silently out over the frontier, each equally aware of the transience of life and, ultimately, even land. The music swells, and the sun goes down. That pretty much says it all. Edward Gibbons-Brown (Sometimes) a theatrical director/actor/producer and writer, and (mostly) a bartender and New Beaconite often found in semi-aimless wander. #Newsletter #Article #TheLastoftheMohicans #EdwardGibbonsBrown #Ode #DanielDayLewis #MichaelMann

The late 90's brought us enough teen rom-coms based on the classics to fill a high school gymnasium. Some were great. Others left you feeling only "whelmed." But 10 Things I Hate About You , which recently celebrated its 20th anniversary, is special. Iconic moments. Fresh, energetic performances. A message of individualism. 10 Things stands out from the pack and still stands the test of time. Without much ado, here are ten things I love about 10 Things I Hate About You ... 10: Kat never compromises her feminism Feminism has come a long way since the “riot grrls” of the Pacific Northwest. And it would have been easy enough for this film to slip into a familiar boy-gets-girl narrative. Especially considering the source material. The boy does get the girl, but it's on her terms, not his. And only because he learns to treat her with respect. How about that moment when Patrick refuses to kiss Kat because she's drunk? Their final kiss is an equal culmination of both their characters' arcs. And she isn't required to surrender her feminism, nor her character’s agency, to get there. Nevertheless… 9: She does get called out for her privilege For a high school comedy, 10 Things is remarkably intelligent. Characters discuss sexual politics, personal identity, and social expectations. One scene in particular, feels as pointed today as it did in 1999: when Mr. Morgan calls out Kat's white feminism. It's important that this scene happens so close to the beginning of the film. Even while establishing Kat's disdain for the patriarchy, the film is quick to point out that she's also rich and white. Why can't her class read more books by Sylvia Plath or Jane Austen? Sure... or maybe something by a black writer? 8: The 90’s nostalgia is real Cartoonish typography. Bright colors. The Barenaked Ladies. From the film’s first moments, it's clear what decade we're in. Throughout the film, the nostalgia doesn't quit. The fashion is right on-point (are cardigans having a comeback yet?). And that breezy, open-sky innocence of a pre-smartphone world? Now that's something only 90's kids understand. And then, of course, there's the Cowboy Clique. Every 90's high school had one of those... right? 7: So many classic moments I'd honestly forgotten how many lines and moments from this movie had set up shop in my subconscious. How about the concept of being "whelmed?" The Sharpie penis on Michael's face? Or, well, every single thing Allison Janney says and does? How about Julia Stiles' dry intonation of "I want you, I need you, oh baby, oh baby?" Or Julia Stiles dancing on the table at the party? Or the discovery of Julia Stiles' black panties? (Wait, I think I'm detecting a pattern here...) The two most unforgettable scenes are clear, of course: Julia Stiles' (okay, last one) heartbreaking reading of the titular poem, and Heath Ledger's musical performance on the bleachers. But more on that later 6: You can’t fake that cast chemistry It's not only Ledger and Stiles. The film’s entire cast became close friends, and the energy is undeniable. As David Krumholtz, who played Michael, put it: "We all agreed that we were having the best summer of our lives." That feeling translates to the screen. There's a quality of organic looseness to the film. It breathes with life, in every frame. That's a secret sauce with no specific recipe. Sometimes, it just happens. 5: Heath Ledger, at the beginning of his career Watching 10 Things is like watching The Dark Knight . You find yourself background-processing Heath Ledger's death. Whether it's true or not, it's easy to imagine some of The Joker's pain was drawn from Ledger's own. There's no trace of that in Patrick Verona. What's clear, even this early in Ledger's career, is his palpable magnetism. He glares, he grins, he projects danger, then reveals vulnerability. And through it all, you can't take your eyes off of him. Speaking of which, there's something beyond words about that famous bleacher scene. It almost brings me to tears. He sits, fixes a smoldering gaze on Kat from dozens of yards away, then smiles. He dashes up and down the bleachers, effortlessly, joyful. And then, right before the security guards grab him, when he sits down again, something else creeps into his eyes for a moment. Beneath the theatricality, his eyes say: "Please. I'm sorry. Please." It only lasts for a second. And it's beautiful. 4: The breezy energy of Shakespeare’s plot dynamics… Characters and motivations ricochet off each other like bumper cars of human folly. Deceptions, misunderstandings, and cross-purposes stand in the way of romantic unions. This playful dynamic feels distinctly Shakespearean, and setting it in a high school is very effective. It's a lot easier to forgive a bunch of teenagers for the sort of behavior people get up to in a Shakespeare comedy. How might this exact story play out if it was set in the adult world? Take a look at Kat and Bianca's father. Does he work as a character? He seems insane, abusive even. It's unavoidable, but hard to ignore. That's what this sort of thing looks like on an adult. Gross, right? 3: ...without any of Shakespeare’s problematic stuff... Speaking of gross, have you read The Taming of the Shrew lately? There's no way around it: it's sexist as hell. And sure, it's a product of its time, but there's no denying that it reinforces the subservient role of women. Re-purposing "shrewishness" as feminism was a genius move. It allows the basic beats of the plot to play out in a much different context. Kat's a strong woman. In our age of “nasty women” who nevertheless persist, it's not hard to see how society reacts to strong women. 2: ...transforms and reclaims the story... That may be why 10 Things I Hate About You has proven more enduring than other similar films like She's All That . It doesn't simply retell the story in a modern setting, with modern words, it actually reclaims it. We're a species of storytellers. From the birth of language to the Marvel Cinematic Universe, it's ingrained in who we are and how we perceive the world. Why do we retell some stories? Adaptations of A Christmas Carol number in the hundreds; there are over twenty high-profile film adaptations alone. Much of Shakespeare's work is similarly beloved, somehow intrinsic to our culture. We retell stories because they continue to be relevant, yes, but we also retell them to see how they reflect us. A faithful retelling of Shrew would reflect how far we've come. But 10 Things goes a step further. It reclaims the story to also reflect how far we still have to go. 1: ...to deliver a message of individualism. Shakespeare's Katherine learns to accept her social role. You could read her submission to Petruchio as an act of self-preservation but, no matter how you interpret it, Kate ends the play "tamed." In 10 Things , Kat rejects her social role with confidence. As she repeats often, "I don't like to do what people expect." Against a backdrop of laughable phonies, Kat insists on being genuine. Bianca, meanwhile, relishes her social role... at least until she realizes how unfulfilling and empty it is. By the end of the film, Bianca's priorities have shifted completely. Disguises are shed, deceptions dropped. All of the characters are seen for what they are. For our protagonists, this means inhabiting themselves in a more genuine way. The Taming of the Shrew tells us that happiness comes from accepting your social role. 10 Things I Hate About You tells us that happiness comes from being yourself. There's plenty more to celebrate about this delightful, near-perfect slice of teen rom-com. But, as Hamlet said, "words, words, words." Go watch the movie. Watch the cast of young up-and-comers having the best summer of their lives. Watch Julia Stiles reading the poem and crying. Watch Heath Ledger doing, 'Can't Take My Eyes Off of You,' on the bleachers. See what I mean? They're just too good to be true. Edward Gibbons-Brown (Sometimes) a theatrical director/actor/producer and writer, and (mostly) a bartender and New Beaconite often found in semi-aimless wander, Edward is pleased and honored to contribute this piece to the most excellent Story Screen. #Newsletter #Article #EdwardGibbonsBrown #10ThingsIHateAboutYou #Anniversary #20thAnniversary #JuliaStiles #HeathLedger #Shakespeare

There are countless unknowns to contend with in horror story culture. To name a few: heroes can be up against ghouls, serial killers, haunted houses, spirits from beyond the grave, and more often than not, even themselves. All of these elements are present in Tim Burton’s 1988 comedy-horror Beetlejuice , as recently deceased Adam and Barbara Maitland train to scare away their home’s new living inhabitants, the Deetz family, while also fending off “bio-exorcist” Betelgeuse. After the Maitlands discover they didn’t survive what they thought was a non-fatal car crash, they are stranded in an afterlife with nothing to guide them but a book: The Handbook for the Recently Deceased . This handbook, while reading like stereo instructions, is more helpful than they care to recognize, as all of the characters in Beetlejuice struggle with control over their environments. It isn’t until the end of the film that any of the characters achieve a peaceful co-existence with each other and the hand that fate has dealt them. While various characters encounter invasions, possessions, hauntings, and other-worldly experiences, the real big bad in Beetlejuice is the desire to control one’s environs to the point of despair when faced with a lack of control. The film opens with an introduction to the town of Winter River, Connecticut, but only through Adam’s own construction of a miniature town model, one that he can completely control. At the conclusion of the aerial view of the town, the Maitland’s own miniature house is being overtaken by a seemingly giant spider, one which Adam promptly removes and releases outside. This invasion on the idyllic version of Winter River foreshadows the level of chaos that will soon take place on the Maitland’s true home. The Maitland’s opening conversation is then interrupted by their realtor, who is insistent that she knows what’s best for them and the house, imploring them to reconsider selling the house to a family who would better fit the space than the childless couple. It can be noted that this advice hits a nerve for Barbara. Moments later, as the couple drive into town on a quick errand, they discuss “trying again” during their two-week staycation, more than implying that they have intended to make at least one addition to their family and have not yet succeeded. Whether the Maitland’s have had trouble conceiving, or have lost a child during a pregnancy, this loss and lack of control significantly plays a part in Adam’s own desire to have some agency in his life, even if it is only through a homemade replica of his ideal Winter River. After the Maitlands awaken from the car accident that costs them their lives, they find themselves trapped in their home with the new inhabitants, the New York City Deetz’s. The Deetz family members also each have different ideas of what they want the house to provide for them. Patriarch Charles Deetz wishes the house to be a retreat from New York City life after suffering stresses from the city and his workplace environment. Second wife Delia Deetz, although unenthusiastic about the idea of country living, decides to make the house an extensive art project for herself and friend Otho, who believes he has the knowledge to lead in any situation, whether that be decorating, hairstyling, and even leading séances. Lastly, daughter Lydia Deetz, copes with moving into a new home by projecting her desire for the strange and unusual to manifest in any form, so long as there is someone or something with which to finally connect. Each family member’s desire is thwarted when put up against the desires of each other’s. After three months’ time waiting and meeting with their caseworker, Juno, in a bureaucratic office for the dead, the Maitlands return to their home to find Delia has completely renovated their charming country home into a house devoid of warmth and soft corners. Luckily the attic is untouched, and Adam and Barbara use this room as their war room, devising plans to spook the Deetzes out of Winter River, no matter the means. Upon yet another failed attempt to scare the Deetz adults, Adam and Barbara are discovered by Lydia, whose desire to exist on a different plane of existence allows her to see the Maitlands in their seemingly human form. Afterwards, Lydia becomes the envoy between the two families, couriering messages for both parties. The Maitlands and Lydia bond very quickly, but Lydia isn’t enough to change their minds about the Deetz parents. Charles and Delia do not believe that despite Lydia’s proof, their home is being haunted until they host a dinner party the Maitlands decide to crash. All in attendance experience possessions and sing Harry Belafonte’s “Day-O,” singing “daylight come and me wan’ go home.” The song, which chronicles a long day at work from which one wants to retire, does not inspire the Deetzes to return home. Instead it prompts a proposal for a paranormal theme park. Defeated, the Maitlands decide they need professional scaring help, even if it means hiring the titular, depraved Betelgeuse. Betelgeuse is the personification (ghoulification?) of greed, only helping others if it better benefits his own situation. At one point Betelgeuse was Juno’s assistant before deciding to go rogue. Not only was he helping the dead achieve happier afterlives, but he took pleasure in the terrorizing of living beings, the more traumatized, the better. He became a liability in his profession and was banished. Now, more desperate than ever to escape, he tempts the Maitlands into hiring him full time to get rid of the Deetz family. Although initially intrigued, within seconds of meeting the “bio-exorcist,” the Maitlands decide his methods are too gruesome for their plan. Betelgeuse is relentless, and even entices Lydia to free him. Upon discovering their interaction, the Maitlands quickly intervene and assure Lydia that Betelgeuse is not one with which to do business. Lydia, dying to escape the confines of her life and parents, wants to join Adam and Barbara in their afterlife, and is saddened to find they don’t want her in that way. Trapped between living parents that don’t hear her, and dead pseudo-parents who won’t allow their union in mutual death to come to fruition, Lydia is at her loneliest. Realizing that forcing the Deetz family out of their house would mean losing Lydia inspires the Maitlands to have a change of heart. Deciding to protect and keep Lydia is a decision that, in turn, begins to settle the Maitlands fear of the unknown of an afterlife. She may not have been the child they planned for, but she becomes the child they accept. In the penultimate scene, the feuding families join forces to banish greed from their lives. In an attempt for Charles to sell an employer on the idea of a paranormal resort, Otho performs a séance to summon the attic shut-in Maitlands. The séance is a success, but Adam and Barbara begin to decay. Panicked, Lydia summons Betelgeuse to save the Maitlands, a feat he agrees to, but with a catch: Lydia must marry him. Selflessly, Lydia agrees. As the wedding takes place, the Deetz parents are rendered powerless by Delia’s sculptures brought to life, while the Maitlands are restored and begin attempts to send Betelgeuse to whence he came. Prevented at every turn, Barbara is sent to “Saturn,” a realm in which the dead roam if out of their restricted bounds. She returns triumphantly on a sand snake, swallowing Betelgeuse whole and sending him back to the waiting room for the dead. Once gone, the families’ growing greed is abolished, and they reach compromise in their shared home. Beetlejuice is a film in which selflessness is valued and rewarded with serenity and prosperity. Delia allows the house to be restored to its original state, and is rewarded with critical acclaim for her formerly unnoticed sculptures. Charles consents to the Maitlands’ request for a private life in their own home and is granted with his initially sought serene lifestyle as well, not to mention a stronger bond with his daughter. Lydia finally finds acceptance at school and thrives, while the Maitlands get to assist in raising a child. In the final scene, Lydia comes home from school and is rewarded for her good grades. Her request is a fun, light, body suspension to sing Harry Belafonte’s “Jump in the Line.” The song speaks to letting your body move to the music as opposed to dancing a routine. Sure, dancing any style of dance can be done, but Harry’s muse inspires him to advise: “you jump in the saddle, hold on to de bridle.” Seeking serenity is a constant treasure hunt, but learning to accept peace comes with the price of autocracy. Bernadette Gorman-White 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. #HorrorComedy #HorrorFantasy #BernadetteGorman #Beetlejuice #Newsletter #Review

During my youth in southeastern Indiana, I didn’t have many friends who went to the movies in order to critically examine the art of moviemaking. Sure, I have a few close childhood friends who appreciate film as I do, but the vast majority of my upbringing was spent with friends out at the movies because the general consensus was: there wasn’t anything else to do to pass the time, if you will. Another very popular rural Indiana pastime is attending Mass or a weekly church service. Growing up in a very Catholic household attending Mass wasn’t an option it was an obligation. Being groomed from a very early age to sit quietly, observe respectfully, and participate accordingly, bled through to my behavior in many venues, namely, the cinema. I would take my reverence everywhere, and this included the seats of a theater. Over the past few years, this religious treatment of film has been reversed. In just recent history alone we’ve been blessed with films such as Lady Bird, The Little Hours , and Silence , and with television like The Handmaid’s Tale, American Gods , and The Real O’Neals . While these offerings are from different genres and evoke different responses, they’re proof that despite differing religious beliefs, audiences enjoy religious stories. I very much enjoy stories that are peppered with religion, because I can contextualize the struggle between good and evil, and I believe they help me gain a deeper understanding of my upbringing and myself. They challenge my values, none more so than my most recent binge of HBO’s The Leftovers . Just like a good gospel, I had read and heard wonderful things about the 2014 religious series and I finally found time in my schedule to worship at its alter. Now, I don’t like to rob anyone of their own religious experience, but while reflecting on The Leftovers , I’ve been bursting at the seams to dissect at least a fraction of the series for Story Screen. Not one aspect of The Leftovers is left unpolished; the acting, writing, direction, and production are all seamless. But upon reflection of which distinct aspect of the Mass always puts me in the adequate heavenly headspace, my mind always comes back to the music. The Leftovers’ three seasons of theme music (and overall score) is no exception. For those uninitiated in the 2014 HBO series, (and Tom Perrotta’s original novel of the same name), the pilot takes place three years after the “Sudden Departure,” a mysterious event where 2% of the world’s population abruptly disappears. The remaining 98% has been left to wonder if the event was a rapture, and if so, what does that means for their own purposes. The initial pilot does not have an opening title theme, providing an entire episode to act as a cold open to the philosophical series. In episode two however, Max Richter’s sweeping, orchestral, “The Leftovers (Main Title Theme)” plays over a backdrop akin to The Sistine Chapel’s fresco ceiling, depicting multiple people losing their loved ones. Richter is also the composer for the musical interludes within the show, and all of his music draws haunting melodies that completely embody the sense of wonder and loss the characters and the audience feel. Listening to the music alone can bring one to tears. Throughout the first season we see several characters in the town of Mapleton, NY struggling with the departure in different ways. None of the characters have their own distinct musical theme, which is a common trope in most television and film, but rather all characters share the same emotional weight and baggage from the Sudden Departure. When one character might recall a sorrowful memory of a lost loved one in, say, episode four, that same melodic ghost follows another character two episodes later while they experience their own sorrow. All of these characters are linked by blood or distinct events, which occur throughout the show, but it’s not a stretch at all to say these characters are completely alone and kept separate from one another by personal demons and hang-ups. Richter’s score is sometimes the only thing holding them together. While all three seasons carry heavy religious symbolism and story structuring, season one leans the heaviest into the concept of personal religion, and the music reflects that. Teenagers try to find their own religion in destructive partying, a woman creates her own penance by hiring people to injure her, and a cult-like group called “The Guilty Remnant,” exists solely as a reminder for the lost 2%. Repetition is frequently used in film and television to denote boredom or the mundane, but I think that sentiment becomes the opposite when it comes to repetition in music. It’s common in most church services or Masses to repeat melodies and songs monthly, if not weekly. Music has the ability to remind and encourage us to look beyond what we see in front of us, and to take us into a deeper state of reflection and recollection. Season one reminds us constantly that even though these characters are isolating themselves, they’re silently feeling the same pains and struggles. One character even confides in another, “I don’t know how to talk to you yet.” The music in season one swells like an ocean’s tide beginning to bubble towards the surface, trying to break into a wave and communicate with the rest of the world. Upon watching the first episode of The Leftovers in season two, audiences might be prone to pausing, rewinding, and pausing again to make sure they’re watching the correct show. Opening up with different characters in a different setting, season two quickly sets the stage to explore the same themes through a different lens. What season one does for religion, season two does for mysticism, (and yes, those are two different ideologies). The biggest difference between the first two seasons is the tone of the opening theme song. Sang by Iris DeMent, folk song “Let the Mystery Be,” is at first extremely jarring as the season two opener. Accompanying a montage of folksy photographs where some of the subjects remain, while others fade into silhouettes of stars and various other forms of nature, the lyrics are as follows: “Everybody's wonderin' what and where they all came from/ Everybody's worryin' 'bout where they're gonna go/ When the whole thing's done/ But no one knows for certain/ And so it's all the same to me/ I think I'll just let the mystery be/ Some say once you're gone you're gone forever/ And some say you're gonna come back/ Some say you rest in the arms of the Saviour/ If in sinful ways you lack/ Some say that they're comin' back in a garden/ Bunch of carrots and little sweet peas/ I think I'll just let the mystery be/ Everybody's wonderin' what and where they all came from/ Everybody's worryin' 'bout where they're gonna go/ When the whole thing's done/ But no one knows for certain/ And so it's all the same to me/ I think I'll just let the mystery be/ I think I’ll just let the mystery be.” Gone are Richter’s sweeping violins; they’ve been replaced by fiddles and guitars. Set in Jarden, Texas, season two’s opening theme is a cautionary warning to the characters who are flailing to make meaning of the Sudden Departure. No one knows for certain, so let the mystery be. A show like The Leftovers , however, could not exist if the characters within that world would just let the mystery be. In season two we meet new families who may, or may not, be exploiting the doubt nestled deep within all those who visit Jarden “Miracle” Texas. Jarden is the only town where nobody was “raptured” during the Sudden Departure, making it a destination for those trying to safeguard themselves against the possibility of a second departure. The local residents feed off of tourists from all reaches of the globe, selling them water from local quarries and creeks, along with other souvenirs which act as talismans to keep them safe. Other local citizens believe that there is a seer in their midst who can look into futures to assuage their unease. So when characters from season one, who are none too reliable to begin with, also start to experience otherworldly circumstances in this town called “Miracle,” the show implores the audience to consider what they believe. Or, does it? No one knows for certain. The last season of The Leftovers , again jumps ship, and mostly takes place in another setting: Australia. While the first two seasons run for ten episodes each, season three is a tight eight episodes. The absurd situations that season two presents are only heightened in season three as our main cast strives to reconcile their own personal journeys of self worth. The first episode has no opening theme, but at the beginning of the second episode, we see the same visuals from season two’s opening with the peppy theme music of ABC’s 1986 Perfect Strangers , “Nothing’s Gonna Stop Me Now,” by David Pomeranz. Once the episode begins, the use of that theme song makes sense, but The Leftovers’ brilliant choice to keep viewers on their aural toes peaks awareness that the final season will be anything other than what you’d expect, or even perhaps what you’d think you’d want. Episodes three through six feature Richard Cheese’s cover of “Personal Jesus,” Ray LaMontagne and the Pariah Dogs’ “This Love is Over,” Benzion Miller’s “Ashrei,” and Gravediggaz’s “1-800 Suicide.” All songs applicably fit the themes of the episodes they accompany, and the use of different songs helps add to the overwhelming momentum The Leftovers creates while careening towards the series finale. It is only fitting that the final two episodes feature the original, “The Leftovers (Main Title Theme),” and “Let the Mystery Be,” during the penultimate episode and series finale, respectively. There is a lot going on in these final two episodes that hang on the crux of your own personal belief in the story. All of the characters have been on such fantastic journeys leading up to this point, both emotionally and physically, and their souls have been rattled and tested. At its heart, The Leftovers is a love story attempting to teach its audience to give into uncertainty and live in the now. The deliberate use of music helps hit home the dual sentiment of: everything happens, as it should; do not take oneself too seriously. Richter’s score paired with other needle drops throughout the series help maintain the balance between despair and absurdity. I’m not surprised to have enjoyed Richter’s score as much as I do. His body of work contains Waltz with Bashir, The Congress , and FX's Taboo , while portions of his work can also be heard in Arrival, Prometheus , and the Black Mirror episode, “Nosedive.” Richter’s understanding of his subject matter is inspiring, and in my few short days of research he has come to the forefront of composers for which I’ll be keeping an ear to the ground. I have watched a decent amount of television in my day, and I don’t know if I’ll ever feel quite the same as I did watching the series finale of The Leftovers . It is one of the finest hours of television I have ever had the pleasure to watch. I focused on the music for this particular analysis, but there’s so much more that you should check out for yourself. The description of the series finale reads: “Nothing is answered. Everything is answered. And then it ends.” Isn’t that just the truth of our lives? Coming into my own understanding and appreciation for my faith over the years has strengthened my belief that faith is personal and in flux. For how can one claim to completely know and understand this world or the greater context of existence? “Everybody's wonderin' what and where they all came from. Everybody's worryin' 'bout where they're gonna go when the whole thing's done. But no one knows for certain, and so it's all the same to me. I think I'll just let the mystery be. I think I’ll just let the mystery be.” You sing it, Iris. See you same time next week. Bernadette Gorman-White Managing Editor 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. #Newsletter #Article #BernadetteGormanWhite #TheLeftovers #HBO #TV #Music #Scores

Wo man , 2018 was one helluva year. I certainly endured my fair share of ups and downs over the course of those 365 days, but what kept my sanity intact by the end of it was a powerful, common theme: Identity in Womanhood. This past year I watched our country evolve as 2017’s "#MeToo" movement begat 2018’s “Time’s Up” movement, and it’s been empowering to watch our society become informed by these calls to arms. It seems redundant to claim that you yourself evolve every year as well, because clearly we all age and experience change constantly, but I was definitely feeling my femininity evolve in 2018. At the end of January, I husbanded up. (If “wifed up” is a phrase, we can make “husbanded up” a thing, right? Equality!) But what they don’t tell you (or perhaps the information I didn’t seek out) about becoming a wife is how signing that small piece of paper redefines your relationship, not only with your partner, but with yourself. So, 2018 and I were firmly hand-in-hand leveling up our respective womanhoods, and inevitably, we encountered some pretty mean megabosses along the way. During the last quarter of the year, I took quite an emotional beating. Without getting into too much personal baggage, womaning up in 2018 gave me the strength to demand a fair wage in my workplace (a brewery, at the time), where I chose to go to bat for myself and my fellow female bartenders, who were being exploited. It was a successful battle, but I took the hit and had to walk away from the job, losing my livelihood and lifestyle routine. Needless to say, that put in me in a bit of a funk, and my nights out at the cinema took a backseat...like an Oldsmobile station wagon backseat. As a result, a lot of seemingly great films slipped through my fingers in 2018, and I’m sure I’m going to be playing a lot of catch-up between now, the Oscars, and eternity. But, for the sake of this list (which is a solid list that I proudly stand by), I won’t mention the aforementioned missed-but-critically-great films. The mere fact that I was vetoing films that I did see and loved, in order to construct this list, speaks volumes of the state of film in 2018. I will, however, briefly touch on one vetoed film. Sebastian Lelio’s A Fantastic Woman rang as relatable to me as it possibly could have. Focusing on transgender Marina (a complete revelation, Daniela Vega) and her relationship to her departed partner, Orlando, A Fantastic Woman details Marina’s struggles with the world’s perception of her. I found that the tail-end of 2018 took me by the shoulders and tried to tell me that I’m something that I’m not. Remembering Marina’s perseverance, and the perseverance of all women in 2018, gave me the strength to finish the year. So, here’s to 2018; a year that against all opposition, elevated women all over the world. To toast, my “Best of 2018” features not just the most well received cinema, but the films that resonated with me personally and were magnifying glasses for the strength of women. Because now that I look back, 2018 truly was a fantastic year. 10) Alex Garland’s Annihilation The contenders for this tenth spot ranged from First Reformed to Eighth Grade to Leave No Trace ... only to be beat out by the cinematic wonderscape that is Annihilation . I’ll get this out of the way at the very beginning and say that I found the framing (an interview recalling the events of the film) to land stale and flat, but that framework aside, Annihilation is one of the most visually arresting films of the year. What ultimately won Annihilation this coveted spot on my list was how long it stuck with me, and how my interpretation of that final act kept evolving. You take the fact that it’s about five women investigating a mystery that countless men haven’t been able to crack yet... and you check off that box. You take the extra layer of allowing the mystery of the film (the “Shimmer”) to call for different interpretations by both the characters and the audience, and you check off another box. Finally, you acknowledge that you’re watching a film where all the characters are flawed in some way, yet they’re all heroines... damn box, check yourself! As to not reveal any more of its complex plot, I’ll end with this: just like the previous year’s mother! , this film challenged me, and I was here for it. 9) Yorgos Lanthimos’ The Favourite It is a testament to the caliber of film in 2018 that Lanthimos’ pitch perfect period piece didn’t even clear my top five. Watching The Favourite is an absolute delight. I’d say its strongest suit is its cinematography, but then there’s the costume design. Okay, I’d now say the costume design is its strongest suit, but then there’s the directing. Okay, okay, so directing for sure... but the acting! Do you see where I’m going here? As a whole, it’s perfection. Olivia Colman portrays England’s Queen Anne with a traumatic humor that can’t be ignored. And watching her subjects and advisors (Rachel Weisz, Emma Stone, and Nicholas Hoult) scheme to climb up the social ladder of power ain’t half bad either. Not to say that the writing for this film (written by Deborah Davis and Tony McNamara) is unappealing in any way, shape, or form, but I do believe that the absence of Lanthimos’ absurd speaking cadence is the only thing holding it back from achieving “top five” glory this year. Also, I suppose 2018 was a year where personally relatable content was key. And while I can understand the depressing themes of women in-fighting to rise to the top, it’s probably a good thing that lye-burns, rabbit-children, and queen-bedding wasn’t the most relatable content this year. 8) Wes Anderson’s I Love Dogs (I mean, Isle of Dogs) I really don’t want to say “I’d be remiss to not dote on a Wes Anderson picture,” but I really would be remiss! I did truly enjoy it though, and not just for the fact that I’m an Andersonphile. I made a joke that between the first and second viewings of Isle of Dogs that my husband and I went out and adopted a dog, but that actually is a true story. We had been ruminating on dog adoption for awhile, but the “Man’s Best Friend” charm in Isle of Dogs gave us the extra push we needed. At its core, Isle of Dogs is about acceptance of differences and fighting for change, and those are universal lessons. And despite it being a story that could have been ultimately told within any cultural context, choosing Japan as its backdrop elevated its storytelling and elegance ten-fold. We have a fraught history with Japan, and we’re sadly reliving elements of that history within the current state of our country. Never before has an Anderson film felt like a protest nor has one ever felt more necessary. I stand with you, Anderson: Vote Watanabe, Long Live Atari, Pro-Dog. 7) Crystal Moselle’s Skate Kitchen The longer I thought about Skate Kitchen , the more I was moved by it, causing it to beat out the likes of directors I’ve followed for years. If this skateboarding film flew under your radar this year, let me tell you a little bit about the all-female skate collective, Skate Kitchen, that inspired this film. Moselle met members of this skate crew while riding the NYC subway back in 2016, then cast them in a short film of hers that ended up evolving into 2018’s Skate Kitchen . You can follow these very real, very badass skate ladies on their real Instagram page @theskatekitchen, and man, they shred. The film falls into an extremely satisfying groove, seamlessly blending documentary with narrative. Camille (a commanding Rachelle Vinberg, who is also the co-founder of Skate Kitchen) is a Long Island teenager recovering from a vaginal skateboarding accident (no shying away from women themes here) that compels her single mother to forbid any more skateboarding. But when Camille sees an invitation for an all-girl skate session in NYC on the Skate Kitchen Instagram page, she simply can’t pass up the opportunity to meet like-minded peers. And for a good majority of the film, you feel like you’re just hanging out with the coolest group of friends. Skate Kitchen explores what it’s like to be in your youth and a part of a subculture when you’re not the “correct” gender, and how that affects your female friendships. I really hate the phrases “girl gang” and “find your tribe,” but Skate Kitchen manages to skate around those phrases and strip life down to the trucks and bearings: skate or die. Granted, I know Skate Kitchen wasn’t the only film of 2018 to show the emotional journey of skateboarding. There’s a glaring blindspot in my 2018 filmography in that I didn’t manage to see Jonah Hill’s Mid90s , but I’m sooooo thankful for Moselle and the women of Skate Kitchen for representing the way they do. Skateboarding for everyone! 6) Bradley Cooper’s A Star is Born I figured I was going to like A Star is Born before ever walking into the theater, which made me raise my critical guards a little higher than normal. But the momentum of Cooper’s directorial debut bowled them right on over. Similar to Skate Kitchen’s knack for blending fictional narrative with documentary, A Star is Born managed to make me feel like I was watching a behind the scenes tour DVD for Jackson Maine, and I caught myself wondering why I hadn’t bought tickets to see that tour myself. Cooper’s metaphorical treatment of music and fame as a substance to be abused is exquisite. Truthfully, I was drawn to the film because I know what a powerhouse Lady Gaga can be, and while she did not disappoint, it was Cooper’s Jackson Maine that had me enthralled. I had thought I had seen characters fall in love before in film, but the way Cooper’s Jack looks at Gaga’s Ally while she’s singing “La Vie En Rose” at the drag bar is out-of-this-world love. I’ve never seen anyone fall in love like that in a film before, like she was the only girl in the room. (Well, she literally was the only girl in the room... damnit, this movie’s smart.) Couple that intelligence with a killer soundtrack and you’ve got a hit on your hands. Jack is known for saying that music is a story told over and over using the same twelve notes and all any artist can offer is how they see those notes, and I think the same can be said for core plot elements in film. Cooper, I love how you see them. 5) “Come Along With Me” Adventure Time’s Series Finale Coming in at an algebraic 44 minutes, Adventure Time’s series finale lands right in that sweet spot where it could be considered a short film. Considering I binged most of the series this past year after falling off the Adventure Time wagon back in 2013, the entire series actually felt like one, long, satisfying film, but “Come Along With Me” was definitely the icing on the Candy Kingdom cake. (But since this is primarily a list praising film in 2018, I wanted to find a suitable place to show my gratitude to this beautiful work of art by including it in at least my “top five”). I have the utmost admiration for the writers who gave our adventurers, Finn and Jake (and Princess Bubblegum, and Simon, and Marceline, and the dozens of other key characters) their final send off. And how did they do it? By not dwelling or worrying about any specific ending. The entire episode takes place in the future, framed by BMO telling the story of “The Great Gum War” and the immediate aftermath to two new heroes, Beth and Shermy. When pressed for more information about our heroes after the events of the war, BMO imparts that they just “lived their lives.” I’m happy to not know how these characters’ stories ended, because it magically grants them immortality. Towards the end of the episode, Finn and Jake are reminiscing about the power of music with their friend, the Music Hole, when the sentient hole says she has a song she wants to share with them. She says it’s about “a really specific feeling that’s hard to describe.” You know she’s going to sing the theme song we’ve been listening to for years: “Come Along with Me.” What you don’t know is how hard it’s gonna hit you. And then you see a montage of our heroes, all of our heroes, just “living their lives” and I promise I’m not crying while I’m typing this. (But that would be a lie.) If Adventure Time has ever been something that’s “been on your to-do list,” do yourself a favor and pick it up. You are in for the sweetest of treats. 4) Tim Wardle’s Three Identical Strangers The fastest rollercoaster of the year, Three Identical Strangers , takes you there, and there is a real place because it’s a documentary, and it’s not really there, it’s here, sharing a home state with Story Screen, right here in New York. When one man was confused for another at Sullivan County Community College in 1980, the press hungrily jumped at the chance to cover the story of the estranged twins, Bobby Shafran and Eddy Galland. And then truth got even stranger when a third man, David Kellman, saw that press and realized he was the third brother, making them a set of triplets separated by birth. I won’t get into specifics here, because this documentary is truly a must-see, but that brief synopsis is just the clink-clink-clink of the rollercoaster pulling you up that first hill. The film covers their initial reunion and the media mania that ensued by showcasing televised interviews, all manners of guest spots, home videos, and newspaper clippings. You see these same clips again and again throughout the course of the film, but it’s not meant to be repetitive. Wardle expertly layers each identical clip with different subtexts, unloading more and more information about the nature of their reunion and why they were separated in the first place. The Jewish adoption agency, Louise Wise Services, kept the true nature of their adoption secret for years until... well, you’ll just have to watch for yourself. Thanks to this documentary, people who have wondered about their past their entire lives are just now getting the answers they seek. Even Andy Samberg has recently stated that his own mother had been trying to track her lineage for years but kept hitting roadblocks because she too had been adopted through Louise Wise. My husband is adopted, and I sometimes wonder what it would have been like if he hadn’t reconnected with his biological brothers when he was in middle school. My cousin (and her cousin) both have sets of twins, and I’ve been friends with multiple members of multiples of all varieties (twins, triplets, even quadruplets). I watched this film with a good friend of mine who happens to have a twin and she couldn’t imagine not knowing him, or not reconnecting with her biological brother when she was in middle school… uhhhhhh, I think I’m starting to repeat myself. Basically, what I’m trying to say is, that if you need proof that fact is, indeed, stranger than fiction, look no further than this brilliant documentary. 3) Alfonso Cuaron’s Roma This was the last film I watched before I cultivated this list, and I’m so thankful to have managed the viewing when I did. I mean, there have been nothing but glowing reviews for Roma , and Cuaron is a masterful filmmaker, but that didn’t mean I expected the film to resonate with me the way that it did. I went into the film fairly blind, only knowing that Cuaron has been thanking Mexico and women for making this film what it is. I had no idea that I would find such a tender tale of motherhood in the face of adversity, mirrored against fathers who never wanted to father in the first place. Clearly the struggles of the respective abandoned mothers hold the viewer’s attention, but it doesn’t necessarily make the flipside of fatherhood any less tragic. As the oldest of four who was raised by a single mother, this juxtaposition was not lost on me. Life is an evolving drama where humans are constantly faced with the “decision of the moment,” and that moment is always now, and rarely are you ever prepared. In a scene fairly close to the climax, our heroine Cleo (Yalitza Aparicio, who I will now watch in literally anything) attempts a visit to the father of her child, Fermin, in order to discuss the impending birth of their child. She tracks him down while he is training with a group of militant martial artists. At the time of her arrival, this troupe is receiving a surprise tutorial by the revered Professor Zovek. He asks one of the trainees to come blindfold him before he raises both arms over his head, brings his hands together in prayer-like fashion, and slowly raises his left leg, bringing his left foot into the crook of his groin. Imagine the yoga position known as tree pose, but with arms forming a circle. His trainees laugh at him, expecting his feat to be an easy one. He then encourages them to attempt the same pose with their eyes closed, and see how they fare. All of the characters within the shot begin to attempt the pose, both trainees and female/children onlookers alike. None can complete the pose, except for Cleo, who even through closed eyes has allowed her perception to remain open. The rest flounder, at which Zovek scoffs. That’s what Roma posits life is. It’s a comical farce in which humans blindly struggle against forces they can’t control until their eyes are opened by tragedy and adversity. That adversity, however, strengthens them, and through perseverance, honesty, and community, the characters in Roma , specifically the women, flourish. I merely detailed a single scene, but every single thing about the film is exquisite. If this were a list about number one houses in which I wanted to live, the family home from Roma would take top honors. And if I’d have to hazard a guess, this was probably the most culturally and historically compelling film of the year for me as well. With it being a Netflix released film, I really had no excuse to not watch it, and neither do you if you haven’t already watched it five times. Don’t let the black and white film fool you: it completely lives up to the positively glowing reviews. 2) Cory Finley’s Thoroughbreds Do you remember that time when you were in early high school, and it’s not really cool to sit around and talk about your crushes anymore... instead you’re starting to maybe sneak around your parent’s rules, and maybe you hang out at a friend’s house while their parents aren’t home.... and you’re starting to maybe experiment with things you shouldn’t, but you feel like you’re maybe just starting to figure this teenager thing out... and you’re finally starting to watch those generation-defining movies like Fight Club and Trainspotting and Pulp Fiction and you start to feel like, forget the teenager thing, maybe you’re, like, a young adult now? No, neither do I. But in all reality, of course I remember that feeling, and watching Finley’s Thoroughbreds sent me reeling right on back into that heavily incensed room of nostalgia. Early teen-aged Bernadette would have adored this film, and frankly, current Bernadette does too. Thoroughbreds is the story of two childhood best friends, upscale Lily (Anya Taylor-Joy) and problematic Amanda (Olivia Cooke) who reconnect as high-schoolers after years of being estranged. Amanda has been under heavy surveillance ever since she euthanized her childhood horse, Honeymooner. This violent act prompts her mother to reconnect the two friends, with the hopes that Lily’s good influence will set Amanda back on the right track. But due to Amanda’s sociopathic tendencies and Lily’s deteriorating home life, both ladies start to buck against societal norms and hatch a plan, instead, to kill Lily’s abusive step-father, the dreaded Mark. Thoroughbreds explores a multitude of themes including, but not limited to: society, loyalty, friendship, education, and rebellion, specifically when viewed through the lens of a young woman’s upbringing in our current times. It is one part thriller, one part psychological horror, one part dark comedy, but all parts noir. Film noirs are few and far between these days, while most of them are sold in a box labeled “science fiction” or “fantasy,” so to come across a fairly pure, fairly dark noir is a real treat. Lily lives in a pristine, museum-like estate mansion, which symbolically informs the overall plot. Most of the film takes place in this mausoleum, and as the film progresses, you slowly start to hear the heartbeat of the house (Mark’s incessant rowing machine) and you know that you’re creeping slowly towards a death, but you just don’t know how or when. The tension Thoroughbreds builds is absolutely delicious. And without a character that has a moral compass that points north, their insanity becomes your insanity. But in spite of all that, this film also happens to be surprisingly relatable and wickedly funny, with our teenage protagonists trying to sound all deep and tortured and shit. (Remember, that’s a part of that whole teenage self-discovery thing). Thoroughbreds is totally worth it, not only for the fun, murdery ride, but because you better believe this has one of the best final lines of dialogue in film that I’ve ever heard. It doesn’t just kiss you goodbye; it ties you to the horse and gives it a swift kick to the rear. 1) Boots Riley’s Sorry to Bother You I knew Sorry to Bother You was gonna get weird, but I didn’t know it was gonna start weird. From the opening scene where Lakeith Stanfield’s Cassius Green is interviewing for a telemarketing job at RegalView, toting both an Employee of the Month plaque with his photo on it and an absurdly oversized “Moot Court” trophy, all in front of a member of middle management that is sitting behind a computer screen that’s turned off with a post-it note reading “I.T. PLEASE FIX”... yeah, I think that’s when I knew this might be my favorite film of the year. Sometimes you just know when you know, you know? Imagine that level of detail for nearly two hours and you get the runaway absurdity of Sorry to Bother You . Now, I know I’ve said it a few times throughout this list, but this one I really shouldn’t talk about. The fact that I waited to watch this movie on Hulu and still knew next-to-nothing about the plot is truly the miracle of 2018. But what I do want to talk about is how important this film is. There’s a scene where Cassius’ on-again-off-again girlfriend and focused activist, Detroit (Tessa Thompson, great as always), is putting on an art show, and part of the exhibit is her standing on a stage, reciting lines from 1985’s The Last Dragon . And during this performance she begs the audience, if it so moves them, to throw cell phones, bullet casings, and balloons filled with sheep’s blood at her while she recites her lines. As cell phone after balloon after cell phone is thrown her way, Cassius becomes more and more uncomfortable and stops the show, asking her why she would subject herself to this. And Detroit replies, “ It’s a part of the show, Cassius. You of all people should understand, right? Stick to the script.” Whew. Watching Sorry to Bother You is uncomfortable, as it absolutely should be. It’s in the title that the film itself is sorry to bother us with its images of people being beaten, exploited, and misrepresented. We as a culture, no, I’ll speak for just myself here, I get in the habit of recognizing the problems in the world, getting fired up and eager to enact change, and then I lose that fervor and interest only to become complacent. (I am Cassius: he’s the vessel into the world of the film for a reason. At first, you’re assured because Cassius is incredibly likeable, but later you’re confronted with the overwhelming question: am I on the wrong side of the fight?). What we watch on the news, read on our phones, and hear on the radio is soooo oversaturated that I find myself mentally retreating sometimes and tuning the world out. And how do I do that? By escaping into television, escaping into my phone, escaping into music. For a list detailing my favorite escapes of the year, I’m so glad that Boots Riley saw us worthy to have Sorry to Bother You . I’m not disparaging the importance of film, the importance of music, or the importance of escaping. Riley knows that if we’re going to be escaping anyway, why not bother us with some cold, hard truth. I mean, the man wore a fucking bathrobe to the Critics Choice Awards this year. The man is a legend and a genius. Plenty of the films this year have either spoken to me on a personal level, reminded me of a happy yesteryear, or closed some chapter of my life. But Sorry to Bother You woke me up. It bothered me, but in the best way. Let it bother you too. Bernadette Gorman Managing Editor 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. #Newsletter #BernadetteGormanWhite #Bestof2018 #Articles #Annihilation #TheFavourite #IsleofDogs #SorrytoBotherYou #AdventureTime #Thoroughbreds #SkateKitchen #AStarisBorn #ThreeIdenticalStrangers #Roma

Let it be known that I, Bernadette, can tend to be a harsh critic. I don’t go into films actively ready to tear them down, and I always give them a fair shot, but if you listen to the Story Screen family, I’m less inclined to give films a pass. Recently, however, my heart has begun to soften. About a month ago, my 21 year old sister moved in with me and my husband (Heath), and she’s the type to ALWAYS have something running on the television in the background. One evening she was shocked to find out that I hadn’t seen a classic movie from her childhood, 2004’s Sleepover , which she was delighted to find on Hulu. A goofy teen comedy about four friends transitioning from junior high to high school (starring Alexa Vega, Jane Lynch, Jeff Garlin, and a pre-Michael-Scott Steve Carell), I found it to be, uhhhhhhhhhhh, not good. But that’s the thing; it is good. It was one of the movies my sister would watch when she and her friends would get together for sleepovers, and for that moment in her life, Sleepover was exactly the type of movie she wanted to watch. This entire experience made me reminisce on the sleepover movies of my childhood. Born in 1989, there are eight years separating me and my youngest sister, and while there are some films that overlap between the two of us (we did grow up in the same household, after all), my sleepover films differ greatly from hers. Considering there are countless movies that were played in heavy enough rotation in my house that the physical VHS tapes became, pardon my French, shot to shit, I just can’t talk about all of my favorite sleepover movies. So for the sake of brevity, I’ve narrowed it down to three of the films that came to the forefront of my mind: 1993’s Son in Law , 1997’s I Know What You Did Last Summer, and 1995’s Now and Then. Who can forget the Pauly Shore/Carla Gugino banger that is Son in Law ? I have a lot of love in my heart for Pauly Shore, and this movie is no exception. When South Dakotan, farm-born-and-raised Rebecca (Gugino) moves out to California to begin her freshman year at UCLA, she doesn’t feel like she belongs until she bonds with her RA, Crawl (Shore). And by the time Thanksgiving Break rolls around, she doesn’t want to return home alone, fearing she’s going to receive a proposal she may not want from her hometown beau, Travis (Dan Gauthier, but that’s not important). Crawl comes to the rescue when, much to Becca’s farm family’s dismay, he claims that she can’t accept a proposal from Travis because they are already engaged to be married. Of course this leads to a series of trials on the farm during which Crawl slowly begins to win over Becca’s family and, unintentionally, Becca’s heart. Now, is this a high-brow film? Absolutely not. But it is immensely fun and a complete laugh riot. Son in Law (and by association, the masterpiece that is known as Bio-Dome ) was a big-time player in the Gorman household. I grew up in a small, southeastern Indiana town where tractors were driven to school and everyone knew everything about absolutely anything to do with “private” business. I wouldn’t say that I strived to follow Becca’s trajectory, but that sort of intent wasn’t far from the mark. Son in Law is a classic fish out of water story that happens to mirror itself within the actual plot, which I think is actually far more clever than people give it credit for. And while this particular film might not be for everyone, it does teach a very important lesson: true acceptance of oneself and others will bring happiness to everyone involved. You should strive to understand different walks of life than your own, and by doing so, you’re more than likely to learn a thing or two about yourself. Can you believe a Pauly Shore movie can teach that lesson? Well, you can bet your “Steven Tyler PJs” that it does! I Know What You Did Last Summer, on the other hand, is one of the most ludicrous movies I’ve ever seen. Four recent high school graduates (teen heartthrobs Jennifer Love Hewitt, Freddie Prinze Jr., Sarah Michelle Gellar, and Ryan Phillippe) celebrate one more pre-college 4th of July by getting drunk and joyriding on the backroads of their seaside North Carolina town. But in the process, they sort-of-kind-of-maybe kill someone. Well...they hit him, and then dump his body off the docks, all the while discussing what to do about their current, gruesome situation. They reluctantly decide to not tell a soul, despite there being a witness (a pre-Bang Johnny Galecki) and their initial consternation to reach out for help. They’re gonna take this secret to the grave! But after a year, the core four begin to receive written threats claiming, “I know what you did last summer!” I was eight years old when I Know What You Did Last Summer came out, and boy oh boy did I feel soooooo cool watching this movie. I’ve seen 98’s I Still Know What You Did Last Summer a good handful of times as well, but I had fallen off the Summer bandwagon by the time 06’s I’ll Always Know What You Did Last Summer was released. I suppose, that by that point I was too concerned with my own college plans to watch a completely new cast outrun the likes of the “Fisherman Killer.” But that doesn’t mean I hadn’t been hooked for life by the original. (Eeeeehhhh, did you read what I did there?) Two years after IKWYDLS came out, a young M. Night Shyamalan released a little picture called The Sixth Sense and a group of film students tried to escape a woodland witch in The Blair Witch Project . And by 2002, it only took seven days for the horror realm to become obsessed with the foreboding imagery in The Ring . All three of these films took up some serious rotation in my ever-evolving sleepover repertoire, but I’ll always remember my first pulp-horror love. I’ll never forget what they did that summer. This last sleepover movie may not be one that got as much play as the other two, but it’s probably the one I related to most while growing up. Now and Then opens with four childhood best friends reuniting to celebrate the birth of a child. All four friends are played by two different actresses in two different time periods (present day ‘95, for all intents and purposes, and an adolescent summer in 1970). The casting choices are ridiculous at worst and entertaining at best, with Christina Ricci and Rosie O’Donnell sharing the role of Roberta, Thora Birch and Melanie Griffith playing Teeny, Gaby Hoffmann and a bespectacled Demi Moore portraying Samantha, and Ashleigh Aston Moore and Rita Wilson breathing life into (in the later era) a very pregnant Chrissy. As adults, they reminisce about the events of ‘70, sometimes it seems, in order to distract Chrissy from labor pains. Watching it now, with a more refined understanding of cinema and story, you have to wonder if the events of ‘70 actually happened the way the characters remember them happening. But that’s how reminiscing works. I most heavily related to Teeny, the boy-crazy runt of the group who just wants boys to like her and fills her bra with pudding-filled balloons, but there’s a little bit of each character that resonates with me. And as I was six when this movie came out, it gave a young girl hope that if she was an awkward pre-teen, there was always a chance she would grow up to be Demi Moore. But most of all, Now and Then speaks to the power of young, female friendship and unity and I think those themes are always of the utmost importance. Now and Then is my OG Sleepover . And at the end of the day, if I had to choose one of these three films to show a future daughter of mine, Now and Then would be it. But then, of course, she’d ask to watch the other two. I mean, she’d be my daughter, after all. I guess at the end of the day, my Sleepover awakening made me remember that every film serves a purpose. With the current state of film, it seems nearly impossible to keep up with every trailblazing new release. We’re incredibly privileged to live during a time where creativity seems infinite and a new, inspiring, auteur is discovered every year. But I constantly have to remind myself that there is already a well of beloved movies at my disposal, and all I need to do is look to the past to find them. I consider myself lucky to be a part of the Story Screen family, where we look to newly-released films and films of the past to quench our entertainment thirst. And while employed at the newly-opened Story Screen Beacon Theater in Beacon, NY, I also get to see old and new fans alike enjoy films of yesteryear. Because that’s the thing, movies bring people joy. There’s a time and a place for every film, even if it doesn’t speak to you personally. So, if you’re feeling nostalgic, come visit me and “munch on some grindage.” You’ll be reminiscing for years to come. Bernadette Gorman-White Managing Editor 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. #Newsletter #SoninLaw #IKnowWhatYouDidLastSummer #NowandThen #Sleepover #BernadetteGormanWhite #Articles #Love #Romance #Comedy

We are existing in an extremely tumultuous time for television. I’m not stating that all television is dying, or even the preposterous notion that television is “no longer good,” but when YOUR show is taken off the air, it can sometimes feel like you’re losing a part of yourself in a very big and debilitating way. There were so many different instances where I tried to write this article for multiple, different series, but I was never fully able to discuss any of them: frankly, it’s been extremely difficult for me to come to terms with a number of series ending in the Year of Our Lord, 2019. Some of these series had been slated to end this year, but some of them got cut short extremely unexpectedly. And while the ones that ended prematurely left holes in my heart, it was the series finales that I had actually been anticipating that truly left me absolutely wrecked. I know a lot of us are in the same boat around this time of year, even though we may not be mourning the same program. But in these trying times, regardless of the series, I want you to know that I stand with you and am understanding of your struggles. For this very cause, I offer you the five stages of “your show is dying.” I don’t know how well this analysis will help, or even if you’ll recognize my empathizing with you, but I will try my absolute and very best. I hear you. I love you. We’re in this together. DENIAL : SMILF (Showtime 2017 - 2019) SMILF is without a doubt, one of the most sincere depictions of single motherhood I have ever had the pleasure of witnessing in film or television. Growing up in rural Indiana, I surely have known and loved my fair share of single mothers (my own mother included). SMILF was created by showrunner Frankie Shaw, and is a series that was based off of a short autobiographical film she made with the same title. The series’ title is based off the common moniker “Mom I’d Like to F***,” with the “S” standing in for “Single” or “Southie” (which is a common term used to refer to those living in Southern Boston). I know nothing about living in Boston save for what I learned while watching this series, but to speak to its honesty, I feel like I truly get what it is to live there. Similar to FX’s Atlanta and FXX’s It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia , the heart of the show beats through the characters and the setting. And that’s what made it even more difficult to say goodbye. Shaw’s character, Bridgette Bird, is constantly navigating her troubled past while trying to avoid missteps in her present. Daughter of Tutu (a seriously knock-it-out-of-the-park performance by Rosie O’Donnell), mother of Larry (Anna Chanel Reimer/Alexandra Mary Reimer), and ex-fiance of Rafi (Miguel Gomez), she frequently makes messes for herself to clean up (whenever she gets around to it), but she always learns from them. So it was shocking and upsetting to find out that Shaw herself happened to be just as messy and flawed as Bridgette. It turns out that during the course of the two season run, her show had undergone some pretty serious turmoil. Showtime had a (maybe not so) difficult choice to make when complaints began surfacing that some of the writers on the show weren’t getting their deserved credit. But, for me, the clincher was finding out that Samara Weaving (a series regular) was coerced into breaking the nudity clause in her contract when Shaw deemed it would play for a better scene. There are distinct moments during Season Two that you can see Nelson (Weaving’s character) start to retreat into a shell; and while it makes sense that her character would be feeling this way, it only begs the analysis that perhaps Weaving was retreating too. She had already come forward saying that she would not appear in Season Three, if there was one, but her departure was made irrelevant when Showtime axed the show. Now, Shaw has come forward multiple times to apologize for the choices she made, but she always undercut her apology by also saying that she really didn’t know what she was doing. I completely get that though. She had a hit short film that Showtime picked up for series, gave her the reins, and said, “Good luck!” I know the circumstances were probably a lot more complicated than just that, but I really wish she would have had more guidance while making this show. Because when it was good, it was really good. I think it’s extremely rare to see family depicted in such a raw way that isn’t necessarily played for sympathy, and I really dug it. Even though Season Two was rocky, I enjoyed that too. SMILF was definitely a show I looked forward to watching each week, and I can’t believe it’s gone. Shaw didn’t do those things, right? She’s Single Mom I’d Like (to) Forgive. ANGER: Crashing (HBO 2017 - 2019) In a very similar vein, Crashing is the auto-biographical story of real-life comedian Pete Holmes and his foray into the world of stand up comedy. Starting at the beginning of his divorce, hard-core-Christian Holmes decides he wants to start taking stand-up seriously and “crashes” on the couches of fellow stand-ups while he also crashes on stage, trying to bridge the gap between personal belief and jokes. It’s not necessarily a fresh take on what makes comedy work, but it’s definitely a fun ride to watch. Within the three seasons that aired on HBO, Holmes managed to weave together a story that covered religion, feminism, and the modern age in a manner that felt both genuine and extremely endearing. I had been aware of both Holmes and the New York comedy scene prior to watching this show, but since it began shortly after I had moved to New York in 2016, it felt even more personal to me. A matter of weeks before the third season finale ended, my husband and I had even attended a Comedy Cellar set where we saw a few of the comics that grace the show on a regular basis. That felt really cool: at that point, I considered myself heavily invested in the show. So when the Season Three finale aired, I had felt even more attuned to just what makes NYC tick. And then the news broke: HBO had canceled Crashing , making the Season Three finale the series finale. That last episode totally works as a series finale, but it just doesn’t feel right. After investing three years in this show, it’s still mind-boggling as to why it’s being taken off the air. HBO certainly has a killer line-up in the next few years, but I can’t help feeling that Crashing just isn’t “grand” enough for HBO to back, which is a damn shame. I understand we’re living in an era where budget and hype is the contract bottom-line, but I always gravitate more towards personal stories about human issues that don’t necessarily need the special effects or the hype value to keep them going, or even interesting. Really, at the end of the day, I’m angry Crashing was axed. It’s a show that certainly should have been low budget enough to keep running, and I think Holmes and the entire cast were saddened to see it go. They had not been made aware, per se, that Season Three would be the end, but they weren’t completely surprised to hear the news it was over. I was surprised though. In the age of dragons and gods, I was happy to watch a show every week that portrayed the down-to-earth struggles of keeping the faith in the modern world, all the while showcasing the amazing comedic talent New York City has to offer. It was raw, it was gritty, and I’m angry about it. I still consider myself lucky that I can look to a show like Pamela Adlon’s Better Things to be a representation for the working comedian/actor in our modern time, but I’m not thrilled that we’ve lost such an honest and vital voice like Pete Holmes’. Crash and burn, HBO. BARGAINING: Broad City (Comedy Central 2014 - 2019) The world does not deserve Abbi Jacobson and Ilana Glazer. We just don’t. Their voices also could not be louder at a more important time. Jacobson and Glazer’s Broad City came about after they had formed a friendship studying and training in improv at the Upright Citizens Brigade in NYC (do you see a trend here?). Broad City existed as a Youtube series before gaining popularity and the appreciation of many comics, including Amy Poehler, who decided to mentor the two women, and eventually executive produce what would become the Comedy Central powerhouse. If you were at all in the dark about SMILF and Crashing , I think Broad City’s reach has been the strongest thus far in this brochure for the bereaved. Jacobson and Glazer portray Abby Abrams and Ilana Wexler, respectively: two post-college broads who are just trying to figure it all out living in NYC in the mid-to-late 20s. I mean, how could I not relate? I don’t need to get into just how funny and fresh Broad City is. I would bank on the odds that you know because you’ve already been watching. The comedy ranges from saccharine to absurd, just as any good comedy should, and it was unapologetic for just how female the show was. Broad City IS woman, hear it roar. But just as any exquisite, topical, comedy can sometimes reach a peak, Broad City’s reception certainly ebbed and flowed. There were episodic arcs that fell flat with the general public, but the die-hard fans rolled with those punches. Already referenced earlier in this article, It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia certainly begat a number of shows that pride themselves on discussing hot button issues, but where Broad City has the rest of those shows beat is that they offered the female opinion with no rebuttal. Instead of a point/counterpoint argument between the opposite sexes, Abbi and Ilana argued internally with themselves before bolstering the other’s opinion. But then after supporting each other, they supported everyone around them too. It’s been extremely inspiring to watch Abbi and Ilana grow year after year, issue after issue. Our comedy landscape is better because of them, and it’ll be super cool to see what they get their hands on next. But, you know, if Comedy Central wanted to bring them back in a few years for another few seasons of Broad City , that could be pretty cool. I mean, the politics in the next few years alone are begging for their commentary. Don’t you think so, Comedy Central? I’ll let you think about it. Get back to me whenever. DEPRESSION: Catastrophe (Channel 4 - Amazon Prime 2015 - 2019) If I had to thank Twitter for one thing, and one thing only, I would thank it for bringing together Sharon Horgan and Rob Delaney. Delaney, a fan of Horgan’s prior work, extended a lunch invitation Horgan’s way on the good ole Twitter app...and the rest is very hilarious, raunchy, depressing history. Following the saga of American Rob and Irish Sharon getting pregnant from a “one-week” stand and then subsequently deciding to keep it, (because - Rob’s words, not mine - “they’re adults”) Catastrophe comes out the gate kickin’ and absolutely does not stop. If farts, alcoholism, death, alzheimer’s, adultery, and a general bleak outlook on life aren’t your go-to topics for comedy, then this show isn’t for you. This show covers basically every single facet of what it means to purposely couple/shackle yourself to a partner, and how that decision slowly erodes your own sense of self. It argues a very strong case that while you may find overwhelming love and joy in your partner, you ultimately have to kill a part of yourself to keep it. Catastrophe ran on Channel 4 for four seasons, and after each season it aired in the UK, Amazon Prime would begin streaming it. If I remember correctly, I binged all of the first two seasons and had to wait for the third to air, but the gap between the third and fourth (final) season is a jaw-dropper. I don’t want to elaborate on what happens at the end of Season Three, but I have never been moved so quickly from happiness, to fear, to tears in such quick succession before in any form of media. I have certainly dealt with my fair share of depression and anxiety, but the manner in which Catastrophe operates is what I can only imagine it feels like to be manic/depressive. The show itself is certainly on drugs (many of the characters imbibe frequently), and we get to see sober Rob try to make sense of a foreign country (England), a foreign union (having a wife and family), and a foreign landscape (older age) while not losing his sanity. That’s not to say that Sharon isn’t the co-lead, and from her perspective, it’s more about coming to terms with the choices you’ve made as a woman in the workforce. Catastrophe is never trying to tell you that you can have it all. You can’t. Life sucks that way. Even though the show deals with pretty much all of the heaviest of themes, I wouldn’t necessarily say it isn’t a feel-good story. I certainly felt great watching it: it proved that you can cover extremely dire topics in a heartwarming way and look damn good while doing so. I’d say if anything, it was when I found out that the fourth season would be its last is when I started to come down. Both Horgan and Delaney have stated that they wanted to quit while the quittin’ was good, and I completely applaud them for it. But it made it that much harder to watch that final episode. The series hadn’t played out; it could have continued for a few more years. So when I open my cabinet and there are no more Catastrophes left, here I am short a dose and left feeling raw. It’s not a perfect analogy, and I don’t want to pay those of us/you struggling with depression any disrespect, but the loss is a tough one. All I know is that I’ve seen the first three seasons a good handful of times, but I haven’t revisited season four. I’m just not ready to. Not yet. ACCEPTANCE: You’re the Worst (FX/FXX 2014 - 2019) You’re the Worst and Catastrophe could almost be interchangeable in this list save for the one fact that, while it pains me to say it, You’re the Worst lasted no longer and no shorter than what it was destined to. Focusing on four complete garbage people wandering the LA streets, trying to avoid all responsibility for their actions, YTW is my favorite series on this list. The undeniable chemistry of the core cast - Gretchen, Jimmy, Lindsay, and Edgar - and the supporting cast is an absolute marvel. It’s like that Seinfeld level good, but so different too as their arcs manipulate them into being so much more than their original archetypes. You have your aimless Gretchen (a drug-fueled PR), who deals with debilitating clinical depression, and miserly Jimmy (the verbose, English novelist) who really just wants approval. These are our star-crossed lovers destined to flail and flail until they either give up or give in. And as far as ditzy Lindsay and war-vet Edgar go, they’re just the icing on the cake. Take any one of these core four out of the equation, and the entire thing falls apart. Until it doesn’t. ‘Cause that’s just the thing: they’re all the worst, and we are too. This is the show I’ve been wanting to write about, but every time I get to the keyboard, I hardly ever know where to begin. To actually, really, dig in and start writing about it is to truly acknowledge that it’s over. And so, I’m doing it. I’m doing it in baby steps. Today it’s a measly paragraph in an ode to the great (ending) television of 2019. Perhaps next month, it will be a more in depth analysis of the episode, “LCD Soundsystem,” or a few months further down the road, I’ll write about what a perfect reflection the series pilot and series finale reveal of one another. Or maybe I’ll just record a Cathode Ray Cast of all the ridiculous sounds Vernon and Paul make. The possibilities really are endless...because You’re the Worst is just never going away for me. It’s entered the pantheon of my forever shows. And as difficult as it’s been to recognize the endings of all these great series, I’ve finally accepted what a miracle it is that they ever even existed at all. So, to all of you saying goodbye to your very own You’re the Worsts , whether that be Game of Thrones , Veep , or even The Big Bang Theory ...know that I sit with you. I am but a tweet away if ever you need a shoulder to cry on. We’re in this together. Bernadette Gorman-White Managing Editor 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. #Newsletter #BernadetteGormanWhite #Article #TV #Catastrophe #Crashing #BroadCity #SMILF #YouretheWorst

Man, what a year for comedies. At this stage in the global and national hell-scape that has been 2020, it’s been crucial to have a selection of joke-em-if-ya-got-em comedies on hand to help take a load off. And boy, have I been puttin’ ‘em to use. In any given “normal” year, I definitely enjoy my comedies, but they’re usually peppered in throughout a healthy meal of dramas and indies. But the entire menu le film in 2020 has been reduced to a prix fixe state, and what has been thriving are Netflix and Hulu-hosted comedies. The majority of said comedies that have been released within the past few months feel even more comforting because they’ve come from three reputable (depending which house you’re in) comedy giants: the Happy Madison crew, Will Ferrell, and The Lonely Island gang. When I got the notion to write this review about a month back, it was in a world pre- Palm Springs , and I had planned on covering The Lovebirds instead. Now, as much as I love Michael Showalter (who directed the film), I truly found The Lovebirds left me at a net zero. It’s got a lot of great ingredients (Kumail Nanjiani, Issa Rae, and commentary on race and modern romance), but most of the jokes must have been pretty boring, because after watching it only a month ago, I really don’t remember any of the actual dialogue. I remember the moments and scenes of the film, and the overall vibe, but I gotta say, nothing really sticks out for me. And the ending of the film honestly bummed me out and felt fairly contrived. So, this isn’t going to be a review of The Lovebirds (if you’d like to hear my thoughts, feel free to hit me up on twitter @BeaGorman), but instead I want to talk about the whirlwind of emotions stirred up by Netflix’s The Wrong Missy and Eurovision Song Contest: The Story of Fire Saga , and Hulu’s Palm Springs . Fair warning: Spoilers for all three films ahead! Worst goes first, so let’s dive into the Hawaii-set catastrophe that is The Wrong Missy . Whew, friends, I did not like this movie, BUT I can at least give it some props because I VERY much remember it. Again, the ingredients all seem very tasty. Brought to you by the Happy Madison production company, and surely one of the contracted Netflix-Adam Sandler joints, The Wrong Missy stars David Spade, Lauren Lapkus, and Sarah Chalke, all of whom I very much enjoy...apparently just not in this setting. Spade stars as a character named Tim, a corporate bumble of a man, competing for a promotion at a company retreat on the island of Oahu. Prior to the retreat, he experiences two encounters: a terrifying blind date with Lapkus’ Missy and a meet-cute for the gods in an airport with Molly Sims’ Melissa, his soul-mate incarnate. But because of his poor organization skills, when he decides to invite his dream girl to accompany him on his corporate retreat, instead of inviting Melissa, the former Miss Maryland, he texts Missy, a nightmare with legs. I really do love Lauren Lapkus, and if anything, it’s a joy to watch her become a human tornado in the boy’s club that is the Happy Madison gang. But ya can’t just put a woman in a stereotypical male-led raunchy comedy leading role and call it a day. I’m gonna be real frank, real quick and let you know that towards the beginning of the film, Missy drugs Tim on the flight to Hawaii and rapes him. He wakes up to Missy giving him a hand job under a cheap airline blanket, and because he’s not written as a real human being and is truly only a vessel for Missy’s hijinks, they touch down in Hawaii with Tim only hoping to keep Missy away from his boss and coworkers (which, of course, doesn’t pan out). But then (BUT THEN!), Missy rapes Tim AGAIN! This goes down their first night in paradise, after a ridiculous day of networking and Missy-babysitting, where Missy gets to meet Tim’s ex-fiance, Julia (played by Sarah Chalke, who left Tim to date one of his co-workers - so yeah, of course she’s also in Hawaii). Upon their meeting, Missy picks up on the romantic vibes between Julia and Tim, and she tells Tim he can face-fuck her later, explaining that “face-fucking” is when you have sex with a person while imagining it’s someone else. So, while Missy’s passed out after a day of drinking, Tim takes some sleeping medication to fall asleep and fantasizes about having sex with Julia. But when he comes to, it’s Missy on top of him, saying that he was begging for the sex while he was “sleeping.” She delights in finding out that he’s face-fucking her, because she’s doing the same with him using Simon Cowell’s face instead of his. It’s a complete dumpster-fire of a situation, and truly, in no way, shape, or form is it FUNNY . This isn’t what women are looking for in equitable comedy roles. Raunch can be raunch without rape. (And I want to write “obviously” at the end of this sentence, but I guess it’s not? Lauren, why oh why did you sign up for this?) Ugh, I just really wish this movie didn’t exist. I’m not gonna go into a lot of detail about the intricacies of the plot, but throughout the remainder of the film, Missy displays various acts of service (therapy, CPR, hypnotism, etc.) that are attempts to make her seem more well-rounded, interesting, and endearing than her manic behavior suggests. Slowly, Tim becomes more curious about the “eclectic” Missy, and the lesson he learns is that he needs to loosen his tie and take life less seriously. And by the time Missy finds out she’s the “wrong Missy” and leaves Hawaii heart-broken, Tim’s fallen for her. Even when the “right Missy,” Melissa, arrives on the island, Tim explains to her that she’s too late and he’s gotta go make it right with his new love. (Mind you, the aforementioned therapy was convincing Tim’s boss’ wife that she should leave her husband; the CPR was performed on Tim’s boss after having put him in a life-endangering shark encounter; and the hypnotism was used to hypnotize Tim’s boss to view Tim as his beloved grandmother while feeling nauseous when he hears the name of Tim’s promotion competition.) Truly, this film just perpetuates the worst in comedy tropes, and instead of chastising bad behavior, it rewards it. As an adult who can very clearly see the problems The Wrong Missy presents, I loathe the idea that children have access to this film and can blindly find it funny because there are pratfalls, beautiful women in bikinis, and a goofy Rob Schneider character. I just desperately want comedy to move beyond this, and I know that the Happy Madison crew have it in them, because they’ve done it before. Just get these manipulative, sex assault, Stockholm Syndrome comedies outta here! (And while you’re at it, maybe stop writing characters for Nick Swardson? I don’t know, guys, he’s just not for me.) I’ll give The Wrong Missy one thing: they put Jorge Garcia on a plane again, and that’s very funny. Okay, moving on! Oh boy, so we’re gonna take a complete 180, because I really enjoyed Netflix’s Eurovision Song Contest: The Story of Fire Saga ! Written by Will Ferrell and Andrew Steele, Eurovision illustrates the journey two Icelandic singers - Lars Erickssong (Ferrell) and Sigrit Ericksdóttir (Rachel McAdams) as the band, Fire Saga - take to participate in the world-renowned song competition, Eurovision. For those unfamiliar with the global phenomenon, the Eurovision Song Contest has been held annually since 1956 and has grown to feature 52 countries over the course of their contest. Countries hold regional competitions to select their country’s representative, and then once on the big stage, each country gets to participate in voting for the winner, without being able to cast a vote for themselves. It’s highly diplomatic, generally good-spirited, and promotes cultural acceptance and community. What’s not to love? And with an odd sense of spiritual foresight, Ferrell and company crafted a heartfelt ode to the competition that just so happened to premiere in 2020, the first year in Eurovision’s history where they had to cancel their contest, breaking their streak of being the longest running annual international televised music competition. Perhaps they’ll count the film as a placeholder? In my estimation, there are three type of Will Ferrell roles: ya got your dumb guy ( Step Brothers ), your serious guy ( Everything Must Go ), and your dumb/serious guy hybrid who offers an homage to distinct facets of cultural zeitgeist, most often segregated by profession ( Anchorman , Blades of Glory , Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby , etc). Eurovision clearly falls into the last camp, and I’d argue it’s his most sincere, authentic, and flattering send-up to date. It’s clear from the very beginning of the film that he and Steele wanted to capture the enthusiasm for the beloved song competition and truly illustrate just how iconic the competition is. As an American playing an Icelandic singer, Ferrell takes great pleasure within the film to poke fun at a group of American tourists by lambasting their lack of appreciation of world culture. And, uh, yeah Lars...you have a point there. Earlier in this piece, when I didn’t want to get into the driving plot points of The Wrong Missy , it was because I didn’t want to think about it anymore. But here, I won’t divulge too much about Eurovision , because I think you should truly experience it for yourself. I obviously recommend it, and I think you’ll have a really fun time. But I do want to briefly get into just what makes Eurovision sing. Rachel McAdams and Will Ferrell are a surprising comedic endgame, and I would never have thought to partner these two actors at any other point in history. While both were in Wedding Crashers (also directed by Eurovision ’s David Dobkin), their paths never crossed while filming. But as Sigrit and Lars, their chemistry is off the charts and we are graced with multiple, fun moments of comedic tête-à-tête that feel very specific and lived in, which is refreshing for a stereotypical comedy. As goofy as these two Icelanders are, and as hyper-realized their hometown of Húsavík is (which is a real town in Iceland), the fact that these characters take themselves seriously forces the viewer to take them seriously too. And as an added bonus, it lets you laugh at them at the same time. I will warn you, however, that this movie does get fairly intense. I took a deep dive through the history of winners from Eurovision after watching the film, and Eurovision is pitch perfect. The songs are ornamental, the costumes are fabulous, and the dramatics on stage are a sight to behold; but it seems exceedingly elaborate if you're not familiar with the source material. For instance, there is one scene at Alexander’s mansion ------- hold on, wait, can you believe I forgot to mention that… Dan Stevens (the man, the Myth, the LEGEND) is in Eurovision !!! He plays a Russian competitor named Alexander Lemtov who, with endearing charm, may be trying to throw a wrench in Lars and Sigrit’s plans...but I digress ----- There is one scene at Alexander’s Scottish mansion (the fictional Eurovision competition is held in Edinburgh) where the contestants are partying together before the competition begins, and a “Song-a-Long” begins. The contestants gather ‘round, a beat begins, and before you know it they’re all belting out a mash-up of pop songs, and multiple real-life actual contestants of Eurovision’s past get to participate. Their involvement was initially lost on me, but I began to gather that they were former contestants when Conchita Wurst (an Australian drag queen who won in 2014) was finally revealed, and then it clicked. (I knew I recognized that voice.) But I promise you, if these types of Glee -level shenanigans aren’t for you (like they aren’t for me), this is the peak of that mountain and everything else feels fairly grounded (as grounded as a flamboyant singing competition can be). But Lars, Sigrit, and Alexander aside, the music in Eurovision could possibly be the best pop album of 2020. (I don’t know, could it? I don’t listen to a lot of modern pop music. Oh yeah, Chromatica came out this year. Okay, well...) What I’m trying to say is that it’s surprisingly good. I was a little disheartened to find out that McAdams wasn’t Sigrit’s sole singing voice (her voice was blended with Swedish Eurovision four-time participant Molly Sandén’s) and that Stevens’ singing parts were sang by the Swedish singer Mjönes, but ultimately I was happy to hear some killer vocals and it was heartening to know they really kept Eurovision in the family. They even took the time to write a fake-but-”classic” Icelandic song called “Ja Ja Ding Dong,” that is akin to something like a “Sweet Caroline.” You know, one of those songs that people lose their shit over, but one that Fire Saga gets tired of being asked to cover. This attention to detail about lore and history, among many other instances, make this a world that feels truly lived in. I think you guys get it though; I really liked Eurovision and I really disliked The Wrong Missy , so where does that leave Palm Springs ? I fucking LOVED IT! Palm Springs , which is on Hulu and stars Andy Samberg and Cristin Milioti, is honestly the entire package for me. It’s got humor, chemistry, a plot that is both challenging and accessible, and best of all, heart. Honestly, Eurovision goes toe to toe with Palm Springs in a lot of those categories (and is more easily categorized as an actual “comedy”), but overall it’s just a sillier, goofier time and that’s perfectly okay. I just happen to vibe with the overall tone of Palm Springs more. Eurovision is the best strawberry ice cream you can find, but I like chocolate just a little bit more, ya know? But that’s it. That’s all you’re gonna get outta me about Palm Springs . It’s so good that you just gotta watch it for yourself. That hype you’re hearing about it is very real. And the less you know going in, the better. But I’ll give you this; I recently recorded a lovely Story Screen Presents: Hot Takes episode for Palm Springs with Robby Anderson and Diana DiMuro, and if you’re interested in hearing more of my/our thoughts on Palm Springs , I’d be honored to hear if you agree. As for now, I better mosey on back to the farm. I’ve been consumed by comedies lately, and I've been hearing tell there’s a First Cow that needs to be fed... Bernadette Gorman-White Managing Editor 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.

This is not a spoiler-free article. Don’t worry though, you’re not going to watch Daybreak anyway. Daybreak is the new hyper-gen-Z zombie outbreak-slash-apocalypse-now tv series by Netflix. Reader, it’s not great. It’s not even...well, it might be good, but it’s not? It’s not. I swear it’s not good. Don’t ask me why I watched the entire series in three days in my very limited free time. It’s enough to know that I did, and it was not fantastic. So here’s the plot: Boy meets girl. It’s cute. They like each other. At the very least it’s not a game of cat and mouse. These two teenagers actually want to be boyfriend-girlfriend, although such terms are never really used. So that happens, and then...the bombs drop. Biological psuedo-nuclear weapons turn every adult into a zombie. We can’t call them zombies though, it’s not cool enough; so they’re ghoulies which is...cooler, I guess? In the wake of this extinction event, teenage cliques have turned into Mad Max gangs like the Cheermazons and Bro Jocks, and have divvied up their LA suburb into neighborhoods of control. There are outsiders, like our hero, Josh, who doesn’t fit into any of the gangs, but is on a mission to save his ex-girlfriend from...well..whatever trouble she’s gotten into. There’s his samurai best friend, Wesley Fists, a gay stoner with the hots for Turbo Bro Jock, leader of the opposition. The quirky sidekick is Anjelica, a pre-teen pyromaniac with an affection for broken people. These characters are...fine, I guess? They’re all kinds of fun to watch in the moment, but are they cool? Are they funny? Would I want to hang out with them? Or even like...write about them? Do I want to look up fan-fiction of any of these zombie-killing kids? Do I care? No! No. The answer is no. I don’t care. So why do I keep watching? Josh’s ex is Sam Dean, a beloved social media influencer with a British accent whose superpowers are kindness, quirky wholesomeness, and a strange penchant for monologuing low-level feminist Tumblr thinker posts (women can have SEX with WHOEVER they want!) into average conversations. “There’s so many conditions on unconditional love,” is an actual quote she says at one point. It’s not good writing, you know. She’s usually upset because people think she’s cool, and now she’s gender-neutral prom royalty, and that’s worth getting angry about? Sure??? In general, as a character, she’s...fine? I guess? There’s some back-and-forth between the pre-nuke Hollywood and the post-nuke warzone, but it never actually answers a lot of questions. Every episode breaks the fourth wall at least once, usually multiple times, and the ridiculous overlay of meme-expressions and bad in-jokes with the viewer like we’re friends is just not good! It’s not compelling! There are different voice-overs, and there are some special effects that make this look like a weird derivative of Zombieland meets Scott Pilgrim but without any of their charms. There are even episodes titled, “Josh vs. The Apocalypse,” so you don’t get a more obvious homage than that. The pros: Sam and Josh actually seem to like each other. That’s nice to see. I like it when the girl actually likes the boy. It’s cute. Wesley and Turbo’s love story is terrible and awful and I enjoyed the hell out of it. Wesley, in general, was the best character. No complaints. Turbo’s a good boy. A bad boy. But also, so fun to watch. Matthew Broderick is in this series as a School principal turned ghost-rider zombie named “Baron Triumph” so we’re all really keen on that. He’s an absolute fucking delight. There’s a Witch of Glendale Mall whose story actually shows characterization and growth, as well as being Anjelica’s cheerleader-slash-mother figure. Mona Lisa is another character that I enjoyed in small doses. The Cheermazons were incredibly diverse, but in a way that felt like tokenism, so...we’ll label that a pro, even if it’s not quite...there. The cons: Silent raves. The absolute entire soundtrack. Millennial writers trying to appeal to Gen Z, the entire 8th episode was...a disaster. The fact that Josh’s actor can’t really skateboard, or act. Eli Cardashayan as both a concept and a character, plus all of his dialogue was really just...not good. It wasn’t good. Jokes like, “you broke the Emma Gonzales accords” when a character used a gun. The final battle in episode ten was also just..weird??? A lot of teenagers were getting eaten. It was odd. Also, at the end, an arm bursts out of Matthew Broderick’s stomach when he dies. I have no idea why. I don’t get it. Wild. The other thing that bothered me was the sheer amount of girl-power narrative bullshit that felt incredibly pandering at all times, which was THEN totally undercut by a weird love triangle where Sam was weirdly jealous of a girl she didn’t even know the name of. Every female character was guilty of the girl-power stupidity: Sam, Mona Lisa, and the Cheermazons were especially sinful mouthpieces for this absolute bullshit. At the end of it, Anjelica also does this in a fit of pique. I blame this on the fact that most of the episodes were written by men. In addition, the ending. The last episode. Bad. Con. In the Con pile for real. An actual quote, “you inspired us,” followed by a flashback montage from the last nine episodes. Terrible decision. Also, the worst part: a mental Pokemon card match. Literally, two kids who were supposed to be born in like 2010, spouting off Pokemon card flavored text as if they would fucking know. What thirty-something is reliving their childhood? Who approved this?! And then there is the filler episode that was genuinely a cringe-fest of narrative bullshit. The 8th episode starts out with a consent app. It’s almost adorable, but it’s kind of silly? I don’t get it. Is there a joke here? Is it funny? I wish I could say that a lot of this was baffling because “I’m Too Old,” but doubtless the writers are my age or older, so the generation gap isn’t really in effect here. Needless to say, the subsequent sex scene is suitably awkward and terrible, but at least it’s not titillating, right? That’s something? It’s not like Teen Wolf and Riverdale , which display twenty-somethings in negligee, that we’re totally okay watching writhe around because we all know none of them are actually underage. Friends, viewers, writers, please note: The alternative to sexy teenagers in bed together isn’t awkward teenagers navigating their first time for twenty minutes while high and having discussions about satin sheets, leverage, and condom application. There must be another way to explain to audiences that teenagers are awkward and bad at sex and relationships. There’s a lot of blood and broken bodies, and teenagers getting beaten up, and dropping the F-bomb all over, just for the sheer fun of saying fuck, more so than for actual effect. The plot is basic. It’s basic. Daybreak is a basic show with low production value, middling color grading, and kind of shitty beats. It’s not fun! It’s kind of half-baked! It’s masculine as HELL and unapologetic about it. The ninth episode features a weird reconciliation scene with Josh’s father that we didn’t want, need, or realize was going to be the emotional climax of the series, until the episode before it happens. It makes so little narrative sense. It’s not satisfying at all, and the eventual reunion of Sam and Josh is... lackluster? There’s supposed to be a cliffhanger here, but dear God, just let it end. Put me out of my misery. Another bomb explodes and I just don’t care anymore. I so don’t. Why did I keep watching?? Why did I watch this entire series?? Daybreak was based on a comic book, and something must have been lost in translation. Whatever joy, panache, or cheeky dialogue that might have been crammed into the graphic novel, is sadly missed. Wesley sums it up pretty succinctly in the last episode: Daybreak is “loose on plot, and full of breakdancing ninja battles.” And the explanation for how kids survived and adults didn’t...the school-funded HPV vaccine. Suck it anti-vaxxers. It makes...I mean, it’s a fantasy series. So I guess it makes sense. But is it fun? Is it enjoyable? Is it cool? Was it well thought out or was it just...a half-baked souffle that splooged out in less than three episodes? God knows why I watched it, and God only knows why I enjoyed it. Linda Codega Linda is a twenty-something millennial living and working in the Hudson Valley who loves fandom, pop culture, sailing, tarot cards, and crying in movie theaters. If you want to listen to them talk about pop culture, the repeating cycles of media, and those stories that we can’t get out of our heads, you can listen to their podcast, Retronym , on iTunes. #Newsletter #Reviews #LindaCodega #Daybreak #Netflix #Comedy #Zombies

2016 was rough. It knocked me down more times than I would like to remember. And in times of strife, I often go to the movies. The films of 2016 helped me deal. While some allowed me to escape, others reminded me of my own sadness and allowed me to cope (or not), along with the movie’s main characters. There are common themes between the movies in my “Top Ten” for 2016: grief, loneliness, friendship, love, hope and “growing up.” But while these quantifiers of the human experience prevail, there are also the films of 2016 that were just plain terrifying. Here we go: 10. The VVitch Part of what makes Robert Eggers’ The VVitch so scary is its isolation. A family shunned from society, living on the outskirts of a desolate wilderness in Puritan times is terrifying enough. Now add baby snatching and a goat named Black Phillip. Anya Taylor-Joy shines as Thomasin, the daughter accused of witchcraft. 9. The Lobster I am including The Lobster , in my group of “just plain terrifying” films of 2016. With an amazing cast – John C. Reilly and Ben Whishaw are both painfully hilarious – the film starts out with an extremely dry sense of humor, but by the its end, you are destroyed by the potential fates of main characters played by Colin Farrell and Rachel Weisz. 8. Kubo and the Two Strings Laika Animation’s latest is a dark tale. Kubo, a one-eyed Japanese boy, takes care of his ailing mother, who occasionally shows signs of her former self while retelling stories of his father, a great warrior. There is a palpable loneliness and earnest dedication to the character of Kubo, watching his mother grasp at her fading memories. To raise money he busks in the local village, but his mother warns that must return home before nightfall or else his grandfather, the Moon King, (along with Kubo’s terrifying twin Aunts) will return for his other eye. The stop-motion animation in Kubo is amazing, demonstrated when its title character, playing a guitar-like shamisen, brings origami to life. The musical score by Dario Marianelli is complex and beautiful, and features Regina Spektor’s cover of the Beatles, “While My Guitar Gently Weeps.” 7. Joshy Based on the trailer alone, Joshy looks like a hysterical film about a friends weekend of drinking and debauchery. It features a great ensemble cast, including: Nick Kroll, Jenny Slate and Thomas Middleditch, as Joshy. The actual movie is way more sobering, as Josh’s friends try to help him forget the circumstances that ended his recent wedding engagement. His two friends, played by Adam Pally and Alex Ross Perry, do a pretty terrific job of stealing the show. But it is Middleditch as Joshy, who really delivers, with his best performance since All’s Fair . 6. Don’t Think Twice I’m a huge Mike Birbiglia fan. More so than hilarious at standup, Birbiglia is an excellent storyteller. His previous film, Sleepwalk With Me really lent itself to his first person narration. In Don’t Think Twice , he takes control as solo director, in this film about an Improv group. While the movie focuses primarily on the stories of Samantha (Gillian Jacobs) and Jack (Keegan-Michael Key), the rest of the troupe each has their own plight, struggling to make it big, or “grow up” and realize different goals. 5. Manchester By the Sea This film is sad, but not over the top, dramatic; it’s real life sad. This is best displayed by Casey Affleck’s understated performance as main character, Lee Chandler. Asked to take care of his nephew, Patrick (in a standout performance by Lucas Hedges), after his brother dies, Lee must return to his old hometown to handle funeral arrangements and deal with his past. Affleck plays Lee as a shell of a man. We see fragments of his former self told through flashbacks, spliced throughout the story without warning. As we glean more and more information, we are finally confronted with why Lee is the way he is. But despite the intense sorrow, the film is peppered with scenes of hilarity and everyday normalcy, as Lee spends time with Patrick, a boy with, “two girlfriends and a band.” The scenes between Lee and Patrick are some of my favorite in the movie. And although the characters in Manchester are never totally healed, we see progress, and recognition of the fact that everything may not be okay. 4. Hunt for the Wilderpeople I love director Taika Waititi. Do yourself a favor and start watching all his films: Boy , What We Do in the Shadows , and now, Hunt for the Wilderpeople . With a larger budget, Waititi shoots in his native New Zealand, showing off amazing scenery, an awesome soundtrack and legendary Sam Neill, as Hec, the crotchety, adopted “uncle” to Julian Dennison’s Ricky Baker. A city kid wanted by Child Protective Services, Ricky flees to the New Zealand bush and quickly realizes he can’t make it on his own. Hec finds him and adventure ensues. This movie made me laugh out loud the most times of anything I saw in the theater in 2016. Like I said before, do yourself a favor. 3. Moonlight Moonlight is intense. As it chronicles the life of Chiron, we witness three different actors portray him at various points in his life. Chiron is often silent and thoughtful, allowing more to be said by a glance than a whole string of dialogue. Although he is only in the early part of the film, Mahershala Ali is amazing as the drug dealing father figure to Little, (the youngest version of Chiron), whose own mother, (played by an equally excellent Naomie Harris), is an addict. Little knows he is different. As he ages, we see teenage Chiron come to the realization that he is gay through an encounter with a friend he has known since childhood. In that moment, we feel as Chiron feels: not alone. What happens next shapes the portrayal of adult Chiron (now known as Black). The tenderness and longing we see in each incarnation of the same character as he struggles to grow up and find his place in the world is devastating. 2. La La Land A good musical stays with you days after you see it. Humming songs you don’t yet know all the words to, or tapping your fingers to their rhythms. After seeing La La Land a second time, its original songs have become fairly cemented in my mind. Damien Chazelle builds off his previous film, Whiplash , and uses jazz as a way to translate love and hope. He does his best to recreate the fabulous movie musicals of the golden age of Hollywood, down to their long takes and color palette. Emma Stone and Ryan Gosling are neither professional dancers nor singers, but their performances are earnest and heartfelt, as lovers who push each other to realize their dreams and be their best selves. But the music is what ties it all together, haunting you long after the film is over, and dang, composer Justin Hurwitz does the job. 1. Swiss Army Man Paul Dano plays Hank, a lonely man on the verge of suicide, and Daniel Radcliffe is Manny, the farting corpse that saves his life. This movie starts out as one big fart joke but the Daniels, (directors Daniel Kwan and Daniel Scheinert); create a beautiful, deeply affecting movie. The soundtrack, which incorporates singing and sound effects made by its two main characters, adds to the epic experience of this film. It’s no surprise that the Daniels have a background in creating music videos when you watch sequences like the one during the song, “Montage.” The film tackles the message that love is possible when you can be yourself, and that you’re finally able to be your most honest self when you are loved. Daniel Radcliffe was quoted in an interview as saying, “We lure them in with farts and then we attack them with heart!” A truer statement could not be made. Diana DiMuro Besides watching movies, Diana likes the great outdoors, drawing and reading comics, and just generally rocking out. She has a BA in English Literature and is an art school drop out. IG: @dldimuro #Articles #Newsletter #2016 #Top10 #DianaDiMuro

Writer/Director Mike Mills has received some Oscar buzz for his 2016 film, 20th Century Women , so as February draws to a close, I decided to re-watch his 2011 film, Beginners . Mills' work as a graphic designer shows up in this semi-autobiographical film. He uses images, like flashcards, to evoke and create the various timeframes for his story: the year 2003, the year 1955. Within the first five minutes of the movie you "know" the story: Oliver, played by Ewan McGregor, portrays Mills himself. Hal, played phenomenally by Christopher Plummer, is his father. After 44 years of marriage, Hal's wife dies from cancer, and he announces to Oliver that he is gay, saying, "I don't want to be theoretically gay, I want to do something about it." Five years after coming out, embracing a new lifestyle and growing closer with Oliver, Hal himself succumbs to cancer and passes away. In the film's opening sequence, we watch as Oliver, having inherited his father's dog, Arthur, a scruffy Jack Russell terrier, gives him a tour of his new home. Speaking to Arthur in the current year 2003, serves as a way to speak to us, the audience. Occasionally Arthur speaks back to Oliver through limited subtitles. Throughout the film, Mills (and thus Oliver), vacillates between present-day 2003, (post Hal's death), the five year period after Hal came out, and memories of his mother (played by Mary Page Keller) during his childhood. These flashes of memory - cut between scenes of Oliver trying to navigate his life post parents - influence and shape his current actions and emotional responses. As a saddened Oliver gets dragged to a costume party by friends complete with Arthur in tow, (he won't be left behind), we watch him meet Anna, a french actress played by Melanie Laurent. Oliver, dressed as Sigmund Freud hides behind the persona, and yet is able to connect with party guests who lay on the couch next to him for a "therapy session." Anna, silent with laryngitis, uses a notepad to communicate with him asking, "Why are you at a party if you're sad?" When asked how she knew, (he thought he was hiding it so well) Anna replies by drawing a doodle of his eyes. That's it. Our characters have made a connection and Oliver, (and Mills) cuts back to memories of his parents: a montage of chaste kisses each night when his father returns home from work over the years. This is contrasted by a memory of his father exuberantly calling Oliver after a late night outing to a gay bar, asking about "House music." These memories both temper and embolden present-day Oliver to reach out and make a connection with Anna. He asks her to dance, and later for her phone number. She calls almost immediately and the evening continues, flashing to a more loving montage of Hal receiving kisses and embraces from his new boyfriend, Andy (an awkward and heartfelt performance by Goran Visnjic). These new interactions - the highs and uncertainty of Oliver's new love story with Anna - are inter-spliced with scenes of Oliver and Hal, father and son, dealing with Hal's diagnosis of cancer after he comes out. The reality of measuring out Hal's pills and writing up a schedule of doctor's appointments falls to Oliver, while Andy continues to visit Hal to cheer him up, often being very silly. Hal explains to Oliver, "I like Andy because he isn't like me. He's fun." This could easily be the same case for Oliver and Anna. He is drawn to her in a time when he is mourning the loss of his parents. Anna explains that a career in acting and travel often makes it easy for her to leave people, and to end up alone. Oliver verbalizes that, "You can stay in the same place and still find ways to leave people." He could be talking about Hal or his own past relationships which he draws in a series of doodles like mugshots at his graphic design job. His relationships with women are often transposed against Oliver's own memories of his childhood spent with his mother. They are a team up against a father that worked long hours at an art museum and showed little physical affection toward either of them. In Oliver's memories, his mother often acts out in small ways, being eccentric or silly when they visit the museum, pretending to fire an imaginary gun at Oliver and demanding a better performance of his death. In these small ways, she rebels against her compliant marriage of 44 years to a gay man. Mills uses the technique of photos or images throughout the film at various points. He shows photos and images of 1938, the year his 13 year old father realized he was gay, and his Jewish mother realized she was an outcast and needed to leave Germany. When his parents later married in 1955, they "turned in their gay badge and Jewish badge," and married each other to conform to American life in California in the 50's. While the memories of their marriage seem stark to Oliver, the flashbacks of his own time with Hal post coming out are a warm contrast. There is true tenderness in the scenes between them, Oliver reading to his father in the hospital, or overseeing him take his medication, even in times of obvious frustration and trepidation, like when Hal asks if Oliver ever knew his father was gay: Hal: "Did you know about me?" Oliver: "I just thought you weren't in love." Once 2003 Oliver realizes his time with Anna is short, - she is only in LA for a month - he takes a chance and asks her to move in for the rest of her stay. When giving her much the same tour of his home he initially gave to Arthur the dog, he finally reaches the bedroom and pulls open two drawers he has emptied for her. This small act brings Anna to tears. But days later she is still living out of her suitcase and the silent pauses between the two lovers have lengthened. Without hearing their actual conversation, we watch their breakup unfold. "I don't think this is what I'm supposed to feel like," Oliver finally says before Anna leaves to go back to NY. This ending is juxtaposed with another finale. We are finally faced with Oliver's memories of Hal's end of life: finishing his cancer treatments, putting a hospital bed in his home, Andy moving in, and finally Hal's death. The intense emotion of this sequence is then cut short by Mill's use again of a flashcard montage showing the nitty gritty of post mortem arrangements: death certificates, cremation, forwarding mail, canceling credit cards. 2003 Oliver brings Arthur to stay with friends and then finally to Andy, the only other person that prevents Arthur from howling and crying when Oliver leaves, so that he can go to NY and attempt to win back Anna. But once he arrives, Oliver calls her, learning that she is actually still in LA. She never left. Using a hidden key, he tours her NY apt while she speaks to him from California, asking, "Why do you leave everyone? Why did you let me go?" Oliver is finally honest, stating, "Maybe because I don't really believe that it's gonna work. So I make sure that it doesn't work." Those flashbacks of his parents have stayed with Oliver, and the audience, throughout the film. But little by little, the latter memories of Hal in his 70's: openly gay, joining groups, making new friends, dating Andy, and finally being intimate with his son, have helped change both Oliver's outlook and our own on love. When Oliver returns to pick up Arthur from Andy's house, Andy asks if it is is because he is gay that Oliver never called or came to see him after Hal died. "No," Oliver replies, "It's because my father loved you so much." They finally hug. When the film ends we see Anna return to Oliver's house. He shows her a photo of Hal, along with a handwritten personal ad he submitted to meet gay men at the age of 78. "He didn't give up," Anna states. That, more than anything, seems to be the point of Mike Mills' film. We are not given a tightly wrapped up story by the end of the film. Our lovers do not know what happens next. But that's not the point. We are given the love and memories of both his parents to help guide him, along with a glimpse of connection and hope for Oliver. He is a beginner after all. Diana DiMuro Besides watching movies, Diana likes the great outdoors, drawing and reading comics, and just generally rocking out. She has a BA in English Literature and is an art school drop out. IG: @dldimuro #Newsletter #Review #Love #Beginners #DianaDiMuro