The world is burning, but we don’t really need to turn to nostalgia constantly in order to hide from it.
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In the age of celebrity worship, biopics face the challenge of capturing the essence of a life on screen. Are they a sincere tribute or a manufactured exploitation?
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Thirteen was a foundational film for complex and tender representations of poor women and girls for my generation. After 20 years, it deserves a critical reevaluation.
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I’m not mad Saltburn, I’m just disappointed.
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Women supporting women to leech men of their money, securing their autonomy and financial stability in a time where women had none.
Good for her
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Blonde is pure trash that both hates and lusts after the central character. If Frollo from Hunchback of Notre Dame had access to a Hollywood production team, this is the kind of garbage he’d create.
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I’m still trying to absorb it. It felt so odd, intrusive, illusionary to see this (beautiful, though wrongly and overly beautified in many ways) image of these people — I’ve spent so many hours considering them, thinking of them, imagining, evoking.
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Dyin’ to make it in the glitzy pictures of yesteryear? Just follow these steps and stick with me kid, we’ll turn you into a star.
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We woke before Paris itself did. The city was sub-zero, the light was blue and thick. Our breath came out in plumes and our fingertips tingled against the warm cups of coffee we clasped.
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