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Netflix’s A Series of Unfortunate Events promises to live up to the melancholy implications of its title with a theme song that tells viewers the show will “wreck your evening, your whole life, and your day.” The series is based on the popular children’s books by Daniel Handler.
While the songs are catchy and the cinematography is breathtaking, La La Land brings nothing new to the table. For all of its modern quirks, it’s still a very traditional musical where boy meets girl.
What makes this story such a quintessential melodrama is both the nature of the characters and the fact that none of them are what they initially seem.
It was only a matter of time before it was adapted into a mediocre TV show on FOX.
If a piece of media exists solely for the viewing pleasure of the audience, can we dictate what that pleasure should be? And what do we morally owe the characters and creations within these narratives if they do not exist in reality? HBO’s latest show, Westworld, poses many questions with no easy answers.
It’s supernatural horror, a monster movie, a teen drama, and a children’s adventure story all in one.
When one medium begins to become outdated, it goes out with a bang and ushers in something new.
What differentiates a bland “Part 2” or CGI-packed remake from an inspired reimagining or addition to a quality canon is not just the content of the film. It’s also the intent.
There’s an inherent comfort in the Food Network and its sister channels. There are no plots to follow, no actors, and if a show’s not shot on a specific location, then the only visuals are kitchen sets and rudimentary cinematography.
They aren’t slashers or found-footage throwbacks. They are explorations of the darkest part of humanity: sexual repression, religious extremism, the failings of patriarchy, and the resultant suffering of the feminine.
Hail, Caesar! is fun, but there’s more to classic movie making than white guys and cigarettes.
Shouldn’t the Academy categorize and award actors for, you know, their acting?
The only surprising or intriguing thing left is the gaze of the camera upon its subjects and the way it tells the audience to view them—as either objects or people. Women in spy films are traditionally the former.
WMLFs are typically a biopic, often named after the man they portray, and are nearly always written, directed by, and starring straight white men.
Of the approximately 230 pictures that opened in limited or wide release in 2015, only 25 were directed by women. That's about 11 percent.