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Over the last 11 months, I’ve found it increasingly hard to sit through a movie in one sitting or even to coax myself into viewing a film at all, really. Since I’m on my computer all the time, seated in one place for classes and work, sitting down to watch something online for a couple of hours has become incredibly unappealing. This upset me for a while because, like many, I have an unending wish list of movies to go through. I’ve made approximately zero headway in the last year.
“If I could have every thought / As though for the first time / I’d never get sick of / The patterns of my mind / But I am stuck / I am stuck.” So begins Someone New, Helena Deland’s recently released album.
My instinctual idea of joy mimics the physicality of the word itself: a short burst, a dynamic syllable emerging from the mundane sentence around it, full of energy and brief color like a small dancer lifting her head and jumping in the air for pure love of movement. It’s akin to ecstasy, to giddy happiness. I find this version of joy in moments that overtake me, when it feels like everything is falling into place, like I’ve finally found my nook in the tableau of my life.
Intense percussion, frank and breathy lyrics, dog barks. Wispy lyrics spoken into silence with no soundtrack to support them. Hoarse growls full of energy and instruments that fall into hysteria, then pick up a new beat and begin once again. This is how Fiona Apple clangs into view on her fifth album Fetch the Bolt Cutters, a powerhouse of intricate rhythm, rising anger and joy.
I have a weird obsession with German television and movies. In my humble opinion, the actors, production and motivations behind them are incredibly refreshing in comparison to the U.S. market, where shows are renewed season after season until their wonderfully original premise gets stale and formulaic, just to make a little more money. I prefer something heartfelt and sweet that ends right when you hunger for more and doesn’t just hammer in the same three tensions within the plot, while your mind wanders off and the show dwindles into the obscure vault of storylines in your head that are left unfinished.
I’m five, sitting in the passenger seat of my dad’s old, silver Volvo. It’s that time in your life when you’re still very whole, very undecided and unhurried about who you are.
Portrait of a Lady on Fire, which swept the Cannes Film Festival last spring and was directed by Céline Sciamma, has come to the Charles Theatre for a limited release in Baltimore. If you don’t want to spend the price of a meal on a movie you could easily procure online, you can do what I did a month ago: download and watch it on Kanopy. However, there’s something to be said for watching a movie on the silver screen that is defined by intricate, cinematic tableaus, on long, emotionally-laden visuals dependent on color and furtive glances.
Miss Americana, the documentary directed by Lana Wilson that debuted on Netflix after a run at Sundance, is less of a walk through Taylor Swift’s life, and more of a patchworked exploration of the star’s psyche from her point of view — and only hers.
I first became familiar with Shirin Neshat during my senior year of high school. Her piece “Rebellious Silence,” a black and white photograph of a woman’s face bisected by a gun barrel and written over with Farsi poetry from her “Women of Allah” series, was a standout work in the Global Contemporary section of the AP Art History exam’s 250 works.
If you’re like me, vague memories of Philip Pullman’s His Dark Materials: The Golden Compass and its cinematic iteration wove themselves intermittently throughout your childhood. Although they were less beloved than Harry Potter, less modern than Percy Jackson & the Olympians and less classic than The Chronicles of Narnia, they are perhaps the most timeless and successfully constructed stories of them all (although the 2007 movie adaptation garnered a fair amount of criticism).
Before coming to Hopkins, I had already started laying out extravagant plans for concert-viewing in D.C. The fall lineup is always ripe, no matter what part of the country you’re in, and I even had an app that scanned my Spotify music library to track who was passing through and where they were playing.
I’ve seen event fliers for months around Baltimore cafes and bookstores advertising the World Oddities Expo. Upon entering the lobby of the Lord Baltimore Hotel this past Sunday, Nov. 3, however, I saw little indication of the Expo’s existence, of tattooed viewers and strange relics on display.
The entrance to the exhibition City People: Black Baltimore in the Photographs of John Clark Mayden sits to the left of Peabody’s entrance.
You probably know Alia Shawkat from her role as Maeby Fünke in Arrested Development — the quick-witted, opportunistic teenager who is the only character that has the slightest idea of what’s going on. Or you may know her from her starring role in Search Party, a genre-bending, satirical murder-mystery TV show.
In the early afternoon haze and post-Sterling Brunch lethargy, I find myself leaning back against the darkness of a Baltimore Museum of Art (BMA) side room.
Hampdenfest, organized by the Hampden Village Merchants Association and the Hampden Community Council, is an annual local arts festival that stretches down and around West 36th Street.
The Peanut Butter Falcon, which hit theaters early last week, follows the journey of Zak (Zack Gottsagen), a young man with Down syndrome who makes a chaotic run away from the nursing home he’s been placed in, all with hopes of making it to a wrestling school in the Carolinas. Along the way, he meets Tyler (Shia LaBeouf), a down-and-out fisherman who’s been run out of his nearby home-town after enacting some costly — and potentially misplaced — revenge.