What’s the best season of the year? AWARDS! And we are here to talk about it till the Oscars roll in and we get a break. For the first episode of our Awards Podcast, Editor-in-Chief Dilara Elbir talks to staff writer Brianna Zigler and guests Lance St. Laurent and Robert Franco about The Irishman (or, I Heard You Paint Houses?).
It is what it is.
You’ve probably seen at least ten best of the decade lists by now and you think, Really? Another one?. Well we knew you’d say that so we thought we’d spice it up a bit. Instead of doing our usual “Best of …” format which usually includes ten to fifteen films ranked based on our individual lists, we are doing individual lists only. We felt that this way, we could present you with a more diverse list of films. We asked fourteen critics, academics and programmers to list their top twenty-films of the decade and write about their #1.But we still wondered if we made a big list, what would be our #1? What film was it that showed up on the list again and again? What film, to us, really captured the essence of this decade? The last ten years have been defined by loss, financial ruin, and anxiety about what world the next generation is going to inherit. But it’s also been a decade where seeds of revolution were planted, and the rise of social movements by people not afraid to fight the powers and systems that have become goliaths. Darkness rises, and light to meet it.
Much Ado About Cinema’s favourite film of the decade is Mad Max: Fury Road. Enjoy and happy new decade! Continue reading “Best Films of the Decade”
Taika Waititi wears his heart on his sleeve. That’s evident from all four of his sad, quirky, New Zealand-based cinematic adventures, not including his plummet into the Marvel Cinematic Universe and absolutely including What We Do in the Shadows, a film that somehow manages to find the warmth and humanity in horny, blood-slurping vampires. He’s been called a master of “sad-happy cinema”; adept at finding the perfect balance between melancholy, humor, and real joy. His films such as Eagle vs. Shark, Hunt for the Wilderpeople and Boy work to this concept with the utmost precision, playing for laughs during awkward, tear-jerking moments and treating darker subject material with a gentle, playful touch. Waititi wants people to understand that happiness and sadness aren’t opposites, but two emotions that can and should coexist. There is beauty in despair and humor in our strife. Light is ever-present even in the utmost darkness.Continue reading “‘Jojo Rabbit’ is Cute, Confused and Nothing Particularly Gutsy”
In David Lynch’s quintessential feature film, Eraserhead, a young man is faced with something both horrible and inescapable: his own impending fatherhood. And he doesn’t just become the father to any child, but to a mutated creature with a long, giraffe-like neck and skin that glistens as if covered in something akin to a mucous membrane. It has bulbous eyes, a face like a salamander, and a body that is never seen, hidden beneath taught bandages of swaddling. It groans, it screams, and it shrieks into the days and nights. It even refuses all food, haunting the young man, Henry, until he is compelled to kill it with his bare hands. But what is it that makes this child so particularly grotesque? It is unnatural, practically inhuman, and it defies all natural laws of what we believe human bodies to be.
But then, what about that is particularly scary or, perhaps, why does an unfamiliar body upset us? The Oxford English Dictionary defines “body horror,” a subgenre of horror film, as “horror elicited by the depiction of destruction or disfigurement of the human body,” but I like the Wikipedia definition better: “Body horror, biological horror, organic horror or visceral horror is horror fiction in which the horror is principally derived from the unnatural graphic transformation, degeneration or destruction of the physical body. Such works may deal with decay, disease, parasitism, mutation or mutilation.” So what does body horror say about how we view the human body? Why are our own bodies scary, and why is their potential mutation and destruction able to be exploited to incite fear and terror in us, other than for the obvious reason that it just looks, well, horrifying? I believe we fear our bodies, even hate them, because our physical forms are a constant reminder of our mortality. “Contemporary horror films play on the fear….of one’s own body and its potential destruction” (Ronald Allen Lopez Cruz). Body horror exploits our fear of our flesh, which will soon rot and decay and cease to exist.