Towards the beginning of the film “Twister,” as a TV plays Eric Clapton’s performance of “Motherless Child,” we’re introduced to Dusty, wearing headphones around his neck, a baseball cap, and a loose hoodie draped from his hat like a cloak, hiding shoulder-length blonde hair. He sings along with Clapton until fellow storm chaser Bill arrives, when he laughs and bellows out his fond nickname for his old teammate: “It’s the Extreme!” The two lock hands (“Oh, manly handshakes ensue!” Dusty announces with glee) before embracing, still shaking from laughter. Played by Philip Seymour Hoffman, Dusty’s role is small but electric, responsible for the film’s most quotable lines and magnifying the chemistry between characters in every scene.

Hoffman, who passed away from a drug overdose in 2014 when he was 46 years old, repeatedly stole the show with his comedic talents in his early film roles—namely cult classics like “The Big Lebowski” and “Boogie Nights”—before reaching mainstream success with his Oscar-winning performance as the author Truman Capote in “Capote.” His career, while tragically cut short, is notable for his ability to take on widely varied roles with the same level of ease, whether he played an intimidating, foulmouthed supervisor or a hopelessly morbid playwright. Unlike some actors who, upon reaching Hoffman’s level of fame, become entitled, problematic, or difficult to work with, he reportedly maintained great relationships with his co-stars and had a reputation for his soft-spoken demeanor. Whatever demons he seems to have had were instead internalized and channeled into his work, leading to performances unlike any other.

Born in Rochester, New York in 1967, Philip Seymour Hoffman was the third of four siblings and was known simply as Phil. It might come as a shock now, but his first passion was athletics, particularly wrestling and baseball. His parents divorced when he was nine, with his mother Marilyn O’Connor taking over as primary caretaker of the family. It wasn’t until the age of 12, when she took Hoffman to a performance of Arthur Miller’s “All My Sons,” that his interest in acting was sparked. “I was changed — permanently changed — by that experience. It was like a miracle to me,” he said to New York Times Magazine. With a supportive push from his mother, and a neck injury that ruled out a career in wrestling, Hoffman joined a drama group and never looked back.

After graduating in 1989 from New York University for drama, he bounced from one Off-Broadway production to another and worked at a deli to get by. At the same time, when he was 22, Hoffman first checked himself into rehab. He was a heavy drinker and, towards the end of college, experimented with heroin. He committed to sobriety but remained aware that, as he once told an interviewer, “just because all that time’s passed doesn’t mean ‘maybe it was just a phase’... you know, that’s who I am.” It was during this time when he was in therapy and AA that he was also hard at work to get his career off the ground.

Besides his on-screen debut in a 1991 episode of “Law and Order,” he found his breakout role with the entitled, snobbish prep-school student George Willis Jr. in 1992’s “Scent of a Woman.” Four years later, after earning his stripes in similar supporting roles, Hoffman and budding director Paul Thomas Anderson took a chance on each other, successfully blossoming into a long-term partnership. It was during this first collaboration with Anderson on his debut film “Hard Eight,” playing an unnamed craps player, where Hoffman adopted his grandfather’s name Seymour as to not be confused with another actor in the Screen Actors Guild. Even from these early supporting roles, directors like Anderson recognized Hoffman’s undeniable versatility: “Growing up, all I wanted to do was make films,” Anderson remembered in a 2012 interview on NPR’s Fresh Air. “Never in my fantasy did I see anybody that looked like Phil Hoffman being a part of that picture. But here we are, and somewhere along the way I found this actor who I just think can do anything.”

There was certainly something disarming about Hoffman’s appearance, soft around the edges, even a little frumpy. He didn’t have the “look” of a Hollywood leading man-–more like a man who wouldn’t mind having a stain or two on his jeans. When he would be asked in interviews if he had any plans to lose weight for roles, he always seemed ambivalent. Though this might seem like a relatively minor rejection of the traditional entertainment industry, his avoidance of celebrity norms was part of what leant him to absurdist roles that others might not have dared to take. In Todd Solondz’s “Happiness,” when Hoffman’s character is seen frantically masturbating, it’s difficult to imagine any other prestigious actors taking over his position.

It would take a few more years before Hoffman was considered a leading man but in the meantime, he dignified even the smallest of roles while trying his hand at directing stage plays, often mentioning how it lent to his own acting methods. “Switching hats helps, because as a director you’re able to see yourself objectively through other actors. You watch other actors and you see yourself,” he said.

These experiences seemingly paid off for him when Hoffman stepped into the shoes of a leading man and won his first and only Academy Award for his depiction in the 2005 biographical film “Capote,” cementing him as a household name. Despite the technical demands of the role—the whiny voice and frailer disposition that was Capote’s signature—Hoffman effortlessly channeled the character’s eccentricities.

Or maybe, Hoffman just made it look easy. According to his partner and costume designer Mimi O’Donnell, Hoffman was hesitant to portray Capote after they had their first child together. He didn’t want to balance an actor’s life with a father’s, so he insisted on bringing his family (son Cooper and, eventually, their two daughters Tallulah and Willa) on the road with him to shoots. O’Donnell felt that these trips were, on some level, how he grappled with his recovering drug addiction: “When I look back at how close we all were, I wonder whether Phil somehow knew that he was going to die young. He never said those words, but he lived his life as if time was precious,” she told Vogue.

Hoffman’s struggle with both his addiction and mental health wasn’t always addressed publicly, but he seemed drawn to playing characters with similar weaknesses. Truman Capote notoriously passed away from complications due to his alcohol and drug use; in “The Master,” his character Lancaster Dodd is obsessed with a strong, practically-poisonous moonshine made by his mentee, an even-drunker Joaquin Phoenix.

When it comes to mental illness and portrayals of the human psyche, there’s nothing more uncanny than “Synecdoche, New York.” The film is a tumultuous, fantastical depiction of theater director Caden Cotard’s spiraling and addled psychological state. In the lead role, Hoffman delivers a performance full of self-loathing and hopelessness as the movie contorts the passage of time and blurs the divide between reality and fiction.

While “Synecodoche” wasn’t a huge financial success and received mixed reviews, it manages to stand out from Hoffman’s varied film credits with his ability to capture our biggest insecurities while poking fun at our painful, anxious lives. Cotard’s incapable of finishing his play, desperate for perfection and trapped in a cage he built, while any meaningful human connections slip through his grasp. His physical body is eroding – he can no longer cry, suffers from random spasms, and has to walk with a cane. But Hoffman plays this meek, dying artist with vitality, expressing the life of both a common “every man” and a depressed neurotic. The film’s writer and director Charlie Kaufman is the clear inspiration for Cotard; Hoffman’s understanding of Kaufman’s vision and vulnerabilities were essential for viewers to relate to both his character and its creator. Without Hoffman, the film would be frankly dull and senseless.

Hoffman had a presence on screen that made every movie of his better, even in cheesy, summer blockbusters. For instance, the “Mission: Impossible” franchise follows the classic, messy action movie formula and doesn’t mind leaning into its own corniness. Directed by JJ Abrams, “Mission: Impossible III” is the least campy of the series (yet equally messy) and gave it new energy, largely due to villain Owen Davian—Hoffman’s first post-Oscar part. Hoffman could’ve had his pick of roles. He probably could’ve phoned-in a performance without consequence, but he chose to let loose as Davian. In an IGN interview, he called it “the type of film I haven’t done before… if I’m gonna do this, this is the time to do it.”

Tom Cruise, as the Impossible Mission Force (IMF) agent and protagonist Ethan Hunt, had worked with Hoffman before in Paul Thomas Anderson’s 3-hour epic “Magnolia,” the two sharing an intense moment where they both descend into tears. Their relationship in “Mission: Impossible III” couldn’t have been more different.

In a scene halfway through the film, the IMF team have successfully kidnapped arms dealer Davian in order to interrogate him on the whereabouts of the Rabbit’s Foot, a secret weapon that threatens to destroy the world (this is an action movie, after all). Hunt’s initially confident, believing it’ll be easy to extract information from Davian. However, Davian flips the script when he starts asking questions of Hunt, to find out what his name is, if Hunt has a girlfriend. “I’m gonna find her, whoever she is, and I’m gonna hurt her… I’m gonna make her bleed,” Davian says with a straight face, never betraying the slightest bit of fear. The two go back and forth before Hunt snaps and hangs Davian out of the plane they’re in, but Davian never budges. When Hunt pulls him back inside, Davian reveals that he’s known Hunt’s name the entire time, and presumably the name and location of his girlfriend.

Hoffman’s never played anyone as sinister or terrifying as Davian, and he never had to. “Mission: Impossible III” is big-ticket studio fare that’s not necessarily deserving of a performance this great, but Hoffman proved time and again that he gave every part the same amount of respect.

Post-Oscar win, Hoffman had more say over the parts he wanted to play than ever before: a brother who helps his sister take care of their sick father in “The Savages,” a voice in children’s cartoons like “Arthur” (a part he chose for his kid’s enjoyment) and the disgruntled manager of the Oakland Athletics in 2011’s “Moneyball.” Although he received Oscar nominations for hypnotic work in otherwise mildly effective films like “Charlie Wilson’s War” (2007) and “Doubt” (2008), there wasn’t a role that came close to “Capote” until what is widely considered his best performance in “The Master.” Another collaboration with Paul Thomas Anderson, the 2012 film earned him yet another Oscar nomination in support.

Unfortunately, it was very soon after this that Hoffman relapsed and started to drink for the first time in over twenty years. He had a long run in Mike Nichols’s production of “Death of a Salesman” in 2012, which temporarily prevented him from using any hard drugs, due to the inherently exhausting and demanding nature of the play. However, when the show ended, he didn’t have any gigs lined up and too much free time. He began using prescription drugs, and inevitably heroin. O’Donnell, his partner, noticed immediately and she got him into rehab, but it wasn’t sticking. They had to move him into a different apartment nearby to create a safe distance from his kids, but “he still walked the kids to school, and [they] still had family dinners,” according to O’Donnell.

He stayed sober for another three months, where he was mostly away from his family shooting “The Hunger Games” movies. When he came back home, O’Donnell said she “called a few people and said that we needed to keep an eye on him. Then he started using again, and three days later he was dead.”

Hoffman’s death was a shock to just about everyone, with the public and most of his peers unaware of his relapse. It’s been over a decade since, but it still looms over Hollywood and prompted a much larger discussion on the way we treat artists and celebrities. We give them so much of our attention, but we know nothing about them.

Hoffman left a void in film, television, and on stage that I doubt will ever be filled, but his spirit lives on in artists who walk the same trail he blazed. His son Cooper has followed in his footsteps, breaking out in the same way and collaborating with Paul Thomas Anderson in 2021’s “Licorice Pizza,” where he had his father’s mischievous charm. This year, his performance in the thriller “The Long Walk,” displayed a different, more tender side of Cooper Hoffman, and it’s certain he has a great future ahead of him. It’s apparent Hollywood feels a similar affinity for Jesse Plemons, who was cast as both Hoffman’s son in “The Master,” and now a younger version of Hoffman’s character, Plutarch Heavensbee, in the upcoming “The Hunger Games,” prequel film. The comedic-yet-outlandish performances Plemons delivers in films like “Bugonia” and “Game Night” may not have been as well-received without Hoffman paving the way.

Now a decade since his passing, Philip Seymour Hoffman’s career was too brief but his body of work continues to endure because of the dignity he brought to every performance, big or small. He carried a rare presence that captured the honesty of timid teachers and depressed artists, corrupted priests, and ambitiously calculated double agents. Hoffman may not have been a standard Hollywood star, but his legacy persists instead of perishing. In remembering his legacy, I’m drawn to a scene from “Synecdoche, New York,” where an actor in Cotard’s play is delivering a funeral speech that could very well apply to Hoffman himself: “they say there is no fate, but there is: it’s what you create.”

(watch scene here)

Mabel Longhetti is just trying to be a gracious, entertaining host to her husband Nick’s friends, but her attempts to connect are awkward at best and deeply uncomfortable at worst. Tensions between Nick and Mabel are high throughout the spaghetti breakfast, but it’s not until the other men have left that the two finally crack.

Nick joins Mabel back in the dining room, sitting at the farthest end of the table. We cut to Mabel, played by the formidable Gena Rowlands, who makes a gesture we’ve seen her make before: a thumbs-up, almost saying “up yours.” And then we’re off to the races, their argument like a well-choreographed dance as the camera cuts back and forth. Nick, anticipating her next move, puts his head in his hand while Mabel moves her mouth without any words coming out, her hands flailing.

Whatever peace they had from the silence is broken when Mabel says, defensively, “I was trying to be nice!” to which Nick quickly interjects. “Wacko!” he yells, his voice exaggerated by the distance between them. Mabel’s eyes protrude as she dramatically parodies self-important people “with their noses up in the air.” This eccentricity seems only natural to Rowlands, easily switching from a tone of hilarious mocking to sentimental concern.

Mabel sounds more pained as she continues to explain herself to Nick, or maybe just at him. Her eyes squeeze shut or stray from his face, no longer meeting his gaze. Nick is trying to get through to her but is failing miserably, yelling unhelpfully “What are you talking about?” or rattling off examples of how his friends were confused by her actions.

The scene shifts when Mabel finally turns away and retreats into herself, and we can see the desperation written all over her face. She pauses for a beat, before pitifully asking, with tears in her eyes, “I didn’t do anything wrong?”

There are many moments in A Woman Under The Influence where it’s hard, nearly impossible, to tell if there is hope for Mabel and Nick’s marriage. This isn’t one of them. Nick’s expression softens when she asks for reassurance, the two gazing at each other adoringly. Suddenly, the space between them doesn’t feel so wide and all of their problems seem surmountable. These two love each other, even if they don’t always show it in a conventional way. Nick blows her a kiss, and Mabel smiles.

Rowlands, even with her exaggerated motions and frantic speech, never seems strained or forced. Everything flows naturally from her, like it’s embedded in her fingertips. In this film alone, she takes on the role of aggravated wife, proud mother, comedic relief, “wacko” and “lunatic,” and a woman who struggles to be heard. Director John Cassavetes – Rowland’s partner in work and in life – somehow manages to capture and contain her magnetic, larger-than-life performance through his realistic style of filmmaking. The contrast between his intimate camerawork and her indomitable acting talent reminds viewers of our own arguments, our own insecurities that inevitably manifest when we form close relationships.

Florence Underground

The Colors of Napoli

On London Time

NYU Florence’s Campus

Framing Friends vs. Strangers

In returning to school, I was determined to get off my ass and work! I’m exceedingly lacking in extracurriculars this semester, so I’ve filled my time by contributing to my Goodreads goal. Here’s a little overview of my thoughts on the books I finished in September and October.

Carrie Soto Is Back by Taylor Jenkins Reid

I read Malibu Rising in 2022 and immediately needed Reid’s next book about Carrie Soto. I love an unabashedly angry woman, especially if she has the badass talent to back it up, but I’m glad I saved this novel for when I was in a slump. Carrie is a force of nature, an inspiration with her obsessive dedication to tennis and, more specifically, to winning. It’s predictable, but still incredibly emotional to witness her overcome her losses, both on and off the court. I laughed, I cried, I flew through it. I couldn’t get enough of her.

The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka

Kafka’s Metamorphosis has been talked to death, and I figured this short story would piss me off with its pretension. However, I was very quickly charmed by the humorous wording of a deeply unfortunate situation. I don’t think I’ve read anything so nightmarish in execution. Nothing has felt more like a terrifying yet confounding dream than Kafka’s prose. I’m not entirely sure, but I’d assume there are parts I missed in a translation, so I wish I was fluent in Czech just to understand Kafka better.

By the Pricking of My Thumbs by Agatha Christie

I bought this book last year from a tiny store because I’ve never read an Agatha Christie novel, and this one had a beautiful cover with pink printed edges. It was short and a good murder mystery is perfect for October and building up my Halloween spirit. The first 50 pages were some of the best I’d read in a long time - the characters were so entertaining and Christie’s writing had the comforting style of Roald Dahl books I grew up with. It got a lot slower in the middle but picked back up again with a great ending that I didn’t see coming at all.

One of Us Is Lying by Karen M. McManus

The book has been on my TBR shelf practically since it came out in 2017, so it was about time for me to read it. Since it’s a young adult book, it only took me a day to finish it and I had forgotten how much I missed a narrative about teenagers. It wasn’t anything special – a Breakfast Club cast of characters in the middle of a murder mystery – and I was able to guess the ending pretty early on, but the pacing is fast enough that it doesn’t really matter; it’s just pure fun.

American Psycho by Bret Easton Ellis

Maybe I should be examined because I loved this book. It’s a near-perfect portrayal of incessant greed and bigotry, how one breeds the other and vice versa. It’s hilarious and disgusting, to the point where I literally gagged at certain scenes towards the end. Patrick Bateman is an awfully brilliant protagonist. I’d have to put the book down every once in a while because I couldn’t spend that much time inside his mind without feeling as depraved as him, but that just speaks to the power of Ellis’s writing. I love never knowing if he’s really committing these acts or just imagining everything in his drug-addled mind. The story’s as good as the film, but Bateman is so much more odious on paper.

The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde

This was majorly disappointing. Wilde is incredibly talented, but I think I wasn’t in the mood for a classic while reading this because the writing felt too dense for such a short book. The characters were all annoying and I know that’s sort of the point, but unlikable and annoying are very different. I should be able to dislike Dorian Gray without getting aggravated with him. He’s a child that cannot grow, which is simply impossible for me to root for. I just wanted it to be over once I hit the halfway mark. There’s lots to take away from this story but it’s difficult when I’m bored to sleep (seriously, I took many-a-nap with the book covering my face).

Yellowface by R.F. Kaung

This book is like a persistent anxiety attack in the best way possible. The story is about a white woman who steals her Asian friend’s manuscript after she dies. Our protagonist is drowning in her lies and you can feel all the stress that comes with it. You want her to get caught, you don’t want her to reap the benefits of her friend’s work, but you also don’t want to be in her shoes when she’s finally brought down. I love a satire, and this one was delightfully witty and accurate to so many real-world scenarios. 

Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut Jr.

Occasionally gave me chills, occasionally made me snort water out of my nose from laughing so hard, and sometimes it even made me tear up. Weeks after reading this, I still haven’t fully wrapped my head around the enormity of this book, still haven’t reckoned with its many meanings, even if it’s less than 300 pages. Vonnegut has more insight in his fingernail than most people have in their entire beings. I’m so excited that I have a whole catalog of his stories in front of me to be read.

However, as tuition and meal plan prices continue to rise, more and more students are going hungry. According to a study conducted by the National Center for Education Statistics, “23% of undergraduates, and 12% of graduate students, are experiencing food insecurity,” meaning that “more than 4 million students are food insecure.”

Food insecurity is a specific indicator of hunger, defined by the US Department of Agriculture as  “​​the restricted or unclear availability of nutritionally adequate and safe foods, or the limited or uncertain ability to acquire acceptable foods in socially acceptable ways.” Although it may seem “food secure” to afford three meals a day, those meals could be nutritionally inadequate and cause future health problems.

As a student myself whose classes are mostly four hours long, it’s hard for me to find time to eat a proper meal. Instead, I’d use the ten-minute breaks we’re offered to buy a $5 sugary snack or sweetened coffee that often leaves my stomach feeling sicker than before. 

This may sound typical, an inherent aspect of The Broke College Student. A common stigma surrounding college students is poor nutrition. Constant trips to McDonald’s, stockpiling instant noodles, and meal-prepping grilled cheese sandwiches are familiar to most young adults struggling with new financial responsibilities. But behind this popular stereotype lurks an alarming truth.

New York University is a private 4-year institution where the average cost (including tuition, housing, and fees) each year before financial aid is roughly $82,000. This has accumulated in an endowment of over $5.9 billion. ​​According to a fact sheet made public by the university, the purpose of these funds is to “support NYU students and faculty in the present and in the future, by providing current financial support to the University operating budget while also preserving the Fund's long-term purchasing power.” Yet this doesn’t seem to go towards the hunger crisis.

The school’s policy requires all incoming1 students to purchase a meal plan for their first year. It is also required for students living in residence halls without in-suite kitchens.2 The cheapest option for non-first-year students is about $1600 per semester, while the minimum option for first years is about $2900 per semester. The minimum requirement for the 2023-24 school year was around $2200, but it’s been increased for 2024-25. It’s unclear why it’s required for first years to pay $600 more than an upperclassman opting to buy a meal plan.

$2900 will get you 175 meal swipes per semester (roughly $15 per meal) plus $500 reserved as “dining dollars.” These dollars are simply money specifically allocated for food at a dollar-for-dollar value. Students or parents can add money to their dining dollar amount throughout the semester to be used in place of meal swipes, or at the on-campus Dunkin’ Donuts and Starbucks locations.3

175 meal swipes is an average of 11 meals per week, not even enough for two meals a day. If you happen to have swipes at the end of a semester, they do not carry over and disappear from your account.

$15 is an egregious amount to pay for cafeteria food, especially when a majority of NYU’s dining stations charge per item instead of offering an unlimited buffet. These à la carte stations are referred to as “Retail Locations,” and students can use either meal swipes or dining dollars there. There are four “all-you-can-eat,” dining halls where you can use one meal swipe for an unlimited buffet, but they’re all on the Manhattan campus. If you’re one of the roughly 7,000 students at the engineering school in Brooklyn, you’ll likely have to resort to the retail locations. 4 

At retail locations, students can graciously receive (in exchange for one of their 11 meal swipes per week) a cold, chewy burger without fries (which costs another meal swipe, or five dining dollars) or an 8-piece grocery store sushi roll (for “deluxe” sushi, you will be charged another three dining dollars).

The most fascinating aspect of NYU’s meal swipes can be found when ordering ahead through the GrubHub app. NYU paired with GrubHub in 2021, initially in response to the COVID-19 pandemic so students could order delivery with a $30 daily stipend.5 Today, students can use GrubHub as a way to order ahead for pick-up at on-campus retail locations.

The app is very transparent with prices. Here, you can see dining dollar amounts attached to items that otherwise cost a meal swipe, exposing the true value of the food you’re paying $15 for.

You can use a meal swipe and waste almost half the swipe’s value, or you can use dining dollars and save six bucks.

A meal plan should only be required in an effort to help students appropriately budget their meals, not as a way to further exploit them over basic necessities. When “41 to 47 percent of students on the cheapest meal plan are food-insecure,” according to research published by the National Library of Medicine, something has to change. 

In an attempt to ease food insecurity worries, NYU’s Student Government Assembly proposed a meal swipe donation program in 2019 called “Swipe It Forward.” The initiative allows for students on a meal plan to donate their swipes, a good step in the right direction, right?

Except each year, the program’s been forced to take two steps back. Swipe It Forward only lets students donate their swipes in person and donations are only accepted at 9 out of the 25 dining locations. When the semester ends, any leftover swipes in a student’s account are reimbursed by the school as opposed to being automatically added to the donation pool.

If students are in need of a donated swipe, they can only redeem at 5 locations. The number of donated swipes available differs from each location. One dining hall could have five swipes for students in need while another has none, leaving some students running around the city searching for food. 

Newly appointed president Linda Mills brought even stricter policies to the program intended to help starving students. Under the updates, students can now donate only three meals a day, and those utilizing the donations can only do so once a week.

Swipe It Forward is excessively dependent on students, which should be unnecessary with the school’s $5.9 billion endowment (393,000,000 meal swipes). Starting with its conception by SGA, other student organizations are attempting to assist in expanding the program and ultimately boosting food security.

NYU’s chapter of Young Democratic Socialists of America has dedicated their latest campaign to fighting food insecurity on campus, starting with improving Swipe It Forward.

“We aren’t demanding anything in the short term that NYU hasn’t already displayed the capacity for,” said member Vince Anani. “We want to see every meal swipe area offer the ability to have donations, and have the ability to make donations within the meal swipe portal that already exists in NYU’s systems.”

In February, YDSA delivered a petition to Linda Mills after conducting surveys amongst the student body and determining the exact problems to address. The surveys indicated that “nearly two-thirds of students skip between three and seven meals per week,” and that “58% of students reported that hunger has distracted them from class or schoolwork during their time at NYU.” 

The petition includes a section dedicated to Swipe It Forward, arguing for an online portal where students can donate and redeem swipes “without any arbitrary limitations on frequency or quantity.” The petition also outlines demands for free meal plans, meal swipes that carry over through the academic year, and general transparency regarding food prices and waste.

YDSA has yet to receive a response from NYU but since the petition, NYU has introduced a new food pantry. Many YDSA members see this as a way for NYU to temporarily relieve tensions instead of making long-term changes. The new pantry is only available to NYU students studying at the Steinhardt School of Culture, Education, and Human Development, and is only open on Tuesdays and Wednesdays.

NYU seems unwilling to budge, too stubborn to give into SGA or YDSA, even if it’s at the expense of its own students. If NYU wants to “support NYU students,” if they genuinely care more about us than their profits, meal plan requirements and donation restrictions would be dropped. They might even dip into their endowment to guarantee meal plans for low-income students.

Especially at a private university with the funds NYU has, students should not have to fight for such basic needs as food. For many students, those of us skipping meals to make ends meet, expanding Swipe It Forward and increasing the accessibility of meal plans could end their cycle of hunger. Actions speak louder than words, and NYU repeatedly fails to show us they care.

• Note: 2 NYU Dining representatives agreed to talk with me until I sent them my questions, saying they couldn’t answer in time because their answers would have to be reviewed by the Public Affairs department. They never got back to me when I said there wasn’t a hard deadline.

Brooklyn Bridge Park and Dumbo

Central Park and Subway

Greenwich Village Record Stores

Classmate Audio Profile

Marisa Sandoval Audio Profile

Classmate Video Profile

Raymond, Film Forum Video Profile

When I pressed play on The Fits, I wasn’t expecting a visual representation of my current emotions. The whole film resonated deeply with me, but the ending sequence is what really solidified my understanding of Anna Rose Holmer’s story. The Fits follows 11-year-old Toni as she moves away from her tomboyish childhood and comes of age. She joins a dance team where many of the girls start to have “fits,” seizures that act as a transition into womanhood. The film never gives an answer as to what causes the fits, nor does it paint the fits as good or bad— Holmer treats the fits as a neutral experience that is simply a part of life. It appears to be a metaphor for puberty, but even the older girls experience the fits, leading me to believe that it’s a larger metaphor for womanhood.

We see the girls experience their fits through Toni’s eyes. It’s unclear what causes them, and the actual “fits” are entirely random. Most of the fits are hard to see fully because there’s typically a crowd around the victim. However, the final scene provides deeper insight into fits when Toni experiences one for herself.

The scene begins with a song slowly fading in, with the lyrics “must we choose to be slaves to gravity” growing louder and louder. It then cuts to a shot of Toni’s feet walking down a hallway. As she takes more steps, she begins to levitate. This sudden break from reality is incredibly shocking, and it’s unclear if this is happening within the narrative or if it’s some sort of non-diegetic fantasy. She eventually stops taking steps, still floating in the air, and turns a corner where the dance team is waiting. The scene cuts to a view of the team witnessing Toni’s fit, gasping and flinching as Toni begins to dance. She moves in slow motion, her movements jerky and intense.

The scene crossfades to a shot of Toni on a bridge in a dance uniform. The team, in a matching ensemble, circles her and makes a space for her to join in. She does so in perfect synchronicity. In the last minutes of the film, a montage depicts Toni and the team dancing through multiple settings from the narrative: the boxing ring, the gymnasium, and the empty pool. We finally see Toni as a part of the team, smiling broadly as she’s initiated into the group. It cuts back to Toni’s slow-motion fit; she collapses, and the movie cuts to black.

The slow speed of Toni’s fit contrasts with the intensity of the team’s drill movements, making her fit seem more monumental and her performance with the team more robotic. The smile on Toni’s face gives the audience the understanding that she’s happy, but it’s unclear if it’s part of the performance or due to genuine happiness. This confusion was certainly intended by Holmer, as it’s similar to the bittersweet feeling of growing up. You’re proud and happy to explore adulthood, but it’s depressing to have to move on from your innocence. It’s impossible to go back to the feeling of childhood; you’re forced to change. This feeling and understanding are perfectly reflected by the stunning cinematography and editing. The intercutting of the fit with the dance number is a great way to parallel the chaos and patience of becoming an adult. The camerawork during the dance sequences beautifully displays the routine and repetitiveness of womanhood—compared to the manic nature of girlhood, as demonstrated by the fits.

Where The Fits accurately depicts coming of age, Cléo from 5 to 7 represents the understanding of womanhood and how to best utilize it. In Cléo, the story is told in real-time, covering the events of an ordinary woman’s life. In Chapter 5, Cléo is in her apartment preparing for visitors. She isn’t feeling well, so she gets a pad full of heated water to rest on her stomach and fixes her hair. Her maid warns her not to mention the illness to the visitor because “men hate that.” Even when she’s sick, she tries to appease others as much as possible and be a good hostess. We learn that the visitor is a lover as they exchange an intimate look and romantic music swells. They flirt and laugh, even with the prospect of a life-threatening illness looming over Cléo.

Perception is Cléo’s main priority. She cares deeply about what other people think of her. In this scene, she embodies her lover’s ideal of beauty. Instead of telling him about her illness, she distracts him from her health and tries to remain alluring and mysterious. This anxious fixation on the approval of others is one of the reasons why Cléo is denied proper human connection. She is left unsatisfied when her lover leaves because she didn’t get what she wanted out of his visit. She didn’t receive the comfort she deserved because she wasn’t willing to open up about her true self.

Coming face-to-face with death, Cléo learns over the course of the film that she has been pretending for far too long. People have stopped treating her as a human being because she wanted to be seen as perfect. They treat her like an object now, as a doll for them to look at and play with. Her maid infantilizes her, and her lover doesn’t see her as anything more than a pretty thing. This scene demonstrates the way that many women believe they need to behave. At the end of The Fits, Toni dances with the other girls. This symbolizes her entrance into a new stage of womanhood—conformity. Most girls have felt the overwhelming need to fit in as a determinant of societal value. In Cléo, she learns by the end of the film that conforming doesn’t work, and that it’s better to let go of other people’s opinions of you. But Cléo is older and more mature. In The Fits, Toni is just beginning to understand who she is. She conformed to “fit” in with the other dancers because she wanted their approval.

Cléo from 5 to 7 and The Fits are completely different stories from drastically different time periods, but they both tell the stories of women—great, powerful women that grow and change within the films. Toni and Cléo are in different phases of their lives, but the transitions they each go through reflect two sides of the same coin. Womanhood manifests differently for everyone. I originally thought that I left my girlhood in middle school, but it’s apparent to me that I’m just now growing out of it. The Fits tells the story of a young girl, just beginning to take her first steps as a woman. Cléo from 5 to 7 focuses more on the maturity of an older woman who’s trying to find her place in the world. They are not mutually exclusive experiences, but glimpses into the vast complexities women must navigate.

Published by The Weasel (with some typos, sorry!)

When you’re raised by a mother who’s extremely proud of being half Italian, you eat a lot of pasta. Just an endless amount of carbs, cheese, and tomato sauce. My mom made certain foods for certain days: bone-dry grilled chicken for Monday, ground beef soft-shell tacos for Tuesday, and Sauce for Sundays.

Every Sunday, I would cross my fingers and toes, praying that my parents would forget to take my brother and me to church. And every Sunday, without fail, my parents would pound on my door and demand I “get ready for church!” Still to this day, I don’t think there is anything I hated more than Sunday mornings, all because of that dreaded hour reserved for mass. 

But every Sunday, we’d come home around noon and my mom would pull out the Sauce Pot, the massive vat designated for this meal only. She’d gather the cans of tomatoes (because she hated the process of peeling tomatoes) and tomato puree from our pantry and go to town. 

When I was little, I was enamored with the spices, popping open the McCormick bottles and smelling the pungent aromas that wafted out. I remember how the parsley was simultaneously too grassy and too fishy, but I loved how basil smelled of citrus, like an orange essential oil. Garlic was and still is my favorite ingredient in the dish, with its strong tang and sharp sulfur sent that would make my eyes water from sniffing it too much.

My mom would bring the Sauce to a boil, adding in frozen meatballs and lowering it to simmer for the rest of the day. It would have to be stirred every once in a while because a hard layer forms and congeals on the top, and I was more than happy to take on the role of stirrer.

Rachael Ray’s Thirty Minute Meals would play throughout our house and I dreamed of having my own Food Network cooking show. I’d pretend my plastic Fisher-Price food was real, using a spatula to mix a hollow whole banana with a spray-painted cucumber, explaining to my imaginary audience how this was the foolproof method for making pork tenderloin.

Occasionally stirring a pot and pinching dried herbs is nothing special for most people, but my contributions to our Sunday Sauce were the closest experiences I had to being Rachael Ray. I’d run to unhook my apron from the rack for the most minor task and whirl back to my step stool so I could reach the pot.

My family would sit at our kitchen table and scoop heaps of spaghetti onto our plates, pouring the Sauce and meatballs on top. The Sauce itself is very smooth and sweet, with the garlic notes coming through towards the end. I prefer to sprinkle grated parmesan or shredded mozzarella cheese over the pasta to add more depth to the classic dish, and I love how it makes the Sauce creamier after it’s melted.

These traditions are even more extreme at my gigi’s house. My mom’s mom does not like to think of herself as old, not a grandma, and certainly not a grammy or meemaw or the Italian nonna. She is a gigi, and she likes to make her meatballs and sometimes even pasta from scratch.

I’ve never actually seen her prepare the meat but once it’s well seasoned, we stand at the island counter and roll. We reach into the mixing bowl, grabbing hunks of the ground meat and pressing them between our palms, moving our top hand in circles until it looks like a perfect sphere, or until our fingernails were too full of the food. As a kid, I liked to roll it into different shapes first and prod at it like Play-Doh. The meatballs are often very big like you may find at restaurants, and you’ll only need two with your spaghetti.

Similarly, we’d roll dough against a cutting board until it was a long, thin tube. Gigi would cut quarter-sized pieces and I’d take them over to a ridged board to create an iconic gnocchi shape. I’d push down with my pointer finger on one half of the quarter until the ridges are marked into the dough, and then I’d flick it back up so they keep their miniature dumpling shape.

I took these meals and the moments of preparation for granted. As I got older, I got bored eating the same Sauce every week and once I daringly requested alfredo sauce from a jar. A jar! How could I betray my Italian ancestors like that?

Now I’m in college, feasting on Buldak ramen (I can at least splurge for the fancier dehydrated noodles) once a day. The home-cooked meals I’d grown tired of are now ones I yearned for. 

When I go back home, Sundays are my favorite. This may be because I’m an adult who cannot be forced to go to church anymore, but it has so much to do with the Sauce. The smell seeps into every corner of our house and simply looking down into the bubbling pot of thick, red-hot liquid reminds me of just how grown-up, how big you feel helping your mom make dinner. I miss those moments, and sometimes I wish I could keep waiting to be an adult instead of being one.

One of the most compelling concepts of feminist film theory is the male gaze, as popularized by Laura Mulvey. The projection of the male fantasy onto the female figure is practically inherent within the voyeuristic nature of cinema. For much of film’s history, women are reduced to objects, framed and fragmented into mere body parts. They do not move narratives but instead decorate them. They exist for the men on and off screen while their male counterparts are granted autonomy and subjecthood. Men were rarely given the same treatment as women. However, in recent years, we have witnessed an increase in male objectification. Movies like Twilight and Magic Mike center the male body for a generally straight, female audience, and a many mainstream action movies include a shot of the lead’s abs for little reason. Notable theorist Mary Ann Doane wrote how objectifying men, or “the reversal [of the fetishistic gaze] itself remains locked within the same logic… reinforcing the dominant system of aligning sexual difference with a subject/object dichotomy.” Steven Soderbergh’s Magic Mike (2012) is just that – a reversal that further solidifies patriarchal norms and divides. Its successor is different. Gregory Jacob’s Magic Mike XXL (2015) is a revolutionary depiction of the reversed gaze, in which the traditional standards of heterosexual spectatorship, as defined by Mulvey and Doane, are disassembled instead of reinforced.

Some psychologists argue that “the suppression of female sexuality can be regarded as one of the most remarkable psychological interventions in Western cultural history… Women have felt that they are not permitted by society to express their sexual feelings or even to enjoy sex in many contexts” (Baumeister & Twenge). One of these contexts is on screen. Historically speaking, women were not the intended audience of pornography as it mainly focuses on sexualizing the female body. Even if they were the targets, the double standards surrounding sexuality prohibited women from engaging in pleasure in the same way as men. 

“According to the principles of the ruling ideology and the psychical structures that back it up, the male figure cannot bear the burden of sexual objectification,” Mulvey states in her essay “Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema.” Male characters drive the plot forward and maintain control, being the identifier’s “ego ideal.” They have power over their subjecthood, regardless of their appearance.

Modern male figures can face sexual objectification, though differently than the traditional “woman as icon.” Mulvey frames the concepts of voyeuristic pleasure into two Freudian concepts: scopophilic or narcissistic viewership. One either sexually objectifies or egotistically identifies with the person on screen. In the dominating, normative form of mainstream media, men are granted a duality of viewership, wherein they can simultaneously view women based on their sexual instincts and identify with the active male subject. It is extremely rare to see this duality granted to the female spectator.

Soderbergh’s initial installment has plenty of shirtless men for women to ogle, but few characters for women to identify with. Brooke is the only female character in the film with an “arc,” and it’s not a strong one. She wants her younger brother to be protected by Mike and when that fails, she gets mad at Mike. When he succeeds, she is interested in a relationship with Mike. Brooke doesn’t direct the plot aside from being Mike’s love interest; she instead reacts to the plot around her. Alternatively, Mike’s decisions are the basis for the film. We know he dreams of opening a furniture business and quitting the stripper life, so the spectator can connect to his struggle of wanting more while needing to compromise to make it. While Magic Mike’s audience is female, that doesn’t automatically mean the film is for women.

Most people would qualify rom-coms, melodramas, and musicals as films directed at women. These movies don’t always understand or accurately portray women’s feelings, at least not a vast range of feelings. Doane argues that the voyeuristic gaze can be reversed, however passively. Women’s marginalized status negates any power her gaze holds, denying her the privilege of desire. The pleasure of the female spectator in terms of her sexual desire – as opposed to her emotional desires explored in rom-coms and “weepies” – is either not prioritized or misrepresented.

Enter Magic Mike XXL. The sequel abandons the original’s attempt at telling a melancholic post-recession story in favor of a fun, campy road trip movie following the Kings of Tampa on their “last ride” at a stripper convention. The plot is no longer focused on Mike’s goal of financial success but on his goal of brotherhood amongst his band of strippers as they learn what it means to embody the female fantasy. The Kings of Tampa are not restricted to subject or object, but the overlap of both. Surprisingly, the variety of women they encounter over their journey are also granted subjecthood and treated with respect, while still having their sexuality acknowledged and desires met. 

The Kings discuss how they plan to win over the women at the convention, but the first time we see it in action is when Joe Manganiello’s character needs a confidence boost himself. Manganiello, or “Big Dick Richie,” isn’t secure enough to come up with a new routine, instead relying on an old fireman gag that he doesn’t even like. The Kings challenge him to get a gas station cashier to smile by dancing from his heart. This is not meant to act like a creepy, “you should smile more,” moment, but instead, as stressed by scholar Kristen Warner, “the smiles are earned as a result of the consensual exchange of libidinal energy between the Kings of Tampa and the women they service.”

Richie breaks out into a sensual dance to “I Want It That Way” by The Backstreet Boys, taking his shirt off and pouring a bottle of water over himself in the process. The cashier watches with an unamused face as the Kings cheer Richie on from outside. At the very end of his performance, she breaks out laughing and Richie celebrates his victory. 

The sequence simultaneously empowers the male character’s sexuality while making both the female subject and spectator laugh. Richie happened to get something out of the dance but he did it for women’s pleasure. Richie is the object of her desire but is not objectified to the point where he’s stripped of his own pleasure or subjectivity. Additionally, the cashier acts as an identifiable character for those who were hesitant to see and enjoy Magic Mike, who are then charmed by the unprecedented attention to women’s sexuality.

The next stop on their trip is to Domina, the name of a southern gothic brothel in search of someone Mike knows named Rome. There’s a slight moment of subverted expectations because the description of Rome sounds like a male figure and when they find Rome’s room, a man opens the door. Jada Pinkett Smith then reveals herself as Rome and explains that Domina is a safe space for mostly black women to be entertained by black men, for a monthly fee. She calls the women who frequent Domina “queens,” and asks “Are you ready to be worshipped? Are you ready to be exalted?” She picks out a queen that needs to be reminded of her beauty, who is serenaded by a shirtless Donald Glover. 

As Vivian Sobchack explains in “Carnal Thoughts,” carnal identification is the concept that the viewer is “moved bodily before consciously processing what such experiences—the film’s sounds and images—may mean.” From reading over reviews and personal viewing experiences, black women across many theaters were cheering, standing up, and throwing actual cash at the screen like they themselves were in Domina. Moments like this solidify Sobchack’s understanding of phenomenology, the phenomenon of what accurate, well-crafted representation can do for a viewer. Warner explains:

“This yields a resonance that emerges at the intersection of a specific cultural taste audibly heard in the soundscape and the overwhelmingly precise visuals of black women of all shades, sizes, and ages being entertained because their joy is valued and… their pleasurableness, coveted. The small realization that this film is paying attention to specific modes of blackness with those bodies on display is the force that generates meaningful representation and that establishes a connection between the film and the audience member.”

Here, it’s not just about allowing women to indulge in their desires and to be desired in return, but specifically black women who have been further denied pleasure than white women. As bell hooks discusses in “The Oppositional Gaze,” blackness on screen used to be, and sometimes still is degrading and perpetrates white supremacy. Female representation on screen has been harmful of course, but the sole presence of white women upheld a norm that to be looked at and desired is to be white. Recent movies don’t normally adhere to this, but XXL goes above and beyond in connecting its audience to their deserved value where black women can gaze as they please. 

Donald Glover’s character Andre drives the Kings to their next stop and mentions that “These girls have to deal with men in their lives every day who don’t listen to them, who don’t ask them what they want,” which perfectly sets up the next sequence. They arrive at a mansion in Savannah, Georgia where one of the Kings knows the girl who lives there. However, they’re greeted by her mother Nancy, played by Andie McDowell, and a group of other middle-aged moms enjoying a wine night. The women are immediately intrigued by the odd group of men, even more so when Nancy’s daughter reveals that the men are male strippers.

The understanding of women’s sexuality is clear from this scene alone, without relying on a satirical, aggressively predatory cougar stereotype. Women typically tend to appreciate intimacy and physical touch more than men and, like Andre said, what a middle-aged woman wants is often overlooked or ignored. The Kings of Tampa quickly learn that these women just want to be listened to, to destress from the high expectations they’re held to as southern wives and moms, and to be appreciated in the ways their husbands and ex-husbands didn’t. 

One of the women named Mae tells them how her husband always turns the lights off before they have sex. The other women are shocked, and Mae’s voice crack clarifies that this insecurity is something she’s needed to get off her chest but is a problem she’s scared to confront. The men are also horrified, and Ken specifically makes it his mission to reassure her of her value: “If he’s not gonna worship you, there are a lot of guys out there who will. And the line starts right here.” The other guys join in and confirm Ken’s compliments. From here on out, Mae is beaming from ear to ear.

Similarly, Nancy mentions how “I wish we had known you guys back in our day,” and Richie replies “I’d say it’s still your day ma’am.” It cuts back to Nancy who’s completely taken aback by the comment. It’s one of the only moments where she temporarily stops smiling, completely stunned. Theres a brief pause where it looks like she’s about to cry, but then she thanks him and smiles again. 

These reactions are both heartwarming and depressing. We spend a short amount of time at the Savannah mansion, but these women can win over the coldest of viewers. Marriages are imperfect; that doesn’t excuse a husband’s poor behavior or neglect of their spouse’s feelings. So often are married women abandoned, tossed aside like a toy the man’s gotten tired of playing with, especially after having children. They’ve fulfilled their singular role as womb and mother. Now what? Women are so much more than a thing to be looked at or played with, and Magic Mike XXL wants it’s largely female fanbase to know that and feel it. Not only does it provide something to be desired – men – but it makes the female spectator feel desired too, for more than just their body. They represent women that are terribly underrepresented sexually: black women, plus-size women, older women. They have autonomy. They make their own decisions. They are not tied to any male figure in the movie. They are not objectified in a way that focuses on a singular aspects of who they are, but conseually sexualized as a human being.

The subjecthood and objecthood of the female figure is not mutually exclusive in theory, but in practice, it often is. Many actresses have spoken out about the objectification of women in film, especially in mainstream action and superhero films. Women cannot simply kick ass, they must also have a great ass and show it. Cara Delivigne told Empire magazine, “Female superheroes are normally naked or in bikinis. Wonder Woman: How the hell does she fight like that? She would be dead in a minute.” Even in moments of “girl power,” they have to be sexy, whereas their male counterparts get suits of armor and actually protective uniforms. It’s hard to feel empowered in your womanhood when it’s constantly villainized to further instill harmful societal concepts. How do you balance the tightrope of feeling sexy, being sexy, and engaging in sexual fantasy while also having control and autonomy?

Magic Mike XXL balances this tightrope and affirms that women are capable of holding a gaze without reinforcing patriarchal norms. Instead, it promotes a story of sex-positive equality for both the on-screen characters and the viewers. Women can look all they want while being seen, heard, and understood in return. The fictional men derive pleasure from giving pleasure and learn more about themselves along the way. They’re each given an individual moment to shine through their personalities, as opposed to simply giving them each strip scenes in the first film. Mulvey and Doane didn’t necessarily believe that a reversed gaze was possible in an ethical sense, since men still hold the power and objectifing them does nothing more than boister the sexual difference between men and women. However, Magic Mike XXL unites the sexuality, subjecthood, and objecthood of all its characters, regardless of gender, and brings a sense of hope towards a brighter future for women and us all. 

Sources

Baumeister, R. F., & Twenge, J. M. (2002). Cultural Suppression of Female Sexuality. Review of General Psychology, 6(2), 166-203. 

https://doi.org/10.1037/1089-2680.6.2.166 

Doane, Mary Ann. “11. ‘Film and the Masquerade: Theorising the Female Spectator.’” Feminist Film Theory, Edinburgh University Press, 1999, pp. 131–45, http://dx.doi.org/10.1515/9781474473224-017 

hooks, bell. Black Looks: Race and Representation. Routledge, 2014.

Jackson, Lauren Michele. “The Invention of ‘the Male Gaze.’” The New Yorker, 14 July 2023, https://www.newyorker.com/books/second-read/the-invention-of-the-male-gaze 

Jacobs, Gregory. Magic Mike XXL. Warner Bros. Pictures, 2015.

Kreager, Derek A, and Jeremy Staff. “THE SEXUAL DOUBLE STANDARD AND ADOLESCENT PEER ACCEPTANCE.” Social psychology quarterly vol. 72,2 (2009): 143-164. 

https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC4256532/   

Mulvey, Laura. “Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema.” Visual and Other Pleasures, Palgrave Macmillan UK, 1989, pp. 14–26, 

http://dx.doi.org/10.1007/978-1-349-19798-9_3 

Paul, Nalini. “University of Glasgow - Research - Research Units A-Z - eSharp - eSharp -   2 (Spring 2004): Trailblazing.” Paul, https://www.gla.ac.uk/research/az/esharp/esharp/2/paul/ 

San Miguel, Celia. “Parenting, Baby Names, Celebrities, and Royal News.” CafeMom.Com, https://cafemom.com/entertainment/199625-20_actresses_whove_spoken_out/170470-cara_delevingne 

Seltzer, Sarah. “‘Magic Mike XXL’ and the Rise of the Female Gaze.” Flavorwire, 29 June 2015, https://www.flavorwire.com/524930/magic-mike-xxl-and-the-rise-of-the-female-gaze 

Sobchack, Vivian. Carnal Thoughts. University of California Press, 2004, http://dx.doi.org/10.1525/9780520937826 

Soderbergh, Steven. Magic Mike. Warner Bros. Pictures, 2012. 

Warner, J Kristen. The Pleasure Principle of Magic Mike XXL: Sonic Visibility Toward Female Audiences, Communication, Culture and Critique, Volume 12, Issue 2, June 2019, Pages 230–246, 

https://doi.org/10.1093/ccc/tcz018

Webb, Beth. “How Magic Mike Is Empowering the Female Gaze.” Dazed Digital, 27 Nov. 2015, https://www.dazeddigital.com/artsandculture/article/28389/1/how-magic-mike-is-empowering-the-female-gaze 

Hear me out. This is a terrible movie and I won’t try to convince you otherwise. The cinematography and aspect ratio are entirely unmotivated, just a half-assed attempt to get onto One Perfect Shot’s Twitter page. I wasn’t entirely sure if the lackluster finale and “rich” activities they indulge in were meant to be laughed at or reveled in. I hated Emerald Fennell’s last movie “Promising Young Woman,” so at least I went into this with low expectations. Fennell somehow made a worse film than I’d anticipated, but it was the most entertaining experience I’ve had in a while. I laughed for a majority of the runtime, having to muffle it during some intimate, quieter scenes. I was beside myself with joy. The crowd at AMC was a mixed bag ranging from similarly delighted viewers to people who couldn’t stand it for a minute longer and walked out. The truly great parts of this film are “Murder on the Dance Floor” and Rosamund Pike; everything else is garbage that a lucky handful will find ironically hilarious.

Book: The Shining by Stephen King

Stanley Kubrick’s “The Shining,” is one of my favorite movies of all time, partly due to Kubrick’s camerawork and set design, but more so because of the performances. It’s based on Stephen King’s novel, which I adored for completely different reasons. Where Jack Nicholson is cold and brash, the book’s Jack Torrance is full of conflict and warmth for his family. When Shelley Duvall is charmingly naive, Wendy Torrance is brave and witty. I love the film for its horror – the simplicity and chilling wide shots give a feeling of isolation that fully immerses you in the Torrances’ cabin fever. The book gives Jack an actual character as opposed to solely framing him as a villain. He is a father, a lover, an addict that’s truly struggling. It’s touching and has an overwhelming depth the film ignores, but fails to produce the horror of Kubrick’s version. Initially, I attempted to compare them, but it’s best to approach the book and movie as different entities to get the most out of each of them.

Album: Sling by Clairo

“Sling” is November. There isn’t any better way of explaining it. I’ve liked Clairo to a certain extent, but this album is next level. “Keep hold of my hand / we both know I can leave” paired with her cheery melodies and eventual piano is pure magic against my background of bare New York trees. The title track “Bambi” is beautifully sincere, but my favorite song is “Joanie,” because of how quickly and often it’ll transform. It begins with slow, reverberating synths and Claire Cottrill’s vocals, then picks up into bouncy piano that reminds me a bit of Queen. The best is when it’s only soft guitar and humming; it sounds like stepping on leaves, feeling the crunch. I need more seasonal albums from Clairo!

TV Show: The West Wing

I first started watching Aaron Sorkin’s political drama during the 2020 presidential election cycle and it renewed a sense of faith in our country that I’d been losing. I never finished the show, but I quickly fell in love with the characters in the three seasons I watched. After attending the March for Palestine in Washington DC, I was simultaneously inspired and beaten down. “The West Wing” brought me back. Say what you want about Sorkin, but this is his magnum opus. The snappy dialogue delivered by each character’s unique elegance creates scenes of insane power, both bringing me to tears and making me want to punch something. I could watch CJ Cregg fight against the White House press corps on repeat until I die. The bickering between President Bartlett and his aide Charlie reminds me of family dinners, the back-and-forth we have with one another. When I’m missing home or feeling hopeless in our democracy, “The West Wing” is my warm blanket.

Food: Green Bean Casserole

This is on my death row meal list. My mom made this twice over break and I devoured both pans of it. It’s so comforting: the creaminess from the mushrooms, the crunchy fried onions, the soft canned green beans. It’s simple and maybe a little boring for some, but I root for the underdog. Thanksgiving is quickly becoming a favorite holiday of mine because I just love fall and the music that pairs with it. That said, Charlie Brown and green bean casserole are the best ways to celebrate this time of year. Make sure to add this to your feast next time.

Songs:

Ta ta for now!

Shadowy black figures move in slow motion upon a bright purple background as we hear the familiar deep notes of a double bass. Suddenly, drums come in and a cheerful swing number starts, with couples dancing the jitterbug. They vary in size, composited in a messy way where they all dance on top of one another. Then, a blur of white fades onto the screen as the music grows more ominous. It flashes into focus to reveal Naomi Watts standing between an elderly couple, broad smiles on their faces. The music continues to descend into chaos as Watts continues smiling, seemingly looking out at an audience. 

This garish scene is the opening to Mulholland Drive and was my introduction to David Lynch’s work as a whole. Lynch is infamous for creating surrealist imagery and utilizing experimental qualities; this film is no exception. While it’s one of his most widely successful projects, it still maintains the avant-garde style of his earlier works. Some directors’ experimentalism is too isolating or muddy for audiences to fully connect with their films, but Lynch manages to tie together every loose thread through his bizarre storytelling. The avant-garde elements, the absurdist style, and the confusion it causes, all work to advance the queer narrative and unravel the tragedy of Diane Selwyn.

One of the major overarching concepts of the film that contributes to its inherently queer nature is the order of events. Queer lifestyles tend to reject the heteronormative path of life, or chrononormativity, both because of inaccessibility and undesirability. Scholar Jack Halberstam argues that “queer uses of time and space develop… in opposition to the institutions of family, heterosexuality, and reproduction,” even defining queerness as “an outcome of strange temporalities, imaginative life schedules, and eccentric economic practices.” These themes of queer temporality are upheld in Mulholland Drive as the film ignores linearity and is instead told non-chronologically, or through a “queering of time” (Holliday).

Similarly, the denial of a unitary narrative allows for queerness to always remain in the foreground of the film. Mulholland Drive consists of two different parallel worlds: a dream world and a conscious reality, with the distinction between the two increasingly distorted by the end of the film. The dream world is dominated by a fantastical version of Hollywood, sometimes interrupted by nightmarish creatures. Each element of this fantasy, no matter how obscure, builds the conscious reality. Akin to The Wizard of Oz, events and characters from the dream world are drawn from the real world, appearing in both realities. This process of mirroring events from different angles and perspectives creates a coexistence of varied lesbian desires.

Diane Selwyn is a distraught, unsuccessful actress, driven to a drug-addicted depression over her ex-lover Camilla. In a jealous rage due to Camilla’s engagement to a popular director, Diane orders a hit on her. With the hit completed, Diane is racked with guilt and doesn’t know how to deal with her actions. Thus, her subconscious mind delves into a dream where she can escape the consequences of her reality.

Betty is the dream’s version of Diane. She comes to Hollywood as a bright-eyed actress with abundant star potential. Where Diane is numb, Betty is full of ambition. She resembles the life Diane wants so badly for herself. Rita is Diane’s dream version of Camilla. Suffering from amnesia, Rita has nowhere to go and doesn’t know her own identity. When we meet Diane, it’s clear she doesn’t have much purpose in her life. Betty, however, is immediately given the mission to help uncover Rita’s past while also auditioning for movie roles. Rita’s a helpless victim that needs Betty in order to know herself. When Coco the landlady asks Rita who she is, she says her name is Betty, evidence that she’s depending on Betty for an identity. Right away, we understand what Diane wants. She wants Camilla and a career, but a Camilla and a career in her own image. Rita is vulnerable and dependent on Betty, with no life existing outside of their relationship, a representation of Diane’s inability to acknowledge Camilla’s agency. Dream Hollywood is bathed in retro nostalgia and cinematic visuals, Diane’s idealized new home that welcomes her with open arms.

Lynch depicts disjunctive narratives, wherein there are two queer desires. The first is Betty and Rita, an innocent lesbian adventure where they delve into an unknown romance with a glossy Hollywood finish. The reverse is depicted through Diane and Camilla – the classic lesbian narrative of a woman dumped for a man. While the latter follows the cliches most often exhibited in LGBTQ+ cinema, Lynch seems to argue that both versions exist simultaneously. Mulholland Drive depicts lesbianism as both an ever-present possibility, always within reach, but also something that’s doomed to fail. 

Lynch’s films often include characters discovering the dark side of everyday life. In Mulholland Drive the main dark side is Rita’s past. After surviving two near-death experiences, Rita escapes with nothing but her purse and the memory of that event. She sneaks into an apartment where she meets Betty, and the two set out to solve the mystery after finding a blue key and cash in her purse. Initially, we’re just as confused as Rita. However, with the knowledge that this is all a product of Diane’s subconscious, we understand exactly what happened. Diane was the one who ordered the hit on Camilla. As a way of processing her regret, she’s created a scenario where Camilla is saved and their relationship can start over. Diane gives herself another chance with her lover. The purse items are a symbol for Diane’s grief, as the key was given to her to prove the hit was finished and the cash was used to pay for it. Her way of coping with her mistake is to recreate the story so she can play the hero instead of the villain. Another dark side of the story revolves around Adam Kesher. Through many seemingly disconnected scenes, the importance of Adam’s character is revealed. His film called The Sylvia North Story has been overtaken by a mob that forces him to cast an actress named Camilla. She has the same name as her real-world counterpart but looks similar to Diane. By exposing this dark side of the entertainment industry, Diane is trying to make sense of her unfortunate career and projecting her paranoia onto society. Diane thinks Hollywood is sinister and out to get her, so she concocts an elaborate corruption plot in her dream to excuse her failures.

Diane’s paranoia in the real world is largely due to Adam’s character, so she takes it out on Dream Adam. His interactions with both mobsters and cowboys reference how the entertainment industry is dominated by formulaic actions and westerns, suppressing Adam’s artistic creativity. When Adam returns home, he finds his wife cheating on him with Billy Ray Cyrus, yet he’s the one who has to leave his house covered in paint. However, this dream attack on Adam is still interrupted by her guilt when Betty and Adam lock eyes at an audition. On first watch, this moment reflects the traditional “boy meets girl” scenes of romance movies. The two leads lock eyes from across the room and are taken into their own world. Obviously, romance is not in the cards for them, but there’s no other initial explanation for why their first meeting requires such a cinematic moment. Then, their glances meet again. This is a moment where reality cuts through the fantasy. Betty’s eyes look emotionless as compared to her shocked look from the shot before. Adam’s expression is trying to get through to Diane, pleading to save Camilla. Diane killed his fiance and neither one of them can fix it, so Betty immediately leaves the audition. Again, a confusing moment is understood when it’s related back to the queer dynamic.

This interruption from the real world leads to the dream unraveling at a more rapid pace. They find a corpse inside Diane Selwyn’s home, giving Rita the uncanny feeling that something terrible will happen to her. Rita is seeing the body of herself, of Camilla after the hit, and has some awareness that she shares the same fate, due to the dream collapsing in on itself. Rita disguises herself in a blonde wig, taking on the appearance of Diane, resembling how Betty and Rita are an extension of herself. Everyone in the dream world takes on certain characteristics of Diane because she’s created them, but the wig is the most egregious example as she nears the end of the dream. What is reality and what is a dream become increasingly difficult to distinguish. 

Finally, we reach the climax of the dream sequence and arguably the most important scene of the film. Rita begins muttering the same phrases over and over and insists they visit Club Silencio. Silencio is the in-between world, “that ‘no place’ filled with contradictions, where things both are and are not” (Hudson). The emcee comes on stage and repeats Rita’s mutterings: “No hay banda,” meaning there’s no band and that the music they’re about the hear is a recording. It’s an illusion where both contradicting truths can exist. “No hay banda, yet we hear a band.” This foreshadows what’s about to be revealed: Camilla’s dead, yet we see her in the form of Rita.

The performer begins a Spanish rendition of Roy Orbinson’s “Crying.” In the most touching scene of the movie, both Betty and Rita dissolve into tears. This is another example of the contradictions within Club Silencio, as it’s assumed neither can understand the Spanish lyrics, yet they’re so deeply moved by them. In this in-between space, “deep sorrow and its physical manifestation, crying, become a language,” (Hudson). Diane knows the dream is coming to an end and with it, her time with Camilla.

The dream ends when Betty finds a blue box in her purse. Rita unlocks the box with her matching key, resembling Diane’s desire for Camilla to fill her void. Diane finally wakes up and we learn that it was all a dream ignited by her failures, but the dream world has bled into her reality.

Diane is invited by Camilla to a party off Mulholland Drive, the same road where Rita escaped the hit. The drive there closely resembles the one from the dream sequence, implying that whatever fate awaits Diane is similar to that of Rita. The worst thing that Rita has experienced was on Mulholland Drive. Losing Camilla is the worst thing that can happen to Diane and it’s about to happen on Mulholland Drive. Diane’s reality spirals into chaos when she learns of Camilla’s engagement to her director, Adam. Diane lost the girl and the dream role. She orders the hit on Camilla and finds the blue key shortly after, sending her into hysteria. She can’t escape her reality or the dream anymore. She hallucinates that the elderly couple from the beginning has shown up at her house, laughing maniacally until she’s driven to suicide.

The tragic ending has been a long-debated topic within queer cinema, as it’s a very standard way to end an LGBT+ romance. Still, it holds a certain truth to it. Mulholland Drive follows the expectation that the lesbian is pitied while the bisexual woman is celebrated for her heterosexual relationship. “As long as lesbianism is socially denigrated, [Diane’s] corpse will continue to turn up in the midst of even the dreamiest lesbian fantasy. Diane Selwyn is a structural effect of homophobia, one of the tragic others that modernity produces with such alarming regularity,” (Love).

It’s this tragedy that explains why Lynch told the narrative through a convoluted dream. The strange and absurd, what our subconscious comes up with while we’re asleep, can often hold more answers than our realities. Philosopher Slavoj Žižek believes that “fantasy constitutes our desires, provides its coordinates; that is, it literally ‘teaches us how to desire.’” Fantasy is a necessary element of the lesbian experience because, like the dreams of Diane Selwyn, it is often all we have.

Sources

Holliday, Justin. "“This is the Girl”: Queer Nightmares, Fantasy, and Reality in Mulholland Drive." Gender Forum, no. 72, 2019, pp. 23-38,86. ProQuest, http://proxy.library.nyu.edu/login?qurl=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.proquest.com%2Fscholarly-journals%2Fthis-is-girl-queer-nightmares-fantasy-reality%2Fdocview%2F2298742627%2Fse-2%3Faccountid%3D12768 

Hudson, Jennfier A. “‘No Hay Banda, and yet We Hear a Band’: David Lynch’s Reversal of Coherence in Mulholland Drive.” Journal of Film and Video, vol. 56, no. 1, 2004, pp. 17–24. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/20688440 

Joyce, Laura. “Queer Uncanny: Mulholland Drive ‘Have You Done This Before?’” Global Queer Cinema, 28 Aug. 2012, www.reframe.sussex.ac.uk/gqc/2012/06/26/queer-uncanny1-mulholland-drive-have-you-done-this-before/ 

Love, Heather K. “Spectacular Failure: The Figure of the Lesbian in ‘Mulholland Drive.’” New Literary History, vol. 35, no. 1, 2004, pp. 117–32. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/20057824 

Lynch, David, director. Mulholland Drive. Universal Pictures, 2001.

Matsumoto, Toshio, director. Funeral Parade of Roses. Art Theatre Guild, 1969.

Žižek, Slavoj. The Plague of Fantasies. Verso, 2008. 

Whether it’s Marie Antionette running through the halls of Versailles to The Strokes’ “What Ever Happened,” or Lux and Trip making out under the bleachers to 10cc’s “I’m Not in Love,” Sofia Coppola is no stranger to the needle-drop. With her 2023 release “Priscilla,” she adds some classic oldies to her overarchingly contemporary tracklist.

Baz Luhrmann’s “Elvis” put the “King” back in the center of pop culture, but felt fairly one-note in it’s perspective. Luhrmann barely gives attention or criticism to Elvis’ relationship with Priscilla, and the soundtrack is decorated with covers and remixes of his hits. A year later, Coppola offers her counterargument, and it wipes the floor with “Elvis.”

Without dipping into Presley’s discography, Coppola crafted a soundtrack that epitomizes the time period and emotions of the characters, sometimes with a dash of irony. The Little Dippers’ “Forever” plays during a montage where Elvis not only chooses Priscilla’s outfits, but also gives her a matching handgun with each ensemble. The lilting piano melody paired with lyrics like “Hold me, kiss me,” evokes feelings of deep love, something thats hilariously disjointed over a sequence of Elvis rollerblading with his rat pack.

Similarly, the intensely upbeat synth of Dan Deacon’s “The Crystal Cat,” starts up after Elvis tells Priscilla that she needs a makeover. Still naive and drunk on star-struck admiration, Priscilla beams, proud to follow his instructions. The 2007 song is the exact opposite of “Forever,” but it’s able to capture the rush of holding Elvis’s affections and foreshadows the inevitable disaster in Priscilla’s attempts to maintain them.

The soundtrack isn’t entirely tongue-and-cheek. The film’s opening is backed by a Ramones cover of “Baby, I Love You,” originally recorded by the Ronettes. The song encapsulates the experience of getting ready to see your childhood crush, as Priscilla coats on thick winged eyeliner and way too much Aqua Net. The cover is not technically “period accurate,” but it’s accurate to the life of a teenage girl.

Tommy Jones & The Shondells’ “Crimson & Clover” is another standout track with it’s psychedelic, reverberating guitar and drawn-out lyrics. The song plays during the couple’s first kiss and reminds viewers of the thrill and electricity of every first kiss. 

The romantic motif for the film is “Venus” by Frankie Avalon. It’s used instrumentally throughout many moments, including the couples first introduction. The choice is entirely accurate to their first meeting, as outlined by Priscilla in her memoir, “Elvis and Me.” Like “Forever,” the song is another timeless love theme that your grandparents likely know by heart. 

The latter half of the film is a depressing watch, with Elvis’s temper and substance abuse getting the better of him and Priscilla. She’s had enough. Audiences familiar with their story know how it ends, but we’re anxious to witness Coppola’s finale.

Enter Dolly Parton. Her song “I Will Always Love You” is a genius choice on behalf of Coppola and her music supervisor/husband, Thomas Mars. With lyrics such as “If I should stay / I would only be in your way,” it puts Priscilla’s thoughts to music.

The songs meaning runs deeper than that. Elvis loved the song and, according to Parton, used it to serenade Priscilla after signing their divorce papers. He wanted to cover it and Parton was on board, until his infamous manager demanded publishing rights. Parton declined the deal and kept the song for herself. Thankfully, we can now associate the ballad with Whitney Houston instead of Elvis.

The dramatic finale of Priscilla escaping Graceland wouldn’t be the same without this track. Priscilla, like Parton, is keeping her life for herself. She denies staying with him and regains her power. Through the voice of Dolly Parton and the playlist of Sofia Coppola, Priscilla gets the fairytale ending she deserves.

Published by Washington Square News

Growing up doesn’t have to feel so hard with the release of Briston Maroney’s new album “Ultrapure.” After a long summer of track teasers and single releases, the deeply personal addition to Maroney’s discography came out on Friday, Sept. 22. 

The change in style might disappoint fans of his debut album and its high-energy tracks, but the mature pivot he’s made with his music is wonderful to witness.

Since his breakthrough single “Freakin’ Out on the Interstate,” Maroney has crafted a blend of heartfelt lyrics with upbeat, aggressive guitar solos and drum rhythms. His debut album “Sunflower” leaned more towards the latter, offering a rollercoaster ride of instrumentals and indie-rock flair, where the message behind the music often took a back seat. “Ultrapure” is the exact opposite — the lyrics and motivation for each track far exceed the production and sound. That “Sunflower” sound is still present, but it’s mellowed and refined. Maroney’s stories on this release show immense creative growth.

“Ultrapure” is a story about growing into adulthood and all the turmoil that comes with it. It’s about forgetting moments in your past, moving away from home, losing friends, controlling your emotions and learning to live with yourself. His recent Instagram caption states that “these songs are about just about every feeling under the sun, but more than anything they’re about letting go of the idea that anything is supposed to go a certain way.” 

The idea of letting go in “Ultrapure” manifests through Maroney’s repeated use of sun imagery, along with variations of lyrics like “if I can loosen my grip,” and “I’m taking my hand / off the detonator.” He has always shared his mental health journey with his fans, through social media and at his concerts. When I attended his Asheville show last year, he openly discussed the stresses that came with touring and performing, with having an audience and expectations to meet. He had postponed his previous show to “take care of his mind and body,” something that deserves more empathy from fans. This album grapples with some of the same struggles.

A perfect example is “Sunburn Fades,” his second summer single that stands apart from every other track. Before its release, Maroney stressed to fans that this was a nerve-racking song to share with the world because of its honesty. 

“‘Sunburn Fades’ was the first song that really woke something up in me,” Maroney stated in an interview with WERS Radio. “Nothing feels quite like a song just spilling out of you when it needs to.” 

He set expectations high and delivered something miles beyond them. The raw pain in Maroney’s voice as he sings “You never quite forget the first letdown” echoes through every college student dealing with their mental breakdown of the week. After just one listen, you’ll be screaming “I can’t take it anymore” along with him.

Maroney has a talent for making ordinary things sound poetic and turning them into melodies that strike you like a lightning bolt. “Detonator” and “Breathe” are just that, adding an energy to the album that cuts through some of the bleaker moments. However, the experience of “Ultrapure” wouldn’t be the same without the vulnerability of the album’s final songs. 

“Spring” is a sickeningly sweet promise to Maroney’s girlfriend and indie pop artist, Samia. It’s the most romantic song he’s written and works as the silver lining to all of the difficulties Maroney outlines on the album, like those in “Sink;Swim.” With lines like “no matter how I’ve tried / haven’t found the perfect way out,” the vulnerability is relatable to practically every listener. Finally, there’s “Skyline,” with an outro that’s perfect for your own coming-of-age movie moment. This three-song run is a whirlwind of emotions, ranging from spiraling depression to utmost passion.

“Ultrapure” is many things. It is loss and love, hope and heartbreak, failure and success. It’s a dynamic album addressing universal fears, accomplishing its goal of making the listener feel seen and reminding them that they’re not alone in their hurt. It’s not only a reflection on Briston Maroney’s life, but every college student’s life, too.

Published by Washington Square News