Why are so many audiences nowadays laughing at scenes that are meant to be uncomfortable? In this piece, Caleb Lee argues that the rise of inappropriate and performative laughter is a reflection of a more disturbing social trend that prevents us from dealing with sincerity in our everyday lives.

Imagine this: you are walking down the street at 9 a.m., barely awake, caffeinated beverage in hand, merely trying to make it through another day when you make eye contact with a stranger.  They’re cute.  They raise their eyebrows slightly. Are they surprised? Okay be nice.  You smile. They don’t smile back. Did you smile too wide? Are they disgusted by you?  Wait!  Someone else is looking at you weird. You think?   Is there something on your face? Oh god.  There are more peo

Awareness of mortality ultimately gives life its meaning, a truth explored through Harold and Maude (1971) and Y tu mamá también (2001). In both films, the presence of death, embodied in the older women, Maude and Luisa, awakens younger men to the urgency and fragility of existence. Set within different cultural landscapes, each story approaches mortality differently, with one as a performative assertion of freedom, the other as a quiet, inescapable reality woven into social

Although the post-irony poison in our 2026 water may make us inclined to giggle at the prospect of an isolated group of crewmates being picked off by a mysterious “imposter” identical to themselves, John Carpenter’s 1982 masterpiece The Thing remains heralded as one of the greatest (horror) movies of all time–while the same cannot quite be said for its 2011 prequel. Taking a retrospective glance at both films, it’s evident what makes the classic so untouchable.

Set in 1920s China, Raise the Red Lantern (Zhang Yimou, 1991) follows a young woman who becomes the fourth mistress in a wealthy household. Jessie Li’s article analyzes the film through Michel Foucault’s concept of the panopticon, arguing that the film visualizes a system of patriarchal control by enforcing constant visibility and rivalry among women. 

A wave of TV shows is quietly overwhelming our not-so-distant past with the likes of Ripley, One Day and The Gentlemen asking why Hollywood can’t bear to let last decade’s movies grow cold. This article follows that inquiry from IP-hungry streamers to prestige makeovers, nostalgia on fast-forward, ideological rewrites and an industry terrified of irrelevance. Whatever it may be, we obtain a culture remaking what it still remembers and calling it “new” with suspicious enthusia

In this article, Jackson Palmer explores the thematic parallels between stop-motion animation and the autumnal aesthetic, and how these connections pay homage to stop-motion’s foreground ability to produce fabricated stories that beautify our corporeal world from which it physically derives.

Jean Rollin’s films blur the line between dream and death, portraying women as extravagantly spectral figures who resist definition. This essay argues that his work transforms the unknowable feminine into poetic myth, mystery becomes a form of understanding beyond patriarchal narrative, rather than a base level fetishization of the female mind.

In recent years, viewers have increasingly tuned into the vapid online interfaces of TikTok and Instagram, while turning away from similar images rendered on the cinema screen. In her essay, Asha Ahn examines why contemporary film has struggled to capture modern internet culture while keeping its audience engaged, and how filmmakers are grappling with shifting perceptions of our digital lives.

Jean Rollin’s films blur the line between dream and death, portraying women as extravagantly spectral figures who resist definition. Through repetition, eroticism, and through decay of what is expected from female characters, his cinema mirrors writer Hélène Cixous’s écriture féminine—feminine writing. Fluid, nonlinear, drawing strength in its bark as its roots soak up all emotionality. Rollin’s female characters speak in symbols, not logic; their sensuality becomes power, no

Denis Villeneuve’s Dune and Dune: Part Two have divided critics over whether their environmental themes are too subtle to be effective, with some arguing that the films’ grand spectacle overshadows their ecological intent. Kallen Zborovsky-Fenster challenges this notion, contending that Villeneuve’s visual storytelling and immersive world-building make the threat of climate collapse more emotionally tangible. Through symbolic imagery rather than overt messaging, Villeneuve re

In Sam Witt’s piece, she argues that horror films critically examine the reflections of fears present in society, allowing us to share connection over our anxieties.

In a small, quiet Pennsylvania neighborhood, Archer (Josh Brolin), armed only with a phone light and a relentless drive to recover his lost son, enters the dark basement of a house that's become an epicenter of strange happenings in this sleepy town. As we’re dragged alongside Archer, searching through a pitch-black sea of deadpan, motionless children, we’re treated to one of the most striking jump scares in the film as a creature emerges from the shadows and lunges towards o

What could possibly be more terrifying than the reality Americans wake up to every day? Certainly not the typical horror films filled with witches, vampires or zombies, which may carry some allegorical weight but rarely land with the force they intend to. No, the real horror is watching our leaders lie on national television, appoint officials who echo the language and behavior of fascists, and watching our basic human rights erode in real time while the country collectively

Alejandro Amenábar’s debut Thesis fuses horror and thriller to probe our fascination with violence. This essay explores its metafilmic nature, tracing how voyeurism and desire emerge through plot, form, and setting—offering a prophetic reflection on today’s audience.

We’ve all watched a movie with that pretentious person who insists that every single narrative element is a metaphor for something. You might hear them say “the curtains were blue to symbolize death,” or “the speed limit sign was 55 to symbolize drug abuse,” and other far-reaching, nonsensical comparisons. More often than not, these people's favorite movies are the ones where nothing that is happening is actually happening. Take American Psycho , where every scene can be unde

In the world of cinema, the concept of “betterment” often coincides with violent themes: narratives of ambition, vindication, or survival. But what happens when two films—one a somber European mystery and the other a cerebral sci-fi epic—approach self-improvement from the perspective of listening to yourself ? Krzysztof Kieślowski’s The Double Life of Véronique (1991) and Bong Joon-ho’s Mickey 17 (2024) might seem worlds apart, yet both explore how memory, intuition, and pass

Cult cinema is fundamentally atypical. During your first viewing of a ‘cult classic,’ you might find it difficult to contain your...

The Brutalist (2024), directed by Brady Corbet, is an ambitious VistaVision epic spanning architecture, immigration, class struggle,...

Throughout his career as a filmmaker, Luca Guadagnino has defined himself as a master—both aesthetically and diegetically—of depicting...