Nate Ragolia

Superman

If you’re looking for a movie that flips twenty years of anti-hero storytelling on its head, James Gunn brings us the most true-to-Superman movie we’ve had since the time of Christopher Reeve.

Superman (2025) so perfectly understands the boyish do-gooder vibe that makes Superman someone to aspire to and someone to love that it’s impossible not to love him. (Though from what I read, it’s possible not to love him for curious reasons.) David Corenswet’s Supes/Clark is sweet, uncomplicated, and good-natured. He’s a man on a mission to protect humanity from itself and who always sees the most moral and ethical choice as the Good and correct one. You won’t see this Superman creating rhetorical hoops for himself, or battling the weight of his responsibilities. No. He loves being a hero. He wants to help. And he’ll take any number of wallopings on our behalf to do it.

And to Gunn’s credit, Superman/Clark Kent’s not funny. For a director who thrives with fast-talking, witty dialogue this film does a brilliant job of giving all those lines and jokes to side characters, so that Supes/Clark can be an earnest fount of hope, and a selfless defender of the small, weak, and innocent. Rachel Brosnahan’s Lois Lane rules, too, and gets to be in the mix and never the damsel-in-distress. But the highlight is Nicholas Hoult’s performance as Lex Luthor—whose jealous-man-boy-tech-mogul-seeking-revenge demands your attention and your disdain.

My favorite things about the movie? So glad you asked:

1. Superman saves a squirrel!

2. This movie is about how being a good person is something anyone can be regardless of where they are from.

3. As a person currently residing in Delaware, having this movie take place there is delightful.

Superman (2025) crams a lot of action in at a relentless pace, and still manages to find emotional beats and the space for a little exposition.  For anyone who loves Metropolis and has been hankering for a superhero movie that’s all-thriller-no-filler, this is the one. The Last Son of Krypton’s return to the screen is about having the power to make the world a better place and being the kind of person who actually does. And I think that’s a damn cool thing.

Ari Iscariot

Clair Obscur: Expedition 33

As an Aquarius, I’m usually loathe to jump on popular bandwagons. But for Clair Obscur: Expedition 33, I will make a complete and categorical exception. I’m not here to claim this is a perfect game, but I am here to claim it’s worth the hype it’s receiving, and it’s a monumental achievement for the small indie company that made it. To name only a few of my favorite highlights, Clair Obscur possesses astonishing visuals with vast and unique biomes that feel tangible and enchanting, from glittering ocean floors to rain-slick caverns to crumbling desert plateaus. It has a stunningly gorgeous soundtrack, which accompanies every scene with perfect grace and amplifies every plot beat and character interaction. Its mechanics are satisfyingly complex without being overly complicated, and its skill trees boast character builds that can eventually one-shot even the most ridiculous of bosses. The enemy designs are completely unique, their move sets challenging, and the dodging and parrying system used to counter their attacks allows for a level of engagement that most turn-based games cannot boast.

But what makes this game such a strong contender for game of the year is its storytelling. It’s difficult to talk about the story without spoiling it—the intro sequence alone is brimful of emotion and consequence, raising the stakes to heartbreaking heights. For me, the waterworks were already flowing twenty minutes in, and the characters had instantly established themselves as people I was ready to fight tooth and nail for. And this attachment to them only grows as the plot progresses. There are games that have similar relationship building mechanics to Clair Obscur, like Persona 5 or Final Fantasy, but I don’t think I’ve seen any game tend to interpersonal relationships so caringly and accurately as this one. The dialogue is superbly realized by writers and voice actors alike: it’s stunningly realistic, filled with awkward pauses and muttered asides and stumbling confessions. The connections you build feel personal and consequential, not like afterthoughts in the broader story. These characters and their personalities move you, funny and heart-wrenching and raw and impossibly human. Their dreams, their hopes, motivate you through every battle, keep your teeth grit in determination as you strategize how to trounce the most challenging of bosses, and break your heart in two as you decide your characters’ fates. A game can be the most visually stunning, perfectly run piece of programming you’ve ever seen, but if it doesn’t have a hook that gets up in your guts and pulls, then it doesn’t matter how wonderfully made it is. But Clair Obscur has the fortune of being both well-made and devastatingly well-written.

We are in a time when games are frequently put out too early, where industry abuse of creators is rife, and where profit is paramount and making art is secondary. But amidst this, Clair Obscur emerges as a beacon of potential. It shows what a small team can do when creativity is allowed to thrive, when the process of creation is given time, and when creatives care about the story they are telling and the impact it will have on their audience. This game will linger in your memory not because it’s perfect (though it’s very close to it) but because it was made with love and care, and that compassion and creativity breathes through every element of the game.

Kaitlin Lounsberry

K-Pop Demon Hunters

Even if you’re unaware, K-Pop Demon Hunters has infiltrated the social scene this summer. From their Billboard ranking original soundtrack to the funny, yet tender storyline, this Netflix-original film has taken everyone by surprise and for good reason.

I wasn’t expecting to find this movie anything special. As someone who enjoys K-Pop, I was hesitant about the hype I was hearing around this movie. Was it going to poke fun at a genre of music I’ve come to understand and hold fondly? Would it disgrace a (largely) young, female fanbase and make them seem silly and their passion something to point at and poke fun? Did it stereotype the male artists in this industry, reducing them based on their perceived femininity?

To say I was mistaken would be an understatement. It’s evident that the creators behind K-Pop Demon Hunters care deeply about this world. Director Maggie Kang delivered a film that has bulldozed the summer film season. She’s delivered a movie where a fictional girl group (Huntrix or HUNTR/X) is charting real music charts. She’s presented a plot that explores themes of identity, acceptance, self-love, redemption, and found family. The animation style is vibrant and colorful and pulses like a neon sticker in your brain. I cried, which I certainly didn’t expect when I tossed it on thinking it’d play in the background as I multitasked around my apartment. This film has become such a sensation the Netflix original is now being shown in movie theaters, a transition wholly opposite form the majority of the film industry.

Watching this movie climb the ranks and getting people who traditionally don’t spare K-Pop a chance has been a delight. It reminds me of the power of storytelling and how crucial a common interest is in a time when everything is so divisive. Sometimes we just need to give a group of demon hunters who happen to be star-studded K-Pop artists a chance.

Nate Ragolia

Friendship

Kick off summer with a film comedy that doesn’t aspire to be like any other film, and ends up carving new paths of originality, awkwardness, and surprising humor.

Friendship, which bears the tagline “Men shouldn’t have friends,” stars Tim Robinson and Paul Rudd as two men brought together by one misdelivered package. Robinson plays a nervy husband and father who is stuck in a rut, but everything changes when he meets Rudd’s cool, mustachioed TV weatherman. As a new connection forms, the men go on an adventure through the sewers, share beers, and seem on the precipice of lasting friendship… And then the rest of the movie happens. Robinson’s character, obsessed with Rudd’s, grows increasingly stranger, bolder, and more unhinged until he discovers a valuable secret.

If you’re familiar with Robinson’s comedy and his sketch show I Think You Should Leave, then you’ll be well-prepared for what comes. This movie is a wild ride, overflowing with laughs that will catch you off guard, and a look that’s uniquely its own. This is definitely a rewatch kind of comedy, too, because almost every line has a joke embedded, whether they are raucously delivered in Robinson’s boisterous style, or more quietly left for attentive watchers to clock and mull over, laughing long after leaving the theater. Bonus points: This movie is weird in both structure and content, so take that as you will! 

Nate Ragolia

The Nineties: A Book

As someone born in the early eighties (Yes, we have a couple of oldies here at F(r)iction), the 1990s holds a special place in my heart. It was a “simpler time” in that we had still had a monoculture, even as it saw massive changes to how war was done, how the global economy was shaped, how we viewed race, gender, and sexuality, how politics would change irreversibly, how we’d confront terrorism, gun violence, cloning, the fall of Communism, and more…  And that was before the internet even took shape.

To process just how complex the world of my teenage years really was, I’ve been reading Chuck Klosterman’s 2022 book The Nineties. Klosterman’s thoughtful dissection of the era from Ross Perot to Michael Jordan’s retirement and unretirement to the Unabomber to Dolly the Sheep to The Matrix is riveting, not just because I lived it but precisely because living in the moment means missing so much. And that was especially true in a time when the news showed up in paper each morning or on TV briefly at night, but wasn’t the constant mood that it is in 2025.

If you’re seeking solace in near history and the lessons we could have learned, and maybe still can, this book might be for you. And if you just want to reminisce about Nirvana, early Tarantino, and the O.J. Simpson trial this book will hit the spot.

Sara Santistevan

Spilling the Chai

April is National Poetry Month, which means I’m more than inspired to read satiating poetry that leads me to the following question: What ingredients make a poem “good?” Pungent imagery, spicy metaphors, and a gut-punch ending that lingers immediately come to mind. So when I saw chocolate mints the other day and immediately thought not of Olive Garden, but rather, “the paradox of a chocolate mint / sweet and sharp / each flavor balancing / the excess of the other / like we used to do as people,” from Geneffa Jahan’s poem “Chocolate Mints,” I knew I had to revisit her delicious debut collection Spilling the Chai.

“Chocolate Mints,” like all the poems in this collection, uses food as a conduit to ask existential questions: how our cultural identities flavor our (mis)treatment in society, how complicated family histories echo in our present, and how the languages we grow up with can shape our understanding of life. What strikes me most about Jahan’s poetry is her play with language as both a poetic and therapeutic practice. Growing up in a multilingual, cross-cultural household, Jahan learned to speak a dialect entirely unique to her family, now wielding it as a tool to excavate emotional truths.

What I could say about this book would fill a seven-course meal, but instead I’ll leave you with an amuse-bouche to entice you to savor the collection yourself: the opening and closing lines from Jahan’s poem “Dizzy Means Banana,”* which showcase her stunning wordplay across languages:

“To my failing ears, chakkar and chakra sound the same / Chakkar the spinning of one’s head, crystals dislodged from the inner ear throwing the body off-kilter. // Chakra pronounced almost the same, a spinning of wheels within the body…//…In our house / dizzy meant banana, / and I could safely say I didn’t want one, / pale and raw, difficult to swallow / the texture of chalk / but easier to reject / than the / hand flying out / to tame my face.”

*“Pronounced “dizzy,” ndizi is the Swahili word for banana” (Jahan 4n2).

Dominic Loise

The Bondsman

The Bondsman is a new streaming show from horror production studio Blumhouse starring Kevin Bacon. The premise is similar to the television series Reaper or the movie RIPD, where the main character, here the recently deceased bounty hunter Hub Halloran, now collects escaped souls from Hell on Earth for The Devil. 

Hell works on a pyramid scheme for collecting souls and communicates via analog fax machines. Also, the episodes are incredibly binge-able as they flow into each other like chapters in a book. And the strength of The Bondsman is the bigger story it tells is Hub’s estrangment from family and whether he’ll be able to make amends with them.

Speaking of Hub’s family, a special shout out to Beth Grant, who plays his mother. I have been excited every time she has been in something ever since I saw her in Donnie Darko. Grant delivers an amazing performance as someone who both taught her son the bounty hunter business yet feels she failed him as a mother since he went to Hell when he died. 

Ari Iscariot

Mickey 17

So… Mickey 17. The trailer was weird, the advertising was weird, and the vibe was weird overall. But is it the kind of weird you wanna watch? Keeping vague on the plot details, allow me the honor of making my case through the acting, the characters, the color palette, and the messaging.

Throughout his career, Robert Pattinson seems to be building a repertoire of playing weird little guys. And Mickey, our protagonist, is a weird little guy. Fun weird. Put him under a microscope and do experiments on him weird. (Ironically, the same attitude pretty much everyone else in the movie has towards him, as Mickey is a disposable clone that can be replicated endlessly.) Flexing his weird little guy skills, Pattinson delivers a mind-boggling performance as two identical characters, the likes of which I haven’t seen since Lindsay Lohan in The Parent Trap. The distinctions between the two versions of Mickey are so clearly delineated: down to body language, personality, voice, line delivery, etc., that you have to actively remind yourself Pattinson doesn’t have a clone in real life.

In contrast to Robert Pattinson’s one man circus, we have Mickey’s partner, Nasha, played by Naomi Ackie. She perfectly compliments the pathetic, scraggly, wet-cat energy Pattinson exudes with her blunt confidence and care. One of the things I love about this dynamic is that Nasha is the rock in Mickey’s life. She’s the protector; she’s the brash, outspoken one; she’s the one ready to pick up arms and fight everyone to the death to make sure her poor little meow meow isn’t being abused. It’s a very delicious subversion of heteropatriarchal gender roles. (She also wants to fuck both clone versions of Mickey at the same time, and the movie does not slut shame her for this. It’s like Yeah. Obviously you would want to fuck two versions of Robert Pattinson. Wouldn’t we all? And I applaud them for saying that with their whole chests out.)

We also have Mark Ruffalo playing one of the villains. A perfectly creepy sleaze, his depiction of the politician Kenneth Marshall obviously apes the mannerisms and behavior of Trump and Musk. (And also, strangely, incorporates a heaping dollop of Marlon Brando’s The Godfather.) Suffice to say, Mark Ruffalo was having a grand old time playing the egomaniacal, narcissistic patriarch and you can feel the sheer joy he’s taking in the blatant mockery of the current state of politics.

To the point of color, there’s a lot of grays and off-whites in this movie as a consequence of the dominant setting being a futuristic, dystopian-esque spaceship. The lower-class members of the spaceship mostly exist in these spaces, devoid of coloring in gray or black jumpsuits, or washed out by white lab coats. In contrast, the rich characters’ clothes are very colorful and their spaces are glaringly opulent. But even in the lower class areas that Mickey, Nasha, and the rest of the crew populate, we still have lighting that is often vibrant and tonally poignant. (At one point, I turned to my partner and I was like Hey, I know I said this in the last movie we watched together but honestly, people don’t use yellow lighting enough and it’s really good in this movie. And she was like Haha. Yeah, I wonder if it’s the same guy who directed the last movie. Spoilers, it was the same guy. The cinematographer for Snowpiercer is not the cinematographer for Mickey 17, so I think this particular brand of yellow lighting is just Bong Joon Ho’s thing. Wild to be able to recognize a guy by the colors he uses in his films.) Anyway, the film has excellent environmental storytelling through color and costuming that rewards those who pay attention to those details.

Finally, and most importantly, this was a movie with a very satisfying ending. In an industry that seems ever more focused on fast-paced action, big displays of grandiose (and shitty) CGI, or high octane emotions without any impactful character arcs or messaging, a well-rounded plot is extremely refreshing. The recurring plot points in the film are built upon and resolved and Mickey’s personal arc and struggle are compassionately and directly addressed in a way that, once again, rewards the audience for their attention.

In conclusion, is Mickey 17 a weird movie? Yes. Is it going to be for everyone? No. But if you’re looking for a strange, heartfelt sci-fi romp that wraps up everything neatly and sweetly in a bow, has an incredibly diverse and colorful cast of characters, and keeps you interested for every single second that it’s playing, Mickey 17 is for you.

Ari Iscariot

Pentiment

Recently, I finished Pentiment, a narrative role-playing game set in medieval Europe. I didn’t expect this game to move me the way it did, this little murder mystery whose 2D art is stylized like an illuminated manuscript, whose simple premise obscures a work of great beauty and complexity. There are many things you can praise Pentiment for: its dedication to accurately and sympathetically portraying medieval life, its thoughtful and detailed storytelling, its atmosphere of community and warmth, and its enthusiasm for its settings and characters. But the most pertinent thing to compliment Pentiment for is its love.

We begin the game as Andreas Maler, a passionate, driven journeyman artist from the 1500s, working in a monastery scriptorium and completing his masterpiece before he returns to Nuremberg to start his career. During his time in Tassing, he stays with a peasant family and grows close to the people of the town, as well as the brothers and sisters of Kiersau Abbey. But disaster soon strikes when a rich patron of the Abbey is murdered on its premises.

The killer is in the town, and so Andreas’s suspects are the very people he is becoming close to: the peasants he shares meals with, the monks he works with, the friends who tell him of their troubles and joys. It becomes clear that Andreas won’t have enough time to talk to every suspect, to hunt down every clue, or to determine guilt without a doubt. You must present your evidence with uncertainty. And it’s with a sinking feeling that you realize—there may be no guilty party to find at all. But you must choose, and choose you do, while the town pays the price.

In Act 2, Andreas returns to the town seven years later. You witness the effects of your choice, see how the town has grown without you, how your friends have changed. Andreas is haunted by his decisions and by his own personal grief. The loving, enthusiastic artist of the early game is gone. “I have lost my love,” he tells us. “My love for art. My love for family. My love for anything.” As a creator going through a depressive episode when I played this game, this line ripped me open. Grief, melancholia, the death of imagination—who of us that makes art has not experienced it? The destabilization of self that comes with loss of creation. The aimlessness, the mourning, the rage. The emptiness.

I cannot tell you the fate of Andreas without spoiling the game. But I can tell you to have faith. This is the sort of story that leads you to yourself again. That unlocks the labyrinthine reluctance and fear keeping you from your love. This is the sort of story where you and your beliefs are rewritten, the sort of story that puts hope in your soul again. That makes you think yes, even after everything, the craft is worth it. The world. The people in it. Love. After all, love is the only reason to do anything in this life, and Pentiment is proof of the kind of magic love can create.

Kaitlin Lounbserry

Strange Darling

With the autumnal months swiftly approaching, there’s been a noticeable influx of horror movies dropping in theaters. To kickstart a month of slashers and possessions and the resurgence of extraterrestrials and ghosties with narcissism, J.T. Mollner’s Strange Darling washes its viewers in a cherry-tinted world of aesthetic violence. 

There’s lots to note about Strange Darling that’s kept me captivated days after leaving the theater, but most noticeable was its cinematography. Shot entirely on 35 mm film (courtesy of Giovanni Ribisi’s debut as cinematographer), viewers are thrusted into a world richly saturated in hues of red. It’s a cinematic choice that will end up as a massive print on someone’s wall in time (frankly, my wall is eager). If it was to be presented as a drink, it’d be sugary sweet with an unexpecting kick at the very end that keeps you sipping. It’s just *right* to compliment the hazy plot lines and the first thing I think to mention about the film.

Speaking of plot, there isn’t really much I can comment on it without giving anything away. Told in six chapters in a fractured narrative format, Strange Darling presents its many twists and turns to challenge its viewer and subvert stereotypes of what we’ve come to anticipate from the horror genre, specifically horror that utilizes the final girl trope. It might not reinvent the wheel, but it’s clear Mollner has done his research to understand how to tell a good story, with a hefty dose of murder. Of the many horror movies released this calendar year (I’ve seen most of them, if not all), this is by far my favorite.

Nate Ragolia

Chef Reactions

There’s no lack of cooking videos on the internet. Pretty much anywhere you look, some amateur chef or kitchen cowboy is offering a new hack for how to make mashed potatoes out of Pringles, build a big salad in a giant glass goblet, or churn out some hand-mixed casserole they claim to have learned about on a vacation to Texas.

Enter Chef Reactions, a YouTube, Facebook, Instagram, and TikTok-based internet personality who watches those wild (and sometimes absolutely revelatory) videos while offering delightfully wry, monotone commentary. I’ve been lucky that the algorithm gods are supplying all of my feeds with his stupendous content, and watching a few Chef Reactions each night to wind down has been a true joy. These videos are great because they are short and sweet, funny, and even occasionally point me toward something (that gets a positive reaction) that I might want to try cooking myself! After all, every recipe is a story, and every meal is an adventure unto itself.

C.E. Janecek

The Vision of Escaflowne

Searching for a way to watch the 1996 worldwide anime hit, The Vision of Escaflowne, felt like a foreboding lesson on our reliance on digital media. It was unavailable on every streaming platform. I had found out about it the old-fashioned way: as a preview on a library-loaned DVD of Code Geass, season one. Luckily, The Vision of Escaflowne was available at my local library on both DVDs and Blu-rays, but after watching it, I was even more fearful that one day it would disappear from the internet’s collective memory all together.

A mix of fantasy, science fiction, and a whole lot of heart—The Vision of Escaflowne’s 26-episode story boasts well-rounded characters, ambitious lore, and a heart-wrenching soundtrack. On a planet torn by war and lofty ideologies, four protagonists carry the heavy mantles of the ancestors, even if they don’t know it yet. Like many cult animes of the 1990s, Escaflowne’s themes largely circle around the loss of innocence and the question of free will, which remains deliciously in the air throughout.

One of the most fascinating aspects of the anime is how much of it changed before production. Escaflowne’s Wikipedia page is a treasure trove of history, but one of my favorite tidbits is that much of Escaflowne’s story and aesthetic exists because the original director was bought out by Gundam and newcomer Kazuki Akane transformed the protagonist into her iconic, tomboy look and made all of the male characters into “beautiful boys” to broaden audience appeal. And are those boys beautiful. The romantic subplots are tinged through the innocent eyes of main character, Hitomi, changing organically (and devastatingly) as the world around them falls to war and she has to find other ways to cling on to hope.

Ari Iscariot

Only God Forgives

It is exhilarating, from time to time, to come upon a film that has been left raw and bloody, uncooked for consumption by a mass audience. Traditionally, movies say: “I am a story, and this is how I will tell myself.” But Only God Forgives does not offer you this comforting hand. There is no guide to orient you as you plunge into the neon-bright, ultra-violent nightmare director Nicolas Winding Refn has created. This is not meant to be a familiar narrative, traveling the tried and true paths of the three-act structure or the hero’s journey. It is a gut-wrenching, visceral experience, all the more poignant because it does not make itself palatable. It seems to say, observe or don’t, the trainwreck will happen with or without you as witness. 

Every aspect of this film lends itself to experiencing, to immersing into the Freudian fever dream, the garish, Greek tragedy set in the humming streets of Thailand. Voices murmur and cackle, traffic rushes with reedy wind, night insects anxiously drone. The soundtrack thrums somewhere behind your bones, industrial and electric. The lighting and colors synchronously flash, flawlessly painted by the hand of their colorblind director, showing a reality where everything is exit-sign red, caution-bulb orange, suicidal blue. The dialogue is sparse, sharp, delivered like a blade through the back. Ryan Gosling’s character, the tortured Julian Thompson, speaks but seventeen lines. But he doesn’t need to waste breath to tell what is being shown.

Julian’s ending is a foregone conclusion, as is every other character’s, as foretold in the title. Julian’s mad brother cannot be forgiven, nor can his Jocastian mother. Neither can Julian forgive himself: his warped desires, his blood-stained palms. He certainly won’t be forgiven by the film’s main “antagonist,” the vigilante cop Chang, who is the epitome of “Justice is blind.” He metes out punishment without considering circumstance, drunk on power and revenge. Only God could forgive someone like Julian, and his twisted, pathetic descent towards this realization will make you feel emotions and longing better left unspoken—and only experienced.

Dominic Loise

Will Trent

We are always looking for a good mystery series in our household. Something that is both a challenge to solve before the final reveal and has an engaging yet unique detective. Our benchmark binging has been David Suchet as Hercule Poirot, Tony Shalhoub as Adrian Monk, and Peter Falk as Lieutenant Columbo. Currently, we are watching Will Trent and this mystery drama is quickly becoming our new favorite series.

Soon to drop a third season this fall, Will Trent is based on the book series by Karin Slaughter. The main character is a special agent for the Georgia Bureau of Investigation and like Piorot, Monk, and Colombo, he sees things outside the box from other members of law enforcement and is an outsider from those he works with daily. Unlike Columbo, Trent (Ramón Rodríguez) is sharply dressed in his three-piece suits like Poirot and his home is organized like Monk. The reason for his outward appearance and organizational systems are to mask his dyslexia from the outside world, for fear that others will judge him incapable to do his job.

Trust is a major theme in Will Trent. The two main characters, Trent and homicide Detective Angie Polaski (Erika Christensen), grew up together in the foster care system. Both have scars from their childhood and in Trent’s case, his scars are physically noticeable. The two work to protect others from cracks in the system that failed them as children. The series also explores Trent and Polaski sharing their past with their work partners and how it affects their decision making. Soon, guarded walls are let down for them to share openly with others. As the series goes on, Trent’s compartmentalized life of solitude and security opens up for him share with others and create his own definition of family.

Nate Ragolia

Jaws

We’re in the dog days of summer, or maybe the dogfish days… and for me that means revisiting the QUINTessential summer film classic, Jaws. It was released in 1975, from director Stephen Spielberg, and based on the book by Peter Benchley. It is famous for being the first movie filmed on the ocean, for having a broken mechanical shark named Bruce (whose malfunctions required/enabled incredible dramatic tension), and for being, perhaps, the first blockbuster.

If you are somehow unfamiliar, Jaws is about the fictional, small New England beach community of Amity Island besieged—in peak tourist season—by a massive, man-eating Great White Shark. Newly transplanted police chief Martin Brody (Roy Scheider) must contend with the shark and the town’s mayor’s reluctance to close the beach, and eventually enlists a marine biologist (Richard Dreyfuss) and a salty shark hunter (Robert Shaw).

While you’ve almost all certainly already seen this movie, I encourage you to watch it again for two reasons: 1. It is one of the most compelling demonstrations of three-act storytelling available, and 2. The complex relationships between all the characters, their motivations, and their depth of development is second to none. Plus, if you’re anything like me, you’ll get something new out of each viewing. I was lucky enough to catch it in the theater for a special screening earlier this month, but Jaws is great anywhere… except maybe in the water…

Nate Ragolia

Poor Things

Released in December in the U.S., Yorgos Lanthimos’ latest film, Poor Things, might just be the best film of 2023. It’s a heartfelt, deeply feminist coming-of-age take on the literary classic Frankenstein that shows off Emma Stone’s awe-inspiring acting range, while getting some brilliant performances from Mark Ruffalo and Willem Dafoe (among a stacked cast). It features a globe-hopping, eye-catching journey as protagonist Bella Baxter chases her young curiosity to find out who she really is, and who she really wants to be.

Fair warning, this film features a lot of sex and nudity, but does so while subverting the male gaze and bringing sincere, patriarchy-undermining humanity into every frame. It’s a stylish, strange, bold film that may rub some viewers the wrong way, even as it’s one of Lanthimos’ most accessibly human films. We all, ultimately, want to know who we are, what we’re made of, and why we’re here… and Poor Things hits every note in an undeniably unique and heartfelt way. Plus, there’s a chicken with a pig’s head in here, so if you’re into that kind of weird, this film is EVEN MORE for you.

Sara Santistevan

This is My Body: Poems by a Teen Trans Fem

It’s rare to find a teen poet confident in both their poetic voice and artistic mission. That’s why I was so excited to get my hands on Madeline Aliah’s debut chapbook This Is My Body: Poems by a Teen Trans Fem.

In the book’s forward, Aliah makes her goal clear: “This little book is an offering of 18 poems as candles for a birthday I didn’t expect to reach. I hope it’s a light for those who need it. I hope it helps the non-trans reader understand what it’s like to be someone like me.” Indeed, Aliah’s debut is a stunning example of how vulnerability can not only comfort those who identify with the speaker’s experience, but can also serve as a radical form of advocacy and education.

This book is thoughtfully divided into three sections (“The Body Counterfeit,” “The Body Politic,” and “The Body Manifest,”) which explore Aliah’s coming-of-age and relationship with her body. Some of my favorite lines beautifully capture the narrative arc that unfolds throughout these sections. Consider the shift in the speaker’s autonomy from the couplet in “I Woke Up Twice This Morning” to that of “The Pronoun Game,” respectively:

“My second morning body is an oven / My first morning body is a dove.”

“I/Me/Mine / are dangerous pronouns to choose / because choosing me makes me dangerous.”

The choice Aliah eventually makes, and the power she has to make that choice, is fully realized in one of the collection’s final poems, “Trans Risk.” Despite the title, Aliah sees no risk in her choice to become herself, and instead challenges the reader by asking “Does it bother you / that womanhood is a gift / worth dying for?”

I’m always stunned when I remember that Aliah had these revelations, and captured them so powerfully in her writing, as a teenager. If I were you, I’d be keeping an eye on Aliah’s future career as a poet (and bragging that I knew of her before she was famous)!

Marizel Malan

Prelude to Ecstasy

Though I’m a tad late, I have been absolutely obsessed with the band The Last Dinner Party, and their debut album, Prelude to Ecstasy. They’re currently touring, and I’m incredibly jealous of every single person who gets to experience them live.

The woman and nonbinary-led rock band has taken over every playlist I make. I’ve been listening to their album nonstop. Even though it was released in February, it’s a staple of my March listening habits. In fact, I’ve barely listened to anything else this month! This is one of those rare albums where I don’t want to skip a single song. The lyrics are incredible and they tell exceptional stories in each of their pieces. I am an absolute sucker for indie bands, and The Last Dinner Party is no exception. With the release of singles prior to the album, I was expecting some great music, but they completely surpassed all expectations. While I do have a soft spot for the single “My Lady of Mercy“—which sounds great in-between all the other songs on the album—”Beautiful Boy” has quickly become my favorite. If you enjoy unique rhythms, incredible voices, and gorgeous imagery, definitely check out The Last Dinner Party!

Dominic Loise

Resident Alien

To help get through the winter months and my seasonal depression, I’m rewatching the previous seasons of Resident Alien. The third season started dropping new weekly episodes on Valentine’s Day, and it was a better gift than a box of chocolates could ever be for me.

Resident Alien is a sci-fi action comedy on SyFy (streaming on Peacock and Netflix) about an extraterrestrial’s failed attempt to destroy Earth and become its protector. The show is also explores what it means to be human. Alien Harry struggles as he pretends to be an Earthing and learns to not be an outsider. He also learns that being human involves more than just our outer appearance as the show provides deep, complex layers to the citizens of fictitious Patience, CO.

I was familiar with the Dark Horse comic book series the TV show is based on, but the show has its own tone. That tone is built around the casting of Alan Tudyk as alien Harry. And, even though our interactions with the citizens of Patience, CO are filtered through the arrival of an alien, I find myself fully invested in each character’s presence and personality in this ensemble show and look forward to hanging out with everyone in town on my weekly viewing visits with Resident Alien.

Bodies… we all have one. They are literally a part of each of us! (Yes, we went there.) We should, as the idiom goes, “know them like the backs of our hands.” And yet, the truth is that our bodies hold a whole mess of mysteries, and quite a few of them, we take for granted every single day. Let’s take a look at five baffling body enigmas: The Body…