It’s such a rare treat to be so hypnotized by a book that the world fades around you. That was my experience reading Mona Susan Power’s novel A Council of Dolls. I love when writers of color use experimental or speculative fiction to grapple with the horrors of historical and generational trauma. The speculative elements in A Council of Dolls are executed so seamlessly into the narrative I found myself questioning whether they even were speculative.
The narrative begins in the 1960s, following the story of Sissy, a young Dakota girl growing up in Chicago, and her unique friendship with her doll. It seems like any other story capturing the unique world of childhood, where imaginary friends can often take the form of objects. However, the line between childhood imagination and generational magic becomes blurred when the narrative travels back to tell the story of her mother and grandmother and their relationship with dolls who seems to hold the same memories and knowledge as Sissy’s doll. The doll’s surviving spirit is a beautiful metaphor that has kept me spellbound long after finishing this book.
A gorgeous yet heartbreaking matrilineal tale highlighting the crucial role women’s hope and strength plays in keeping cultures alive, I recommend A Council of Dolls to any reader who loves speculative fiction—and its unique power to unveil hidden pasts and re-imagine a more just present and future.
Before starting Daredevil: Born Again on Disney+, I went back to refresh myself on what happened during the last season of Daredevil for Netflix, which ended in 2018. Ironically, the 2018 season of Daredevil already told Frank Miller’s classic comic book Born Again storyline.
The 1986 comic book saw Frank Miller return to write the character Daredevil with art by David Mazzucchelli. At the same time, Miller was writing and drawing The Dark Knight Returns for DC Comics. These two works of Miller’s comics along with Alan Moore and Dave GibbonsThe Watchmen set a benchmark for reality-based comic books or what would be known as the Grim N’ Gritty Era.
Like the comic book story, the last season of the Netflix’s Daredevil focuses on a hero beaten by a villain so severely they don’t get back up for the fight in the next issue. The Kingpin/Wilson Fisk is so many moves ahead of Daredevil/Matt Murdock it takes a multiple issue storyline for the hero to recover.
The television series addresses mental health and addiction like the original comic and it stresses the importance of community. It is Murdock’s core support system who give him a safe space to rediscover himself and heal mentally and physically from the events of season two. It is also his friends that remind him the way to take down a Kingpin is not as a vigilante stepping over a line but through established public systems like the court of law and the freedom of the press.
I have not been able to stop listening to the indie trio Sunday (1994). Since stumbling upon them, their songs have been ruling all my playlists, and their debut album has been on repeat for days at a time. Their self-titled album, Sunday (1994), released in 2024, is a no-skip from start to finish.
Paige Turner, lead vocalist, and Lee Newell, her partner and the band’s lead guitarist, wrote and recorded most of their first single—the incredible song “Tired Boy”—from their one bedroom apartment. Soon after, they recruited their mysterious drummer “X,” whose sound suited the duo’s vision and vibe perfectly. The three created an incredible album that speaks about turning points, finding love and having it find you, and the internal struggles people face.
If any of their songs encapsulates all of these notions, it would be my personal favorite “TV Car Chase.” It’s the song that drew me to the band in the first place, and certainly the one I listen to the most. A close second is “Blossom,” another beautifully written and composed song. With a strong introduction to the band, I had no doubt their album would be incredible from start to finish. With the release of a new single “Doomsday,” this is the perfect time to get into the band. If you need a reminder of the magic to be found in every part of your daily life, lyrics that tell incredible stories, and some melancholy vibes to boot, you should absolutely check out Sunday (1994)!
“It’s one of the great cosmic mysteries. How is it that someone can go from being a total stranger to the most important person in your life?” – One Day, Netflix
There’s a special ache in my chest, an overwhelming cacophony of emotion when I think about the Netflix adaptation of One Day, based on David Nicholls’ beloved novel. When it dropped in February of 2024, it scratched an itch in my soul I didn’t even know existed. I still watch it occasionally to feel something.
The Netflix original series, One Day, follows Emma and Dexter, who forge an unexpected friendship on the night of their graduation from the University of Edinburgh. From that moment on, we witness the messy, beautiful, and unpredictable twists of their lives over the span of twenty years. And trust me—a lot can happen in twenty years. This series isn’t just another romantic drama; it’s a vulnerable exploration of love, friendship, and the bittersweet passage of time. As someone who adores a good Netflix romance, this adaptation stands head and shoulders above the typical syrupy, made-for-streaming love stories. It cuts through the fluff to capture the raw humanity that seeps into our connections—both in the moments we share and the ones we spend apart from those we love. Emma and Dexter are perfectly flawed and effortlessly relatable. If you haven’t yet watched Netflix’s One Day or read Nicholls’ novel, I can’t recommend it enough. Buckle up for an emotional rollercoaster—you’ll laugh, cry, and maybe, just maybe, feel that special ache, too.
I am well and truly aware I am late to the party. I’ve owned a copy for months, but didn’t get around to it until recently. I can say now that I regret not reading it sooner; Piranesi truly is a marvel of fiction.
This is a book I firmly believe must be discovered on its own, and thus I will explain as little of the plot as possible. Piranesi is written from the titular character’s perspective, a naive but observant man of unclear origins. He resides in a sprawling, otherworldly house that is constantly ravaged by waves. His only companions are another human named “the Other,” and a strange collection of skeletons that he has given different names.
Its unorthodox narration may strike a first-time reader as confusing. Piranesi capitalizes various mundane words for reasons that are unclear, and you’ll be wracking your brain trying to navigate his roundabout descriptions of the setting. There is, at first, little discernable plot beyond Piranesi’s fairly mundane journal entries. But I encourage all readers to continue forth—as the story slowly unravels itself, so too does the character of Piranesi.
Through Piranesi’s weird and wonderful story, Clarke offers a deeply insightful exploration into trauma—one that I did not anticipate, but welcomed with grateful arms. It examines the post-traumatic re-adjustment to life, and seeing beauty in the world despite everything that’s happened. It is strange; it is moving; and Piranesi’s hope is infectious.
The following quotes open Carmen Maria Machado’s collection:
“My body is a haunted house that I am lost in. There are no doors but there are knives and a hundred windows.” This excerpt, taken from Jaqui Germain’s poem “Bipolar is Bored and Renames Itself,” is followed by words from Elisebeth Hewer: “God should have made girls lethal when he made monsters of men.”
These epigraphs will haunt you as you dive into Machado’s unsettling and powerful exploration of women’s bodies and their experiences in her short-story collection, Her Body and Other Parties: Stories. I read this collection for a creative writing workshop last semester, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since.
Through eight electrifying stories in a gorgeous blend of genre, Machado maps the startling realities of women and the various violences enacted upon their bodies. One of my favorite stories, “The Husband Stitch,” uses familiar fairy tales that are commonly told to young girls, often as warnings, and recontextualizes them to showcase how female bodies are being continually policed. This short story also delves into the experience of a female character—a girl in love turned wife and mother—who gives endlessly in a world that seems to mercilessly take. Another story, titled “Real Women Have Bodies,” makes you question what it means to be a woman, and what it means to be recognized or seen in a world of unachievable expectations.
I laughed. I cried. I raged. It’s a beautiful collection of stories that needed to be told.
Before James Cameron commandeered the term “Avatar” with his movies about blue people, the original pop culture term “Avatar” stemmed from the hit Nickelodeon TV series Avatar: The Last Airbender which aired from 2005 to 2008. Created by Michael Dante DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko, Avatar: The Last Airbender is a story of war, the bonds of friendship, and what it means to find peace in a conflict-filled world.
Protagonist Aang is a young boy and the “Avatar,” a.k.a. the chosen one to master all four elements and bring peace to the war-ravaged world. He’s also the only surviving member of the Air Nomads—monks and nuns killed in a genocide at the hands of the Fire Nation as part of a plot for world domination. This is technically a kid’s show by the way. But that’s where the brilliance of Avatar: The Last Airbender is found. While it would be easy for DiMartino and Konietzko to pull their punches and depict the Fire Nation as a one-dimensional villain, they make the show appealing to all ages through well-developed characters, masterful world building, and a thoughtful portrayal of mature themes like oppression, patriotism, and grief.
While Avatar: The Last Airbender had a chokehold on my childhood (I thought I was a fire bender until I scared myself by accidentally igniting an EXPO marker), its popularity has grown immensely in recent years through its sequel series The Legend of Korra, and the live-action adaptation on Netflix (we’re not talking about the M. Night Shyamalan film). Dark Horse Comics also publishes a series of Avatar and Legend of Korra graphic novels, and there’s a Chronicles of the Avatar series published by Amulet Books where my fellow nerds–ahem–fans of the series can dig deeper into Avatar lore.
Recently, I watched The Intouchables, a wholesome French film—I’m a sucker for heartfelt cinema like this. It’s a bit like the movie Me Before You, minus the romance and with a much happier ending.
The movie centers around Driss, a young man who feels like a side character in his own life. Unmotivated and dejected, he seeks job rejections to qualify for benefits. During one of these failed interviews, he meets Philipe, a wealthy man who uses a wheelchair. Intrigued by Driss’ indifference, Philipe hires him as his carer, and an unexpected friendship blossoms.
Their relationship evolves from mutual distrust to one of respect; I would even go as far as calling it a brotherhood. Their dynamic was the film’s heart, as they infuse each other’s life with purpose and push themselves out of their comfort zone. It’s a heartwarming reminder that the most unexpected people can enter our lives and make such a remarkable difference.
The humor was perfectly balanced with some heavier themes, with Omar Sy as Driss being the standout performance. Though there is an American remake of this, nothing can capture the humour and spirit of this film (and we all know how American remakes are!)
My wife and I came to Elsbeth in its second season. After enjoying an episode, our evenings were soon filled with cozy crime solving, binge-watching joy to escape the everyday. The show follows attorney Elsbeth Tascioni (Carrie Preston) as she works with the Department of Justice to oversee the New York Police Department’s monitoring of the NYPD after some controversy arrests. But, is that the only reason she’s keeping an eye on the police station?
If the character name of Elsbeth Tascioni is familiar, it’s because Preston played her in The Good Wife and The Good Fight. Those two previous shows were legal procedurals, but Elsbeth is a twist on the police procedural. Like the classic Columbo, this show is an inverted detective story, where the audience sees the guest of the week committing the murder at the beginning of the show and the remainder of the episode is the “howcatchem.” And just like Peter Falk in Columbo, the fun with Elsbeth is watching Preston know something isn’t quite right, then pick at the loose threads of evidence and slowly unravel the perpetrator.
Carrie Preston plays Elsbeth as someone who cares, listens, and gives people the benefit of the doubt. Elsbeth learned to trust her gut about people. She likes that this position with the DOJ allows her to do positive work as a lawyer. She uses it to help others she encounters, lift up those around her, and create the best working environment possible at the police station. Even though solving murders doesn’t fall into her job description, it is by observing that Elsbeth notices the little details viewers enjoy until “just one more thing” helps the whole mystery come together to make her case.
An intriguing genre-bending Korean drama, Light Shop is the latest TV adaptation by Kang Full, the acclaimed webtoon creator and screenwriter behind Moving. Initially starting in the horror genre, Light Shop slowly transforms into a heartbreaking story of a group of people affected by a tragic bus accident. While the premise centers around a light shop, which appears to stand guard between the dead and the living, it’s a deeper story about the relationships between all the characters who cross paths there. It explores grief, regret, loss, love, and the will to live using the metaphor of a lightbulb. And, it doesn’t come off as preachy. What really stood out to me after watching this show was how many emotions we feel can be portrayed through fantasy worlds and can cut deep when done right. It’s a short series, no longer than eight episodes, but it will leave you thinking about the strange and surreal ways stories about people and their relationships can be crafted.
Don’t let the run time sway you, Brady Corbet’s The Brutalist is one of the best movies released from 2024. “Best” is a strong statement, I understand, but I watch a LOT of movies, especially new releases. So, I feel it gives me some degree of authority to make such a sweeping statement given how many days of the year I spend in a dark movie theater.
Shot on VistaVision, a near defunct way of shooting movies that was notably used to film classics like Vertigo and To Catch a Thief, the film follows the life of László Toth (Adrien Brody), a visionary architect from Eastern Europe, as he immigrants to the United States following WWII. After he settles, his architecture career takes off in the states after he meets Harrison Lee Van Buren (Guy Pearce). Through sweeping shots and breathtaking examples of filmmaking, we watch the trials and many, many tribulations Toth faces as he attempts to bring his talents to life. The Brutalist is a tale of the immigrant experience, a tale of heartbreak, a tale of love despite the odds, and a tale of artistry and the madness and sacrifices that often come along with it.
Marvin, the main character in West Hollywood Monster Squad, is a young adult who’s found himself and his people but not his community. As such, Marvin is clingy to his small clique from high school. He circles the wagons on his small circle of friends during a night out and feels threatened they’ve gone to college and met new people. Marvin’s “green-eyed monster” creates just as much drama as the monster apocalypse they’re trying to survive during a night.
As the diverse group of characters venture out of the drag club, Marvin faces how much he is stuck in the past emotionally. As his personal issues threaten the survival of the group, he is given the reading he needs by his favorite drag queen and learns he has to move forward, emotionally and physically. Marvin finally sees the difference between putting in the time and being ready when the opportunity comes allowing him and the others to save the West Hollywood community.
Sina Grace brings an honest and emotional voice to each of the different characters in West Hollywood Monster Squad, and Bradley Clayton’s inviting art style helps insure the character’s stories are not lost amongst the monsters. The two have created a work for readers whose horror tastes may be moreDragula than American Horror Story with monsters being that of after-school television animation and humor.
Alan Scott was the first Green Lantern created in 1940 by Mort Nodell and Bill Finger. Like today’s characters, he used willpower to create emerald shaped images with a power ring. Being a kid/adult with anxiety, I was attracted to the concept of willpower and focusing your energy on a task. I even bought a Green Lantern-like ring to wear and would be questioned about being a man wearing jewelry.
Recently, Alan Scott came out as one of DC Comics’ queer characters. The Green Lantern title has always been on the forefront of dealing with social issues. The classic Green Lantern/Green Arrowrun of the early 70s showed heroes addressing social issues of the time. In the 90s, the series had a storyline dealing with violence against the queer community. But Tim Sheridan’s Alan Scott: The Green Lantern tells the stories never told out.
Told in flashbacks, Sheridan uses settings and characters of Alan Scott’s classic comics to explore the characters who masked their true identity and weren’t in the Justice Society of America WW2 era. Arkham Asylum is the location for the trauma conversation therapy, and the men hiding in the dark alleyways are not there for robberies but connection.
Alan Scott also finds those who support him throughout this series, which are all told via heartfelt moments. Alan Scott: The Green Lantern lets a classic character’s true self step into the spotlight and out of the shadows on his own timeline.
Winter! It’s cold. And we all know what else is cold: the vacuum of space! As holiday times approach, I continue to think of nothing but hope-punk space novellas, a.k.a. the Becky Chambers Special.
To Be Taught, If Fortunate follows four astronauts who study exoplanets. Each planet has unique biomes, flora, and fauna, some unbelieveably beautiful and some chilling in darker ways. Come for the casual queer representation and stay for the exquisite scenery.
Don’t get me wrong, I love some Hallmark holiday cheese and classic Christmas stories. But my love for the horror film genre—even the ridiculous, campy ones—is a year-round thing. Therefore, I have been binging everything from Krampus, Gremlins, Black Christmas (the original and the remake, I don’t discriminate), and the new Terrifier 3. There are more, too many to even name here, but I am considering making this festive and spooky movie marathon an annual tradition in my family. If you want to bring this seasonal chaos to your watchlist as well, here are some ideas to get you started.
As an avid fan of everything Halsey does, when she announced the concept behind her fifth studio album, The Great Impersonator, I was eager to see how she’d tackle this great feat. That being, every song on the album and its stylizing would impersonate an artist that’s influenced Halsey as a creative artist. Leading up to its release on October 25, Halsey teased the 18-track album and snippets of each song on her Instagram while modeling herself after one of the greats. From Stevie Nicks to Fiona Apple to Linda Ronstadt to Aaliyah, Halsey tackles an impressive range of styles and genres.
Most stunning, though, is the undercurrent buried in Halsey’s lyricism that one might overlook if they’re too distracted trying to determine which artist influenced which song. But pay attention and you’ll discover an album teeming with an artist grappling with their mortality. Haunting, depressing, ripping themselves apart and handing over the pieces, Halsey dives headfirst into her darkest moments, especially those following her diagnosis of Lupus SLE and a rare T-cell lymphoproliferative disorder in 2022. It’s as nuanced as you’d imagine and a powerhouse listen. It’s an album that leaves its listener feeling closer and more understanding to the person behind the tracks. Though I’m definitely biased, this is by far Halsey’s best work to date.
Miles lives in a small town where a blood feud between his ancestors and the sheriff’s family is written everywhere he looks. Murders both recent and ancient vie for his focus as he struggles to survive as an autistic trans teen in a conservative town. Andrew Joseph White writes incredible characters and vivid details, both of which will haunt your waking thoughts—in a good way!
Stay awake. Stay alive. Don’t go to sleep. This is the haunting motif of The Edge of Sleep, a new show set in an apocalyptic world where sleeping means certain death. The story centers on Dave Torres, a man who has suffered terrible nightmares since infancy. In a cruel twist of fate, he is one of the few people left awake/alive when sleep descends upon the world and most of the population is trapped in a deadly nightmare. Alongside three other survivors, Dave must discover the source of this global epidemic and how to escape it—before they succumb to the siren call of sleep themselves.
While this is already a fascinating premise, The Edge of Sleep’s greatest strength lies in its actors. Matteo, Dave’s best friend, is the perfectly timed and gratefully received comic relief, cracking through the tension of this high octane show flawlessly. There’s Linda, the passionate and driven nurse with a guilty past, her drive never overshadowing her compassion for her patients and friends. Then Katie, the recovering addict, on a break from a loving yet tumultuous relationship with Dave, who offers him a safe place even as she faces her own demons. And Markiplier as Dave himself, delivering each of his lines with an earnestness that bleeds through every word. With his desperate, kind eyes and his doggedness to save his friends and the woman he loves, you never doubt the others willingness to trust him with their lives.
It’s also worth mentioning the show’s production value. For such a small budget, the atmosphere, setting, and lighting are brilliant. The Edge of Sleep doesn’t shy away from color or well-lit scenes: it possesses an X-Files level of mastery over framing the dark without taking away from its terror. Pulsing, strange dream sequences shine with neon and are haunted by terrifying visages from beyond human comprehension. Psychological torments endured by the characters, punctuated with ghastly dialogue, bring to mind The Twilight Zone—on mushrooms. While the show is plagued with minor errors that smaller projects often face, e.g. the occasional awkward camera angle or odd bit of pacing, this is ultimately a triumph for QCODE, Markiplier, and all who worked on it. Their passion and dedication make this show a unique and riveting experience, a stand-out amongst many other large budget endeavors.
In full disclosure, this review comes from a deeply personal place. I’ve been watching Mark’s videos since I was sixteen, and in the time I’ve observed his journey, he’s gone from excitedly reviewing a vacuum cleaner simulator 2013 to making the masterpiece that is the trailer for the movie Iron Lung. I mention this to exemplify the sky’s the limit when it comes to Mark’s efforts. Every project he’s worked on has grown in size, quality, and expert storytelling. I firmly believe a season two of The Edge of Sleep would build on the excellent foundation that has already been set, just as I believe that Mark will continue to make increasingly incredible media wherever he is given the opportunity.
The work of Kevin Smith has been in the zeitgeist for me this month. His ChronicCon came to Chicago right before I moved, bringing folks from different View Askew Productions films, tv shows, and podcast works. And recently, I had an hour-long discussion about Smith’s second film, Mallrats, which came out 29 years ago this October.
My friend, Carl, asked me if I liked the film since he was about to rewatch it. My short answer was yes, but then I went down the rabbit hole from there. I talked about how before Blade in 1998, Mallrats was instrumental in introducing comic book culture to the mainstream. Mallrats showed audiences the type of casual conversations Wednesday Warriors, who support brick-and-mortar comic shops, had as a community before Big Bang Theory was on television. It introduced the Stan Lee cameo before the Marvel movies started rolling out into theaters. But, most importantly, it took the premise of guys running around a mall, pulling pranks, trying to get girls, and moved it beyond the sub genre of 80’s sex farce comedy and brought a 90s indie sensibility to the genre. One which is respectful to women and telling men they can grow and be better.
Since Mallrats, Kevin Smith has been going strong as a creator for three decades. I’ve heard him talk many times over the years. Each time, I have found him funny and insightful, and I’ve been impressed with how he can captivate an audience. But, what I find most fascinating about Kevin Smith is how he’s always encouraging others to not feel trapped by their surroundings and to get out and create something if they feel moved to do so.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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…
When going to see a George Miller action film, you might be expecting flawlessly executed fight scenes, stunning scenic shots, and colors so bright they feel edible. Miller’s Mad Max films are a beautiful and brutal visual experience, a reprieve in a cinemascape inundated with darkness and flat, unimaginative lighting. They are known for their visual worldbuilding, their to-the-point, poignant plots, and their absolutely break-neck pace. But perhaps what you aren’t expecting from Miller’s vicious, post-apocalyptic wasteland is a message of hope, and the gentle, spring green love that helps it to bloom.
Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga is, at its core, a character-centered story. Slower than its predecessor, it is no less gruesome or exhilarating, but its darkness is deeper, sadder: the grief of an orphaned girl separated from her home, and subjected to the whims of madmen. Furiosa, in her suffering, has every right to be as ugly and as cruel as the world that raises her, but time and time again, we watch her choose a kinder path. Choose to trust. Choose to offer salvation, and to become the woman we know from Mad Max: Fury Road. This is no more obvious than in the relationship she shares with Praetorian Jack, the legendary driver of the War Rig, and Furiosa’s best hope to find her way home.
This movie doesn’t contain an excess of dialogue, in fact, the only one who speaks incessantly is Dr. Dementus: the hateful, hilarious, and begrudgingly pitiful antagonist of young Furiosa. But what the movie doesn’t say with words, it shows with deeds. In the midst of the ravages of the desert and beneath the dirty greed of men, Furiosa and Jack grow something as precious as the bountiful abundance of her home. Through their trust, their intimacy, and their hope to escape together, they defy a universe that expects them to be apathetic, selfish, ignoble. Through her, Jack is redeemed. Through him, Furiosa holds tight to her humanity. This connection is not physical, as far as the audience sees. They share a single moment of closeness, foreheads knocking, lips murmuring “My Fury,” “My Jack.” But there is no need for declarations, passionate kisses, or overblown displays of sexual prowess. There is only Miller’s brilliant ability to render a message of self-sacrifice in the midst of gunfire and explosions. There is only Jack and Furiosa, choosing each other over safety, freedom, and escape. There is only hope in every action they take, which reaffirms their love in the wasteland. You are my green place.
“In the process, we find them, relinquishing their own self interest, one for the other. What follows is, through their actions, not their words, their promises to each other, but through their actions, that they actually are prepared to give themselves entirely to the other. So in a way, it’s kinda a love story, in the middle of an action scene.”
The cover of A Fox in My Brain (FairSquare) say it is written, drawn, and experienced by Lou Lubie. The experienced part is why I connected with this graphic memoir about Lubie’s discovery and daily living with cyclothymia, which is a mood disorder from the bipolar family. “Bipolar disorder takes various forms, and cyclothymia, extensively addressed in A Fox in My Brain, is still quite unknown, suffering practically from a harmful delay in diagnosis,” as stated in the graphic novel’s post face by psychologist Isabelle Leygnac-Solignac.
It is Lubie’s perseverance through misdiagnosis that I related to in addition to how accurately she conveys mood swings, depression, and processing a relationship with another person. A Fox in My Brain is a graphic novel that I would hand to my partner, my family, and my friends to inform them of the experience of being misdiagnosed for your mental health and to share how someone with cyclothymia, bipolar 1, or bipolar 2 feels with a stigma society has created around the disorder.
Lou Lubie’s has a wonderful fluid art style, which works for the fox that represents Lubie’s cyclothymia. Her depression is as represented as a wolf, which comes out of the shadows as it lurks and growls when Lubie feels the disparity associated with depression. A Fox in My Brain is a truthful story about one person’s mental health awareness, which I honestly connected with.
Growing up, I didn’t quite realize how much of a powerhouse Gene Wilder was in the film industry. I knew he was funny, I knew he was in all the movies I watched with my dad, but I didn’t realize just how special and influential he was until I was much older. Remembering Gene Wilder, a tribute documentary released in early 2024, features countless behind-the scene clips and interviews with those who knew Wilder most intimately. Though the documentary doesn’t follow the traditional, linear storytelling we’ve come to anticipate for films of this nature, it somehow makes sense for Wilder’s story to be told in such a manner. Most of Wilder’s creative genius is presented through the outrageous storytelling of Mel Brooks, but most special, is the inclusion of the narration of the now-deceased Wilder, providing an look into his world that only he could provide. We’re given insight into the creation of Young Frankenstein (my favorite film of his), Wilder’s transition into acting-direction, and bits and pieces of his personal life that make you feel further enamored with the powerhouse.
As a life-long Wilder fan, Remembering Gene Wilder captured much more than Wilder’s Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factoryand Mel Brooks fame. It showcased Wilder’s tenacity as a writer, his unique thought process while acting-directing, and his consistent desire to uplift and support up-and-coming actors in the industry. This documentary highlighted just how much of a powerhouse Wilder was and frankly continues to be years after his death in 2016.
Okay, I’m a little late to the party. I bought Mass Effect Legendary Edition sometime last year during a huge sale. It was practically free, and there were romance options. What more could a girl want? I started playing it a few weeks ago, and I regret not starting it sooner. Mass Effect explores a massive world in space, with an attention-grabbing main storyline and plenty of side quests to keep you on your toes. You play as Commander Shepard making decisions that will affect you, your squad, and maybe even the world. I’ve never been into science fiction, but I have to say this game is one of a kind.
While I’m only on the first of the trilogy, I’ve played enough to know this is a game I won’t be putting down any time soon. It’s been a while since I’ve started a game that made me think, “Wow, I have to see this to the end.” If you’re like me and you haven’t played this masterpiece yet, I highly recommend it.
And no, I’m not just saying that ‘cause I can date the pretty Turian.
Tyrone Finch currently has a comic miniseries out from Ahoy Comics called DEADWEIGHTS, and the spirit he brings to friendship is the DNA of this book. DEADWEIGHTS is about two former supervillains finding their way after one is kicked off the team and the other decides to stand by their friend’s side. Finch writes about sticking by someone through hard times from a place of truth. This comic is not the manufactured bromance we usually see in comic book, but a friendship of heart backed up in the blood, sweat, and fears of the characters actions and the repercussions of those actions.
These actions are smashingly portrayed by artist Sebastian Piriz. The artwork of Piriz also captures the tight, pulled-in moments as the characters wrestle internally and celebrate their support of one another. He is an artist I admire and recently have found myself checking out any project he is working on.
The DEADWEIGHTS miniseries is coming out monthly from Ahoy Comics.
Before anyone get’s mad at me, I have been a major Chappell Roan fan since she released “Pink Pony Club” as a single in 2020. So, when her debut album, The Rise and Fall of a Midwest Princess, was initially released in September 2023, it was no surprise that I had it on repeat for weeks and weeks and weeks. I thought I’d eventually move onto another pop princess as new music was released and return to this album from time to time. But, as we move into warmer months and everything gets a fresh breath of life, the more Roan’s debut album cements itself as a constant in my musical rotation. I don’t just come back to The Rise and Fall of a Midwest Princess, I’m comparing everything I hear to the album. And nothing satiates me in the same way.
Roan’s album features songs you can’t get out of your head, songs that compel you to grab a friend and sway with tears in your eyes under a disco ball, songs that you want to sing in a crowd of people covered in glitter, and much more. Quite plainly, there’s life injected into this album and Roan herself. It’s a feel I wish I could bottle and carry with me everywhere I go. Whatever magic is in this album, it’s something rare and incredibly authentic in today’s age of music and consumption. I’m eager to see how Roan’s career grows from this debut, which already feels larger than life. That’s all to say, if you’re on the hunt for an album of the summer…look no further!
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.
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)!
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!
To help get through the winter months and my seasonal depression, I’m rewatching the previous seasons of ResidentAlien. 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.
Mychal Threets, who won this year’s I Love My Librarianaward, is having a moment, but the patrons of the Solano County Library will hopefully feel Mychal’s influence and impact for years to come. I am thoroughly enjoying the openness and warm, welcoming energy Mychal brings to social media. Mychal has a soft, Blues Clues-host vibe when discussing what’s going on in the library and how it’s a space for appreciation of others.
Around the time of the award, Mychal was talking with Oliver James on social media. Oliver’s account centers around teaching himself to read as an adult living with OCD. I very much appreciated their discussion of literacy and engagement with books. I also grew up with a learning disability and eventually went on to work with a literacy organization and marry a librarian. Mychal is equally open about mental health awareness and announced his last day at Solano County Library would be on March 1st to prioritize mental health and work with his mental health check-in team. I equally appreciate this openness as someone who also left their full-time job to prioritize their mental health, and I am in his corner as he puts his health first.
There’s been a lot of discussion about banning books in libraries lately. Growing up, I had to work around the stereotypical shushing librarians to find space in a room I didn’t feel invited to, especially as someone from an “ethnic city” family living in the suburbs during the seventies. I celebrate great librarians like Mychal and literacy spaces because I know what it was like growing up within a conservative curated collection. A real librarian doesn’t see their patrons to check out books but makes sure they are seen on the shelves. Visit Mychal Threets online then stop by your own local library.
For the past few months I have been on a button-mashing, finger-bashing, and skull-smashing rampage through the roguelite dungeon crawler, Hades. This comes as a surprise, because I’m notorious for abandoning games that require dying to advance to higher levels. Hades is no exception to this rule. But what makes Hades brilliant is the way it uses its death mechanic: when you die, you advance the story.
The protagonist of Hades is the fire-stepping Prince of the Underworld, Zagreus. His mission is to fight his way out of his father’s realm. This realm is rife with ghostly enemies: vexatious witches, club-wielding wretches, and even revered heroes from the surface world. And with such formidable opponents, Zagreus dies. A lot. When you perish, you return to the game’s starting point, the House of Hades, a venerable stone mansion populated by Zagreus’s closest friends and family. With each successive death, these characters reveal to you their deepest desires and their most secret fears. And Zagreus reveals more of himself: his contentious relationship with his father, his outsider status among the denizens of the Underworld, and the secret that drove him to attempt escape—he seeks a long-lost mother he has never met.
There’s hardly an emotional motivation more compelling than this, a child who longs for love and acceptance. It is a core that keeps you fighting even as the game slaughters you again and again. “I have to get this guy to his mom.” Eventually, you do. And it is glorious.
Mr. Villain’s Day Off poses a relatively simple question as its premise: what does a lead villain trying to take over the world do on his days off? The answer is—he tries to enjoy them to their fullest, and, in turn, slowly grows to appreciate Earth and its strange inventions and inhabitants.
Called only the General, our main character is the antagonist to Super Ranger-like heroes—until he’s off the clock. He then changes into his comfy turtleneck and trench coat and strives to avoid work at all costs. This new slice-of-life anime has already managed to capture my heart. There’s nothing more relaxing than watching someone attempt to strike that perfect work-life balance while reveling in the small moments and details that make living life worth it. Whether it’s watching pandas at the zoo, ordering latte art of said pandas, or working up the courage to eat a limited-edition panda meat bun, the General does it with unmatched determination that I can’t help but find endearing.
Another thing about this show, it is unbearably cute. The General’s successes, and failures, have me smiling throughout the whole episode. Cute girls doing cute things is a popular genre in anime, but I think that cute guys doing cute things should be just as standard. Adults, and particularly men, aren’t often shown enjoying their life in media, and I love the way that Mr. Villain’s Day Off pushes back against that.
I’m probably not the first person to recommend you Schitt’s Creek. I’m probably not the second. You’re probably thinking, “Ugh, I know, I know, everyone says I would love Schitt’s Creek, but I watched the first episode/handful of episodes/season and I just wasn’t hooked.”
Dear reader, listen to me—listen to me, I beg of you. I know you. I see you. I was you. It’s no mistake Schitt’s Creek fans are constantly pushing the show on unsuspecting sitcom enjoyers, wheedling and insisting that you’ll love it with all the brimming sentimentality of a Canadian grandma wearing a pride pin. It really, really is that good.
Schitt’s Creek follows the wealthy Rose family who loses everything and has no choice but to move to a crusty motel in the middle of nowhere. Over six seasons, Schitt’s Creek demonstrates the power of character-driven storytelling; what begins as a comedy satirizing the idiosyncrasies of the uber-rich unfolds into a beautiful journey of personal growth, love, and family. You’ll see yourself and your own family in the Roses—Alexis and David Rose have the realest sibling dynamic I’ve seen on TV, and Moira and Johnny’s marriage has a verisimilitude that could only be achieved by the decades-long friendship between Catherine O’Hara and Eugene Levy. Real-life father-and-son duo, Eugene and Dan Levy invite the viewer to a more hopeful world—one where queer acceptance is a given, love is precious, and everyone is good at heart. You’ll cry by the end, guaranteed.
I absolutely love watching movies! It is one of my all-time favorite ways to pass time. After quarantining, I started going to the movie theaters more often, really taking advantage of their discount Tuesday’s.
During this routine, I watched the new film adaptation of Willy Wonka, starring Timothée Chalamet, Keegan Michael-Key, Olivia Colman, Hugh Grant, Rowan Atkinson, and other fun actors. Wonka is a whimsical movie establishing more background on Willy Wonka before the adventures seen in the original film and the book written by Roald Dahl. The soundtrack was beautifully done, it really captured the essence of Wonka and the magical spirit of the film. This reimagining separated itself from other movies, staying true to the essence of the story while giving its own playful spin. It also introduced us to new storylines and interesting characters. I know there were mixed feelings over this film, but I really enjoyed it. It reminded me of my childhood. The whimsicalness, the vibrant coloring, people’s LOVE for chocolate. I definitely recommend watching Wonka, you’re in for a fun time. Just be wary, the songs might get stuck in your head!
This week, articles flooded my social media feeds announcing the narrative lead of my favourite video game franchise, Suikoden, sadly passed away at 55. Yoshitaka Murayama of Rabbit & Bear Studios was the chief writer for the Suikoden series, which spanned five titles and numerous spin-offs for PlayStation and Nintendo DS from 1995-2012.
In Murayama’s honour, I’ve decided to replay Suikoden. I played it for the first time at age 6. It’s a whimsical, turn-based fantasy game that has you collect 108 ragtag allies and lead a revolution against the corrupt imperialist government into which you were born. The game features adorable artwork and a disarmingly rich soundtrack. There’re mysterious, magical crystals called runes governing the world’s elemental powers. Oh, and there are flying squirrels. And gambling. You know how it is.
The older I get, the more it amazes me that Murayama created such a socially and politically nuanced narrative with Suikoden while being fun and accessible across age and literacy brackets. To me, this is masterful storytelling. I like to say Suikoden radicalized me before I could pronounce “radicalized,” or “Suikoden.” For that Murayama will always have my gratitude. Through his writing, I had formative exposure to diversity and representation in storytelling. I learned about the limits of black-and-white morality, and the importance of individual choice. Suikoden is why I love writing, and why I love video games. I’d recommend it to anyone who’ll listen.
Farming sims and RPGs have been around for quite some time. The classics of Harvest Moon and Story of Seasons, the iconic Stardew Valley, the upcoming Fields of Mistria—they’re not going away for a long time. Now, take that and add…building?
My Time at Sandrock is an RPG where rather than moving to a new town to take over your deceased grandfather’s farm, you move to a new town to take over a builder’s workshop. The full release recently came out, and though I only just got around to starting it, I’ve been having a blast. This game is heaps better than its predecessor, My Time at Portia (though Portia has a special place in my heart).
Aside from building for the community, you can mine, fight, farm, and form relationships with the other townsfolk. It’s something you can easily sink your time into, and overall, it’s a great game. The writing is witty and the plot keeps you on your toes. Games like Sandrock and Portia, ones with complete storylines, remind me so much of books. They don’t have to be perfect or extraordinary, but if the story is engaging and the characters evoke emotion, then I’d say they end up being something pretty special.
When I talk about the Sandman, I am not like most comic book fans. The character I am talking about isn’t Spider-Man’s granulated, morphing foe or Neil Gaiman’s groundbreaking goth-classic character. My Sandman is the Golden Age character, Wesley Dodds. Dodds, in his WWI gas mask, stood out to me against his WWII counterparts by wearing a three-piece suit, trench coat, and fedora while the rest of the Justice Society of America were flexing their muscles in tights and domino masks.
The new DC Comics miniseries by writer Robert Venditti and artist Riley Rossmo delves into Dodds as a man-of-mystery hero rather than a two-fisted, vigilante crime fighter. Venditti writes to the core of the character by looking at the nonviolent nature of the Sandman’s sleeping gas and PTSD from Dodds’ father in WWI, which led to his path as a hero and experiments with nonlethal weapons.
Rossmo’s art style is perfect for a series that needs to be grounded in the urban alleyways of gangster pulp and other times drift away in the dreams of a tormented hero trying to make the world safer. Besides hired thugs and gang bosses, the main villain is a darker version of Dodds, using toxic gases and tapping into the hero’s horrors and his work against chemical weapons in warfare.
Wesley Dodds: The Sandman shows a character a step between comic book and pulp novel heroes. It also shows the mindset of someone trying to make the world better between two world wars all while dealing with local violence and injustice in his city.
*SPOILER ALERT* The following contains plot details about Marry My Husband.
If Marry My Husband is just your run-of-the-mill K-Drama, then I sincerely regret sleeping on K-Dramas until now! Based on a Webtoon by Sung So-jak, Marry My Husband follows the story of Kang Ji-won, a woman who gets a second chance at life after she is murdered by her husband and best friend, who were having an affair.
I’ve often wondered what life decisions I would make differently if I got the chance to go back in time with the knowledge I have now. I also love a good revenge story! What makes Marry My Husband special is the plot’s seamless acknowledgement of some of the technical complications of time travel. In early episodes, we learn that in her previous life, Ji-won was diagnosed with stomach cancer, which was implied to result from gastritis due to the stress of her marriage. When Ji-won is thrust back into her life prior to her illness, she learns, through a series of experiments, that although future events can’t completely be avoided, they can be delayed or passed on to someone else. With this knowledge in mind, Ji-won makes it her mission to set up her best friend and future husband to avoid her fate.
Along the way, Ji-won forms genuine friendships, learns to stand up for herself, and grows more confident in her appearance and personality. Oh, and don’t worry—there’s plenty of romance, too, courtesy of the mysterious Yoo Ji-hyuk, Ji-won’s manager who seems to know more than he should about Ji-won.
