Alina van den Berg

Yi Yi 

I finally got around to watching Edward Yang’s Yi Yi (2000) and now I’m kicking myself for not watching it sooner. It’s about a family in Taipei going about their lives and by the end of it you feel like you’re living life with them. 

It’s one of those observational movies that make you feel like you are overhearing a stranger’s conversation as you walk past or watching a couple fight on a balcony. At the same time, it’s homey and lived in, their apartment as familiar to me as my own grandma’s. The characters feel inherent to their setting, and they’re filmed in a way to highlight that. I really love when movies have a lot of wide shots. Better yet when the camera stays still and lingers, refusing to look away. Let me sit with these characters! Let me situate them! I want to feel this place!  

The film does this thing where sounds are constantly overlapping, not just as “background noise,” but genuine overlap. The sounds from the outside world—from their neighbors, from the street below—don’t disappear because there is an intimate conversation happening. Life around them continues, through disappointment, happiness, growing pains, love. A teenage girl has her heart broken while her father’s friends discuss financial investments in the other room.  

It’s a deeply earnest story and on top of it all, it’s beautiful to look at. I can’t stop thinking about it.

Anne Ramirez

Busy, Yet Pretty

I don’t typically spend my days listening to podcasts, as I tend to prefer music and audiobooks. However, Jadyn Hailey has captured my attention and won my heart with her optimism and motivation in her podcast, Busy, Yet Pretty. Lately, I’ve been spending my mornings and free time catching up on the episodes. 

This podcast is all about setting goals, improving personal habits, and creating a life you love to wake up to. I really appreciate her emphasis on balance and wellness rather than unreasonable productivity and “hustle culture.” The episodes are in bite-sized lengths, typically thirty minutes each, and they are filled with motivational words, tips for healthy productivity, reminders for self-love, and all kinds of other advice! Some of the episodes have truly changed my life, as they have helped me to overcome procrastination and negative self-talk, as well as realize some of my loftiest personal goals. The host is like a loving older sister who cheers for her siblings and pushes them toward success; her cheerful voice guides the listener toward positive thinking and hopeful ambition. Listening is like drinking a mental and emotional energy drink. 

If you’ve been wanting to improve your lifestyle and could use a mood booster for your morning routine or your commute, listening to Busy, Yet Pretty is a fun way to gain inspiration and create tangible, positive changes. 

Ewa Majewski 

When the Moon Hatched

Trusting BookTok for a recommendation is not for the faint of heart. It’s a gamble. A leap of faith. Occasionally, a mistake. But when I saw When the Moon Hatched by Sarah A. Parker was getting the hype it deserved, I thought: FINALLY. A good one.  

When I read the book in 2023—yeah, that is a long time ago, and I am still thinking about it—I was hoping the rest of the internet would catch up because I simply needed someone to talk about that ending.  

Set in a world shaped by fallen moons and dangerous elemental magic, the story follows a fiercely guarded heroine whose buried past and hidden power begin to collide with a brewing war. What unfolds is layered, romantic, brutal, and deeply emotional. 

Also, did I mention there are dragons! 

With the sequel, The Ballad of Falling Dragons, coming out in just a few months, now is the time to dive into this world of magic, love, and adventure before the spoilers start flying.  

And if you are still not convinced, here is one of my (many) favorite quotes from the book: 

“Chase death, Moonbeam. And I pray your bloodlust brings you the same sense of peace I feel just knowing you exist.”   

Pratyusha P.

My Lady Jane

If you are, like me, spiritually attached to messy historical women and lightly unhinged court politics, please allow me to introduce you to My Lady Jane. 

Loosely inspired by Lady Jane Grey, the show asks: what if Tudor England were chaotic, magical, and slightly feral? What if political betrayal came with sword fights, slow-burn yearning, and a husband who occasionally turns into a horse? Yes. A horse. And trust me, it works. 

What makes My Lady Jane so electric is its audacity. It treats history less like a sacred text and more like a sandbox. The narration is cheeky, deliciously blends courtly intrigue with modern wit, and Jane herself is everything you want from a heroine—bookish, sharp-tongued, stubborn, and deeply unwilling to go quietly to the scaffold. 

It’s funny. It’s swoony. It’s camp. And beneath all the glitter and galloping chaos, there’s something earnest: a girl refusing to be a tragic footnote. 

Which makes it all the more devastating that it was cancelled after ONE season. If you haven’t watched it yet, consider this both a recommendation and a eulogy. 

Renee Sadler

The Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance

With the Muppets getting new attention due to the Sabrina Carpenter Special, I’ve been spending a lot of time thinking about—and rewatching—my personal favorite Jim Henson project, The Dark Crystal. Specifically, The Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance. 

The Dark Crystal breaks the mold of Henson’s other works, it’s not bright and fluffy like Muppets and Sesame Street. In this project, Henson was exploring something darker. Something raw. The movie explores a post-genocide world with no human actors. Every character is a detailed, realistically-rendered fantasy puppet. With expert storytelling and deep emotion, Henson creates a world completely alien from our own while still reflecting our own dark qualities. 

When it comes to Netflix’s TDC: Age of Resistance, I can’t think of a single other prequel that takes the source material and builds on it in such a faithful and expansive way. The show introduces various clans, building out the mythology and various cultures of Thra. Since it is a prequel, we know all is lost, yet find ourselves hopeful for the main characters and rooting for each small victory. 

I’ll always be hurt that this story ended prematurely; the phenomenal sets and puppets left to collect dust. But I think it’s important to revisit this story even with its uncertain conclusion. This resistance of the small—of which there are many—against the powerful—of which there are few.   

Also, who doesn’t love a Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas style duo of queer-coded hermits.  

Mika Ellison

The Dispossessed

It’s been a while since I’ve read Ursual K. Le Guin, so picking up The Dispossessed was a pleasant surprise, since I’d forgotten just how utterly masterful Le Guin is at what she does.

Like many of her novels, The Dispossessed, written in 1974 (I know, I’m late, whatever) is pretty obviously a thought experiment, or rather a series of thought experiments, mostly about what kinds of society are possible for humanity to sustain. Le Guin was inspired by the writing of famous anarchists to create a speculative anarchist society on the moon, one that had split off over a hundred years ago from their capitalist planet. And then she spins out exactly what that might look like, from the perspective of a physicist from the moon who visits the capitalist planet on a research trip/mission. 

But the magic of Le Guin, and what makes her an absolute titan of the genre, is all of this complicated political machinery is reduced to what it actually is: people making decisions, many of them flawed, but just as many attempting to do right by their community and their loved ones. Le Guin’s respect for human compassion, and the ability for people to grow and change, is all the more incredible because of how clearly she sees human nature itself. When she suggests a new vision of humanity, and when she imagines a better, different world, you listen. Because in her hands, anything seems possible. 
The Dispossessed functions brilliantly as both an allegory for the world we live in and as a story that envelops you with its exacting detail and riveting plot. Par for the course for Le Guin, but a revelation for me.

Ari Iscariot

Iron Lung

The end of the world. A convict sentenced to scour an alien planet covered in an ocean of blood. A sea floor littered with clues regarding the disappearance of humanity. Haunted by the ghosts, mistakes, and betrayals of his past, this convict fights to survive in the isolation of a welded shut, rusted submarine and to withstand the influence of horrors so Eldritch and incomprehensible he can barely hold onto his sanity.

This is the premise of Mark Fischbach’s indie horror movie, Iron Lung, adapted from a video game of the same name. Self-financed, cowritten, directed, distributed, and starred in by Mark, this film wasn’t expected to show in more than 50 to 200 theaters. But after insistent requests to theaters, made by fans of Markiplier (Mark Fischbach’s widely successful Youtube channel) and of the game, Iron Lung has shown in more than 4,000 theaters and debuted to the tune of $21.7 million, after reportedly costing $3 million to make. So what’s the secret to the film’s success? 

Firstly, adulation must be given to the technical aspects. With such a small set (a painted wooden box pumped full of 80,000 gallons of blood) the film could have easily become visually boring, trapped in the same space for most of the story. But brilliant camera work elevates the visuals past the usual indie benchmark. The film makes clever use of reflections (a glass port window, a computer screen, even the convict’s eyes) and capitalizes on intense close-ups and dramatic lighting to reveal information in carefully measured punches. Exploration and discovery ensure the space doesn’t feel static, secrets are continually discovered: written messages, concealed panels, and pitch-black crawlspaces. Mark’s acting, after a slow, building start, further guarantees the audience stays invested. His big personality and dramatics are streamlined into a galvanic, desperate, heart-wrenching performance. The eerie sound design, cataclysmic soundtrack, and ever ratcheting tension leaves you raw, gasping, and abs sore from flinching. The emotional aspect of the terror weighs heavy, as the claustrophobic space allows you no visual distraction or escape.

The second secret to the film’s success is the expansion of the convict’s backstory and the game’s lore. Without getting too spoilery, I believe fans of the game will be pleased with how the original story was preserved, while also providing the convict with more depth and agency. In the film, the convict is given the opportunity to decide his fate, and by extension, the fate of humanity. “This is bigger than any of us,” is the film’s repeated tagline, and while it’s unfair not all of humanity will survive, our characters believe sacrifice is a worthy price to pay to leave the world a better place. This allows the film an ending that, while not joyous, still has a breath of hope in it, and is deeply satisfying.

I find this theme strangely fitting for Mark’s first directorial debut. He has expressed many times his own desire to leave the world a better place for future generations. With this film, Mark is trailblazing and inspiring and doing good—creating a blood drive alongside the premiere of the movie, paying bonuses to all his staff after the movie’s success, netting a win for filmmakers by showing independent passion projects can survive and thrive without the support (and censure) of a massive Hollywood studio. I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to say the success of this movie is a win for everyone, the people who made it, the fans who supported it, and the future movie-makers it will inspire to break beyond the constraints of the industry. Most of all, it’s a win for audiences that desire daring art created with imagination and spite and love.

Taylor Pittman

Heated Rivalry

Heated Rivalry is a Crave original that HBO picked up at the end of 2025. When I tell you, I’ve been obsessed with this show since its release. Based on the Game Changers series by Rachel Reid, Heated Rivalry follows Shane and Ilya, two rival hockey players, who end up falling in love with each other. For romance lovers, it has everything: the chemistry, the tension, and a bit of spice. 

However, it is incredibly emotional at times as it explores the struggles professional athletes face regarding their sexuality and the homophobia they may encounter. In fact, since its release, several hockey players have come out themselves, and there is more support and representation in the sport than ever before. It’s already been confirmed for season two, and I can’t wait to see Shane and Ilya’s story continue.

Franchesca Nicole Lazaro
Anaïs Nin: A Sea of Lies

Anaïs Nin: A Sea of Lies by Léonie Bischoff, translated by Jenna Allen, is a graphic novel that left a terrifying impression on me. I’ve been collecting pieces of Nin’s works and biographies for a deep dive, but I first encountered this book at my local library while I was picking up a hold. Reading it before diving into her own writing gave me a powerful glimpse into the struggles that shaped her voice.

What struck me most was how Bischoff depicts Nin’s inner life. The pacing follows Nin’s shifting relationships with her husband, Henry Miller, June Miller, her father, and others, while weaving in her conflicts over art, sexuality, and selfhood. The illustrations move fluidly between grounded scenes and surreal, dreamlike imagery, echoing Nin’s own literary style. 

For me, the book clarified not only why Nin wrote the way she did, but also how much her life was entwined with her art. It made me reflect on how interpersonal relationships and emotional pain shape creativity in ways that are both generative and haunting.

I’d recommend this graphic novel to anyone curious about how relationships, sexuality, and abuse can influence art. Brace yourself: it challenges how you think about intimacy, expression, and what it means to make art out of life.

Melissa Chew

Alien Stage

If you love battle royales, doomed romance, and finishing a story that tells yourself “we live in a society,” do I have the show for you. Alien Stage recently finished its first season, leaving me sadder than when I started, and singing it’s OST like I’m back in my 2015 Hamilton phase (my favorite song is Wait for It). Expect tears in the later episodes but trust me—the pain is worth it.

The plot revolves around aliens enslaving humans and dragging them into their planet to serve as pets. Because of humans’ “beautiful voices,” aliens send their pets to compete in the Alien Stage with musical training from youth in the Anakt Garden. The competition is a year-round robin to the death where the best singer survives their way to achieve “freedom.” This dystopic, idol-themed animation is an excellent subtextual commentary on society, freedom, and love, portrayed beautifully through unreliable narrators and weave-ins of lore, lyrics, and genius imagery.

Once I started, I couldn’t stop. I broke out in cold sweats thinking what could possibly happen next while somehow grooving to the songs in the episodes (and later singing them in every karaoke bar when I had the chance.) Expect to be indecisive about who your favorite character or pairing is because the cast and their relationships are so well written and hidden with immense lore that the theories compete with the lorecrafting fans of Five Nights at Freddy’s.

Gosh. Now I want to rewatch Alien Stage.

Mika Ellison

Where Are You Really From

I recently read Where Are You Really From, the new short story collection from Elaine Hsieh Chou. I loved Disorientation, her debut novel, because it was an absolute page-turner, but also has this beautiful quality of feeling like Chou was holding up a concept and turning it so that it reflected the light in new ways, refracting into different colors and shapes.

The stories in Where Are You Really From do the same thing, which features themes of family estrangement, American citizenship, and self-alienation. Chou’s stories draw you in by their overwhelming feeling of normalcy, even comfort. They are replete with familiar settings, from jobs to apartments to movie sets; it feels as though you could slot right into the background of her character’s lives—in fact, maybe they’re in the background of your life, just under your radar. Then, so slowly you don’t notice it, the story begins to dip into the realm of the strange and absurd. Before you know it, it’s difficult to tell what’s real and what isn’t. Somehow, Chou is able to slip in the weird and bizarre exactly where we don’t expect it, where, like an optical illusion, it lurks in our blind spot until we realize it’s been there the whole time. She also writes about the magical elements of her stories with the same knowing, clear, eye as she does the rest, until everything feels equally absurd, from the strangeness of meeting a parallel-universe version of you to the sudden, wrenching absence of a childhood friend.

Olivia Ocran

When the Phone Rings

Before I tell you about this show, it’s important you know I am the worst at watching any TV series. There are plenty of shows I’ve loved and binge-watched for days on end, just to abandon them a few episodes from the finale. I don’t know why I do this, but When the Phone Rings was not a victim of my erratic TV consumption.  

The twelve-episode series follows a married couple searching for the identity of their blackmailer who communicates through anonymous phone calls, while repairing their marriage before divorce becomes the only option. For those of you (like me) who fancy action-packed, fast-paced shows such as Alice in Borderland and those who love to see a character receive exactly what’s coming to them like in Girl From Nowhere, and those who love a swoon-worthy romance to weave it all together, When the Phone Rings is perfect for you! This show strikes a perfect balance between joining the ranks of the popular k-dramas we’ve all come to know and love, and a thriller that has you at the edge of your seat by the end of the episode.

Taylor Pittman

Pearl: The Novel

Pearl, the film, was released in 2022 and featured one of the best modern female slashers brought to screen. I was a little late to the game, but Tim Waggoner released a novelization of the film, and I read it a couple of weeks ago. The novelization follows a young woman from East Texas as she dreams of becoming a movie star in 1918. She lives with her overbearing (yet neglectful) mother, sick father, farm animals, and pet alligator. However, the story takes a dark turn as we quickly realize Pearl has violent tendencies and a desperate need to get away from home. Still, I found myself sympathizing with her at times as I saw how her family treated her and her childlike desire to follow her dreams.

Mia Goth’s breathtaking performance was missed, but Waggoner still brought Pearl to life in a new way as we get insight into her descent to madness and craving for blood lust. Pearl is a twisted, complex character that explores how nature vs nurture influence a person to become something inhumane. Family trauma, a global pandemic, and isolation push her to the edge. Waggoner is no stranger to film-to-book adaptions, and I was thrilled when I saw he took on Pearl. He also did novelizations of the other two films in the series, X: The Novel and MaXXXine: The Novel, which I will definitely be reading.

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.

Sara Santistevan

A Council of Dolls

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. 

Dominic Loise

Daredevil: Born Again

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 Gibbons The 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. 

Marizel Malan

Sunday (1994)

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)!

Lani McHenry

One Day

“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.

Bea Basa

Piranesi

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.

Bekah Bahn-Crownover

Her Body and Other Parties: Stories 

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.

Melissa Paulsen

Avatar: The Last Airbender

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.

Hannah M

The Intouchables

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!)

Dominic Loise

Elsbeth

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. 

Asmaani Kumar

Light Shop

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.

Kaitlin Lounsberry

The Brutalist

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.

Dominic Loise

West Hollywood Monster Squad

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 more Dragula than American Horror Story with monsters being that of after-school television animation and humor.

Dominic Loise

Alan Scott: The Green Lantern

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 Arrow run 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. 

Simon Kerr

To Be Taught, If Fortunate

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.

Eileen Silverthorn

Christmas Horror

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.

Kaitlin Lounsberry

The Great Impersonator

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.

Simon Kerr

Compound Fracture

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!

Ari Iscariot

The Edge of Sleep

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.

Dominic Loise

Mallrats

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.

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…