An Honest Review of Don't Worry Darling

If you’ve been keeping up with pop culture moments in the past couple of weeks, you may have heard the drama surrounding the movie Don’t Worry Darling. There have been rumors of lead actress Florence Pugh falling out with director Olivia Wilde, not to mention Harry Styles spitting on Chris Pine? (Read a recap here). After much anticipation leading up to the movie, I can unfortunately say that the movie does not live up to the hype. It’s an aesthetic movie, but nothing more.

The film follows two lovebirds, Alice (Florence Pugh) and Jack (Harry Styles), living in an idyllic 1950s oasis called Victory. But Victory is no ordinary town – it is an experimental project led by grandiose businessman Frank (Chris Pine). While Alice and the other women in the town spend their days lounging by the pool and having the typical duties of a housewife, the men of the town are off working on Frank’s secret project. But what is his secret project, exactly? And why will no one dare to question him? As Alice begins to prod at her utopian life, she unearths cracks in her reality that she will never be able to repair.

Now, let me start off by saying that I’m a big psychological thriller fan. If it’s anything like The Sixth Sense, Black Mirror, or Us, count me in. But this movie left me more confused than thrilled. And really, it’s not a bad movie. But it’s not great, either.

My biggest criticism of the movie is that it left too many loose ends. Unfortunately, I think this is a product of Wilde, who is a relatively novice director, being a little too ambitious with the script. There were several obvious plot holes throughout the movie, and the ending was lazy. Wilde opted for one of those, “leave the audience thinking,” endings – sure, I was thinking. I was thinking of how bad of an ending that was. Those types of endings can be done well if they give the audience a fair understanding of where each character lands within the plot of the movie. Don’t Worry Darling’s ending did not do that at all. In fact, there was no understanding of what happened to most of the characters, and no understanding of where the plotline would have ended. Instead of pondering the film’s themes of technology and feminism, I was left wondering what in the world was up with the eggs in the movie? Are they supposed to be a metaphor for something? If so, what do they represent? Looking back on it, I’m not sure they were meant to mean anything.

Generally, it felt like Wilde was trying a little too hard to be a Jordan Peele movie. Dispersed throughout the film are aesthetic images and clips of women dancing and a close-up of the human iris, which is meant to evoke the mystery behind Alice’s subconscious and give the audience clues as to what is really going on in the town. The first few times it happened, it was great. I felt entranced, in awe, and excited to see how such images were going to connect with the overall story. However, the third, fourth, and fifth times these clips were shown, it lost its magic. It went from being an aesthetic and important device for the film to an annoyance, a motif that lost its touch. Cinematography should be about making every shot a conscious decision – every angle should be well thought-out, every focus on an object should be discussed and contemplated. Instead, this movie’s cinematography was the epitome of “no thoughts, just vibes.”

In terms of the acting, Harry Styles is fine. The issue is, he is opposite the wonderful Ms. Flo, who is a powerhouse in her field. The best scene is when she and Chris Pine’s character have a suspenseful verbal, psychological war at the dinner table. The actors themselves are able to keep up with each other and play off each other’s astounding interpretation of the script. I wish there had been more of this dynamic in the film.

Additionally, this movie did not add anything new to the psychological thriller repertoire. The setup is a classic: a woman lives in a beautiful town, but not everything is as it seems – you can see where the movie is heading. While initially intriguing and enthralling, the themes of the movie quickly become old, as you wish for the movie to get to the point (which, it never does, or at least the point itself is shallow and predictable).

For all its talk on being a progressive film, Don’t Worry Darling does not push the envelope. On certain topics, it is actually regressive. Wilde has advertised the movie as one about feminism, but all it communicated to me was that misogyny exists. Well, duh. Misogyny exists, and what else? While it felt like Wilde was trying to make a profound, thoughtful take on feminism, she added nothing novel to the conversation. The entire theme was surface-level and one-dimensional at best.

One of the dimensions it lacked was race. Race and feminism are inextricably linked, yet Wilde seemed to completely ignore this element in her film. In fact, she noticeably uses the Black martyr trope with Kiki Layne’s character, Margaret. Margaret, the only Black character (with dialogue and screen time, at least) in a very white town, is arguably the most important character in the film, as she introduces Alice to the idea that Victory is not what it seems. If not for her, the entire plotline is null. Kiki Layne even mentioned that many of her scenes were cut from the movie. Wilde merely uses Margaret as a plot device for Alice to begin her own white feminist journey, and then tosses her aside once she serves her purpose. The same was done to Gemma Chan’s character, Shelley, who is Frank’s wife. We witness a major plot twist about her at the end that is jarring given that the audience had almost zero understanding of her character. Instead of building out Margaret’s and Shelley’s characters, the vain Wilde decides to include more of her own character’s scenes, who is entirely irrelevant to the plot.

Overall, I was disappointed because this movie had the potential to be much better. Instead, it got drowned out by Olivia Wilde’s drama and directing mistakes. If you’re bored, go see it. If not, don’t worry darling.

RATING: 3/5


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Revisiting “Jennifer's Body”

For those uninitiated: Jennifer’s Body is a brilliant (BRILLIANT!) 2009 horror film about a failed attempt at a deal with the devil, which leaves Jennifer (Megan Fox) to become a demon-possessed succubus relying on eating the souls of men for immortality and powers. The movie is centered around the perspective of Jennifer’s best friend Needy, and the slight strain of Jennifer becoming a demonic being puts on their friendship.

Before I dive into the movie itself, let’s set the scene. 2009. Skinny jeans and Juicy sets run amok in the streets. (Yes I know they are coming back. No I do not approve.) Diablo Cody, having just won an Oscar for Juno, is predicted by critics to be a one-hit wonder. I guess some people really hated made-up slangs in their movies. Megan Fox, very much still seen by the world just as a car-fixing, waterfall-dancing sex icon, suddenly thrusted into a role that may actually (gasp) showcase her acting abilities in a character that has more than two identifiable personality traits.

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The one last bit of backstory I want to mention is the release. The film had notoriously bad ratings at its release, with a 45% on Rotten Tomatoes and a wide range of criticism from “a gruesome-paint-by-bloody-numbers succubus story” (The Chicago Tribune) to “an old fashioned same sexploitative zing” (LA Times) and the charitable Roger Ebert review of “it’s not art… but as a movie about a flesh eating teenager, it’s better than it has to be.” Although people disliked the movie with or without preconceptions of Cody and Fox, I would like to approach the story of this release as Jennifer’s Body being ahead its time and a great 2007 time capsule of people’s attitudes toward women, particularly of stories centering around the female perspective and made for the female audience.

One such misunderstanding came from the marketing team of the movie, who, against Cody’s wishes, released trailers of the movie focusing on Megan Fox’s body in a scene where she emerges naked from a lake (to wash the blood from goring some guy to death, but I guess that didn’t seem as important to the movie as 10 seconds of her naked back).

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In my opinion, Jennifer’s Body makes some real and cinematically-ahead-of-its-time points about the female experience. Take for example ownership of the body: the titular subject of the movie, Jennifer’s body, is taken away from Jennifer in the first 20 minutes with her humanity, and she is viewed as a dangerous animal where even her best friend Needy is afraid of her. It is also important that the story is not told from her perspective — indeed, it is sometimes difficult to understand her behavior before the demonic possession through Needy, but it symbolizes Jennifer’s voice being taken away from her. Furthermore, the storyline is incredibly cruel to her: she experiences an attack at the start of the movie which dictates her actions through the rest of her story, painting her as a villain and eventually leading to her death.

Something that even the toughest 2009 critics would agree with me is that this movie is, at least partially, sexy. The aforementioned emerging-naked-from-a-lake scene may not be representative of the whole movie, but it is also an indispensable part of it. The murder scenes are filmed with a jarring male gaze camera (think camera panning to sensual and suggestive shadows of our heroine devouring unsuspecting men). Shameless flirtation of the female form with the camera tells two parallel messages: an empowering “femininity is power” and a debilitating “even at the cost of your humanity, you cannot escape the lens of men’s sexuality.” This, in my opinion, is something Cody does exceptionally well. Jennifer is simultaneously a monster with animalistic movements and an embodiment of feminine beauty — simultaneously more and less than human.

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While objectification and sexuality are interesting themes, for someone trying to have somewhat of a good time, it may relieve the reader to know that there are lighter themes to the film too. Cody does a great job of touching on teenage insecurity, particular in the most desired and pretty much invincible Jennifer, who’s actions are very visibly influenced by the opinions of Needy. The complexities of female friendships are also addressed: Needy and Jennifer’s friendship is central to the story and we watch Needy dealing with her past feelings for Jennifer being in conflict with her reactions to what Jennifer has become. It is very pleasing to me that in the final moments of the movie, we see Needy avenging her best friend through murdering the people responsible for Jennifer’s fate. While she makes tough decisions regarding Jennifer during her life, Needy ultimately seems to understand that Jennifer, despite putting up a perfect act, was not in control.

Over a decade later, this movie is still very relevant. To me, the underlying themes it addresses are almost synonymous with my understanding of womanhood (not the cannibalism, I swear, but the other bits). The out of control mine-but-not-always relationship with my body, the simultaneous power and vulnerability of being desired, and the insecurities that have no logical place in my brain are things I find to share with so many women in a very distinct way. This movie mirrors those aspects of my experience, making way for a very cathartic viewing. It is also a funny movie about a murderous cheerleader. Truly something for everyone.

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A "Philadelphia" Retrospective

Philadelphia (1993) has rarely been judged as a movie in itself; it was judged as merely a step forward (perhaps too little too late for Hollywood) or a failed attempt at propaganda, depending on your political views. The closest we get to a judgement of it as a work of art, rather than as a social campaign, is exemplified in brief comments like Roger Ebert’s: “Philadelphia is quite a good film, on its own terms.” Mostly it was analyzed with the ongoing AIDS crisis starkly in focus, and oftentimes it was compared, usually favorably, with other Hollywood movies; Ebert likened it to Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner (1967), a film which dramatized a white family coming to accept a woman’s black boyfriend. He called Philadelphia a “righteous first step.”

Tom Hanks plays Andrew Beckett, a lawyer at a high power law firm, who has just been made partner and given a case with the firm’s most important client by Charles Wheeler, head of the firm. When one of the other partners notices a lesion on Beckett’s forehead and determines he has AIDS, an important document goes mysteriously missing. Andy is subsequently fired for the supposed oversight. When Andy – suspecting he’s actually been fired for his illness – decides to sue his old firm, the only lawyer in town who will take his case is the homophobic ambulance chaser Joe Miller (played by Denzel Washington). As the case progresses, we glimpse more of Andy’s personal and family life. The night that he learns he has won his case, Andy dies in the hospital. 

Perhaps a better comparison than Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner would be To Kill a Mockingbird (1962) – both are courtroom dramas that appeal to white liberal sympathies; both star charismatic white actors (Hanks and Peck) to make their messages more palatable to a presumably hostile segment of the audience; and both sideline the othering aspects of their story. Mockingbird denies both voice and agency to its black characters, instead choosing to center its story on the white lawyer. Philadelphia, while one of its two main characters is gay and has AIDS, takes great pains to normalize Andy; he is kind, charming, hardworking, and has a good relationship with his family. Scenes of intimacy between Andy and his boyfriend were also reportedly removed for the theatrical cut, to avoid “grossing out” audiences (one scene, of them lying in bed together, was added back to the DVD version). 

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Still, the comparison feels unfair to Philadelphia, which makes the more deft use of its courtroom setting and has a more sensitive portrayal of the tragedy it depicts. Philadelphia has flashes of brilliance, even against the hackneyed backdrop that, as contemporary commentators were right to note, was likely responsible for the film’s existence in the first place. The film must then toggle between the comforting – to both audience and studio executives, no doubt – familiarity of the courtroom drama, and its far subtler, if still obligatory, human drama. 

A traditional courtroom drama forms the backbone of the story, for good reason: courtroom dramas are perfectly suited to arouse sympathy. The rigid conventions of the courtroom drama allow the filmmaking to deny any complexity to the villains of our story, a complexity which might edge sympathy away from Andy and towards them. In one scene, the partners of the firm walk down a dark hallway, shot from behind by director Jonathan Demme, their grandiose villainy made obvious solely by the filmmaking. They stop, and we turn to them, looking up at their faces as Wheeler bellows to a younger lawyer, “He brought AIDS into our offices – into our men’s room!” Demme and writer Ron Nyswaner even have them making vulgar jokes in comically on-the-nose supervillain cigar clubs, while they're at it. Andy is made our hero practically by default.

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The courtroom, however, offers much more than just an opportunity for cheap characterization of our villains (which is, admittedly, par for the course for legal dramas – see Mockingbird and The Rainmaker for canonical examples). It offers an avenue for a literal debate of the ethical considerations in the AIDS crisis. Opinions which were widely circulating – Pat Buchanan was not far from public opinion in declaring that gays “have declared war upon nature, and now nature is exacting an awful retribution” – could be tackled head on, with the opposing counsel already at an emotional disadvantage. (For that is something all good courtroom dramas recognize; the film wins by the emotion it manages to impart.) The jury acts as an audience stand-in, allowing the film to make emotional appeals and present evidence to them directly. This is why so many of our morality tales take place in the guise of the courtroom drama.

The courtroom scenes nonetheless constitute the weaker parts of the film. They are paint-by-numbers filmmaking at times, despite Demme’s and Nyswaner’s attempts to insert traces of originality. By following the expectations of a courtroom drama exactly, the film makes its message seem trite. In reaching for a crass emotionality they only debase the issue. Realizing this, the film smartly shifts focus in the second half by forefronting Andy’s declining health and his moving relationship with his family. By the time his courtroom victory happens, the real jury is already won over. 

The content of these scenes are equally as expected as the courtroom element, but here the artfulness of the filmmaking gets room to breathe. For example, there is the inevitable conversion scene: Joe must learn to respect Andy and lose his prejudice, his legal battle for fame and money must become a genuine search for justice. But its execution is more sensitive than most and is easily the most arresting scene in the movie. Demme places the characters in intimate close-ups as they go over the case in Andy’s apartment after a party. They are separated both emotionally and by the framing; Joe resists Andy’s personal questions, trying to keep him on business. Andy’s favorite aria comes on. “La Mamma Morta.” He ambles around the apartment, IV drip in tow, eyes closed, while the camera glides above him. As the singer crescendos Andy is bathed in red, translating her lament for Joe while crying softly. It ends, and as Joe leaves, he hears the opera begin again. He considers knocking, but decides to walk away, smiling as he does. By the time he gets home and holds his baby and wife, it has already happened.

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The film is often faulted for two facts about it: who made it and who it stars. For a virus which disproportionately affected gay and black men – which it still does, black men in particular – to be written and directed by two straight white men feels like a cynical marketing move at best, a cheat to those most impacted at worst. While this was not unusual for the time – Rent’s (1993) cast was also mostly white, and even Paris Is Burning (1990) had a white director – it does still feel wrong. What is at issue here is not just representation, but the very depiction of life with AIDS. In both Rent and Philadelphia, for example, those suffering from the virus have for the most part a distinctively upper-class and white experience with AIDS. Andy is never depicted as short on money, has a supportive relationship with his family and boyfriend, and until his infection is revealed he is able to pass comfortably as straight. The mostly black and latino subjects of Paris Is Burning clearly lead very different types of lives, and the depiction of AIDS changes for it. I don’t have to say which is more faithful in its depiction of most AIDS victims, or more tragic. 


But sacrifices had to be made for the film to even exist, and for the goal of the filmmakers to be achieved. “We wanted to reach the people who couldn’t care less about people with AIDS,” Demme recalled; Paris Is Burning didn’t make $206 million at the box office. And, small a gesture as it may be, 53 extras in the film were diagnosed AIDS victims. Philadelphia inhabits what Tarkovsky called “Cinema’s equivocal position between art and industry,” a balance which still exists, perhaps even more so now in the age of conglomeration, declining theater ticket sales, and relatively safe superhero blockbusters. If the films of today are braver than Philadelphia was, it is only because the line between profitability and art has shifted with us.

Little Women: Movie Review

Warning: The following review features major spoilers, but it’s a story that’s been out for 150 years, so I feel like this is fair.

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2019 was a year of great cinema, and one of its most standout films was Greta Gerwig’s adaptation of Little Women.

This latest adaptation features a stellar cast, starring Saoirse Ronan as tomboyish and rebellious writer Jo, Emma Watson as responsible oldest sister Meg, Florence Pugh as ambitious and artistic youngest sister Amy, Eliza Scanlen as sweet and musically-inclined Beth, Timothée Chalamet as boy next door Laurie, Laura Dern as loving matriarch Marmee, and Meryl Streep as condescendingly wealthy Aunt March.

Each of the main cast, as well as the supporting actors, all step into their roles with grace, effectively bringing to life some of the most beloved characters of all time. I’ve always admired Laura Dern and Meryl Streep’s acting, so naturally, I loved their performances, and Saoirse Ronan shines as the protagonist of the story. However, the standout performance of the movie is definitely Florence Pugh as Amy. Throughout the course of 2 hours and 15 minutes, she grows from a bratty, self-absorbed child into an elegant and thoughtful young woman. It is a testament to Pugh’s talent that the historically least popular character from the story has quickly become one of the most adored following the release of the film.

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There’s an idyllic charm in each of the film’s beautiful scenes, from the March sisters wearing pastel-colored dresses to go to the beach, to Laurie confessing his love for Jo against a backdrop of gorgeous New England foliage, to Amy painting in a Parisian park.

The March family by no means live an easy life: there are many references to the family’s financial hardship, their father is off at war, and Beth dies from scarlet fever. However, throughout its depiction of these hardships, the film continues to maintain its romanticized tone. The picturesque quality does not undermine the suffering of the characters but rather presents that life can still be beautiful in these circumstances if we work to romanticize it. The characters of the film, particularly the March sisters, spend a great deal of time using their vivid imaginations and artistic talents to cope. Meg pushes herself into acting, Jo writes stories of adventure as well as plays for her sisters to perform in, Beth relishes in her love for the piano, and Amy turns to her adoration for painting.

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The film is generally a faithful adaptation of the novel but is more explicit in its social commentary. Both Jo and Amy deliver powerful monologues regarding the role of marriage in women’s lives. Amy is particularly concerned about marriage as an economic institution for women, who had few other options to achieve financial freedom. Jo is disheartened by the fact that women are merely limited to their role of wives, maintaining that women have so much more to offer. The film also does an excellent job at blurring the line between Jo March and Louisa May Alcott in a way that has never been done before in other adaptations.

Little Women is definitely a must-see film that is visually stunning, thoughtful, and full of phenomenal performances. Make sure to catch it while it’s still in theaters!

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Parasite: From Top to Bottom

The genius of director Bong Joonho’s work is in the fact that his films are so immensely human. With many notable pieces of work under his belt, from Okja (2017), to Snowpiercer (2014), to Mother (2009), and many more, there is an originality to his style, an ability to weave matters of dysfunction and ethicality with sincere performance and rich humor that is undeniably captivating.

It is through Parasite (Korean: Gisaengchung   기생충) that he cements himself as a major-league filmmaker, transcending the boundaries of “foreign” or “international.” Winner of the Palme d’Or at the 2019 Cannes Film Festival by unanimous vote, and most recently of Best Foreign Language Film at the 77th Golden Globes, Parasite is ruthless, and tells everyone to take a look in the mirror. 

(Discussion of the film ahead, but no huge spoilers or reveals present)

From left to right: Kim Kiwoo (Choi Wooshik), Kim Kitaek (Song Kangho), Kim Chungsook (Jang Hyejin), Kim Kijung (Park Sodam), in their semi-basement apartment. Image via

From left to right: Kim Kiwoo (Choi Wooshik), Kim Kitaek (Song Kangho), Kim Chungsook (Jang Hyejin), Kim Kijung (Park Sodam), in their semi-basement apartment. Image via

Most of the film takes place in the home of the Park family, which, much to my surprise, is not at all a real house: the set was built entirely from scratch, a tremendous feat by production designer Lee Hajun. 

Housekeeper Moongwang (Lee Jungeun) walks through the Park family’s home. Image via

Housekeeper Moongwang (Lee Jungeun) walks through the Park family’s home. Image via

Digital rendering of the Park family’s home by Lee Hajun. Image via

Digital rendering of the Park family’s home by Lee Hajun. Image via

Park Dahye (Jung Jiso) spies on Kijung. Image via

Park Dahye (Jung Jiso) spies on Kijung. Image via

Kitaek observes the sleeping Parks in their home. Image via

Kitaek observes the sleeping Parks in their home. Image via

It’s through the meticulous delineation of Bong, though, that the vision of Parasite as a whole could come to life. Not only did he create a full storyboard of the film himself (each scene sketched out one by one), he also outlined a detailed floor plan of the Park family’s house, taking into account the blocking elements presented in the script. The set acts as a psychological map, almost, the architecture and spatial connections between the characters suggestive of the secrets each one of them is hiding. 

Though the Park family home is luxurious, it’s anything but flashy: sleek, modern, and open, the jewel of the house lies in its beautiful front lawn, green and drenched with sunlight.

The Kims, on the other hand, reside in a dingy semi-basement, windows allowing the family to sneak just a peek above ground. It is with this established that the viewers begin to understand that the class warfare simmering beneath the surface of the film is not only metaphorical. It is physical, and not solely due to the jarring aesthetic differences between the two homes: it’s the spatial disparity, the substantiality of the “upstairs” family and the “downstairs” family that hones in on the Kim family’s desires and aspirations for more.

The use of sunlight and water as motifs in particular key us into this discrepancy. The Kim family’s semi-basement, dense and cluttered, gives them just a taste of what’s up above. Juxtaposed to the floor-to-ceiling windows and glimmering front lawn of the Park family’s home, the airy freedom that wealth yields, we see that there is hope here.

Park Yeonkyo (Cho Yeojeong) looks out the window of her home. Image via

Park Yeonkyo (Cho Yeojeong) looks out the window of her home. Image via

Kitaek looks out the window of his apartment. Image via

Kitaek looks out the window of his apartment. Image via

Water, usually a common symbol for purification and renewal, is a motif most devastating in this film. Acting as our line of continuity, the water from rainfall flows down, down, down, flooding into the poorer districts, and Kitaek, Kiwoo, and Kijung have no choice but to follow it home. Though it poses no threat to the Parks, it is the impact of something as familiar as water that transforms not only the motives of the Kim family, but their livelihood. 

Kiwoo, Kitaek, and Kijung in the rain. Image via

Kiwoo, Kitaek, and Kijung in the rain. Image via

“It’s important that the characters are moving down, but what’s more important is that water is moving with them: Water is flowing from top to bottom, from the rich neighborhoods to the poor ones, and these characters, they have no control over it.”

- Bong Joonho on Parasite. Via Indiewire

Bong claims that one of the greatest parts of cinema is the fact that you can make your audience feel exposed, stripped raw for all they are. The painfully vulnerable nature of the characters, in all of their delusion, selfishness, and naivety, remind us of ourselves. They instill in us an uncanny self-awareness, and yet, he is not preaching to us: he is showing us that the dreadful weight of reality on our shoulders is unshakeable. 

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The Top 10 Films of the 2010's

With 2020 approaching, MODA Blog rounds up the best, worst, and most iconic phenoms of the 2010s.

The 2010s has seen a rise in media as an aspect of culture with ever-increasing impact. Now more than ever, movies and film dictate and reflect politics, fashion, and music of our time. With this cultural impact has come a new question for the age: is cinema entertainment or art with purpose? While film houses such as A24 usher in the era of the indie film, some entertainment companies are further monopolizing the industry (see: Disney buying Marvel). And as the Oscars continue to decline in popularity, it is evident that film critique is no longer an expert skill: social media has given the consumer a newfound platform to engage with the film industry. So in this spirit of conscious viewership, it’s time to round up the top ten of the 2010s: indie films, blockbusters, coming-of-age, and horror alike.

10. Scott Pilgrim vs. The World (2010)

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Just barely released during this decade, Edgar Wright’s cult classic redefined the action film, right around the rise of Marvel’s formulaic approach to the genre. What makes “Scott Pilgrim” so enjoyable is not only the star-studded cast of indie darlings and baby film-stars who all give great performances (Michael Cera himself, Aubrey Plaza, Anna Kendrick, Chris Evans, Brie Larson), but Ramona Flowers’ characterization as the antithesis of the manic pixie dream girl singlehandedly destroys the archetype that popularized rom-coms of the previous decade. Bottomline, it’s a smart film, loaded with quotable dialogue, dedicated set design, a stellar soundtrack, and it pays homage to its comic book roots.

9. Hustlers (2019)

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Coming in at the tail-end of the decade is Lorene Scafaria’s heist drama about strippers during the financial crash of 2008. Starring JLo and Constance Wu, with Keke Palmer, Lili Reinhart, Cardi B, and Lizzo in minor roles, the film made waves at the box office following its release in September. It also generated some controversy, calling into question JLo’s alleged mistreatment of actual strippers she studied for her role in the movie, and the temporary loss of income the film caused for strippers at Show Palace, the actual club where many of the scenes are shot. All things considering, the film does a great job of staying faithful to the real tale it adapts from, and crafts a believable and realistic narrative of workers in an industry often deemed too explicit for media representation.

8. I, Tonya (2017)

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“I was loved for a minute. Then, I was hated. Then, I was a punch line.” Craig Gillespie’s drama film recounting Tonya Harding’s story of the 1994 attack on Nancy Kerrigan for which she is most known for, as well as other pivotal moments in her career and life, is a masterpiece of the biopic genre. Elements of comedy and docufilm combine to create an honest depiction of the controversial and prolific ice skater, given a new life by the talented rising star Margot Robbie. The best part of “I, Tonya” is its reliance on an unreliable narrator. Based on “irony-free, wildly contradictory, totally true” interviews, Gillespie puts the final judgment in the hands of the viewer by recreating interview clips of key figures in Harding’s life that act as character confessionals and incorporating dialogue interjections that break the fourth wall. All in all, this is a classic underdog tale.

7. Roma (2018)

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Alfonso Cuarón’s autobiographical drama was awarded the Oscar for Best Picture at last year’s ceremony, and deservedly so. The film is a period piece that follows an indigenous maid in Mexico during the political turmoil of the 1970’s. Throughout its two-hour running time, every possible thing that could go wrong in protagonist Cleo’s life does go wrong, and we are given a clear sense of her character, desires, and worries. Somewhat based off of Cuarón’s own mother, Roma crafts the narrative with a characteristic intimacy and intention, which is only further enhanced by his choice to film in black and white. This greyscale coloring goes much deeper than aesthetics; it also implies a nuance that is representative of the student-led revolution that provides a backdrop to the film, and the racial dynamics at play in the white Hispanic household Cleo cares for. Overall, this is a gorgeous film with political undertones that hint at the upheaval of this decade.

6. Heaven Knows What (2014)

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The Safdie Brothers made some waves at film festivals in recent years for their most recent projects “Good Time” starring Robert Pattinson and “Uncut Gems” starring Adam Sandler. But while “Heaven Knows What” follows the similar gritty New York City tone characteristic of the Safdies’ filmography, it stands alone in its timely and honest portrayal of the opioid crisis. The Safdie Brothers paid recovering addict Arielle Holmes through rehab, in order for her to finish the book for which the film is based on. Holmes stars as herself, along with a rotating cast of junkies and panhandlers who play minor roles in Holmes’ chaotic daily life. From its exposition, “Heaven Knows What” has you always on the edge of your seat, and is a feat of the street film genre.

5. Hereditary (2018)

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Since it seems like Toni Collette won’t receive her dues at the Oscars anytime soon, I’ll say it here: Ms. Toni, you’re doing great. Ari Aster’s psychological thriller about grief and (without giving away too much) family secrets stars Collette as matriarch of the Graham family, alongside Nat Wolff and newcomer Milly Shapiro. And while some were disappointed with the conclusion of the film, I think Aster does a fine job of carefully foreshadowing future events without being predictable or relying on cheap jump scares. Instead of shaming the cheesy horror of the past decade, Aster pays thematic homage to that era, making “Hereditary” a sort of pastiche. In a post-Paranormal Activity era, Aster is bringing the thrill back to the thriller genre.

4. Eighth Grade (2018)

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While the 2010s have seen many a breakout features, Bo Burnham’s “Eighth Grade” stands out among the rest as a candid portrayal of children growing up in the Internet age. The film follows Kayla, played by Elsie Fisher, navigating her last week of middle school. At times painful to watch, Kayla’s journey to self-confidence lands her in situations both comical and dangerous, but all true to the social media-dominated times in which we live. A triumph of the adult comedy genre, “Eighth Grade” stands out from its predecessors, because of its underlying seriousness: Burnham covers school shootings, social anxiety, and sexual assault, all while weaving in raunchy jokes and comforting monologues from Kayla’s single dad. It is guaranteed to leave you in tears from laughter or sadness for your middle school self, seen vicariously through this awkward protagonist.

3. Get Out (2017)

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You’re all probably tired of hearing about it, but the cultural impact of “Get Out” is not to be understated. Coming out of a decade where black people were always the first to die, the butt of the joke, or just flat-out nonexistent in horror, Jordan Peele reclaims the genre and gives it depth with an obvious racial commentary. “Get Out” also truly exemplified the impact of social media on marketing and blockbuster success, and what’s even more impressive is that this was Peele’s breakout film. A first of its kind “social horror,” Daniel Kaluuya is an excellent leading actor, and Lil Rel Howery provides just the right amount of comic relief for the film to remain serious, while dealing with such heavy subject matter.

2. Sorry To Bother You (2018)

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Let’s make one thing clear: “Sorry to Bother You” is not 2018’s “Get Out.” Where “Get Out” is horror, “Sorry to Bother You” is absurdist. Boots Riley takes all of Peele’s racial commentary and goes one step further to craft a daring and radical film experience that criticizes late-stage capitalism. Through his not-so-subtle metaphor of WorryFree alluding to Amazon and the idea of white-voice that drives the film, Riley makes clear his political agenda, only expounded upon through sci-fi elements. “Sorry to Bother You” has many moving parts that through its nearly two-hour running time, begin to muddy; it is not easy viewing. Still, in a time where labor exploitation is only ramping up, Riley is recalling early cinematic roots in propaganda and returning film to its earlier purposeful functionality. Also, Tessa Thompson’s and Lakeith Stanfield’s Cash are excellent as a modern-day, revolutionary Bonnie and Clyde.

  1. Moonlight (2016)

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“This is not a joke. Moonlight has won best picture.” The mix-up between La La Land and Moonlight at the 2017 Oscars may have been an iconic moment in pop culture, but beyond the controversy stands a film that truly merits a Best Picture award, not only for 2017 but for the entire decade of the 2010s. With a black gay man as its protagonist, it is a love story never put to the big screen before. It is also a coming-of-age, offering representation to narratives too often stereotyped in film and TV: the black drug-dealer, in a low-income neighborhood, subject to the violence of poverty since childhood. Never before has this cliché of black men been given such visible nuance, and with such raw candor from young actors, namely Alex R. Hibbert and Ashton Sanders. Based on the unpublished screenplay In Moonlight Black Boys Look Blue, Barry Jenkins crafts this film in a stunning color palette that is a testament to his talent as a visual storyteller.


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Hustlers: Movie Review

There is a sense of wicked indulgence to Hustlers. On the surface, Hustlers entertains with a shocking story of a crew of strippers in New York who — after the 2008 recession — took upon illegal methods to keep business going. Yet, the movie’s success lies within its resonating themes of gender dynamics, economic inequality, and female solidarity. 

Hustlers is told through Constance Wu’s character Destiny, who prioritizes never having to be dependent on anyone, as she begins to work at a strip club out of economic necessity. As we follow Destiny, her story, and her choices, Hustlers focuses on demonstrating that her questionable decisions stem from a necessity to survive: as her story reflects the harsh societal structures and the troubled background that left Destiny with few options on how to survive and thrive. 

“Doesn’t money make you horny?” is Jennifer Lopez’s opening line as Ramona. Lopez allures when we first see her dance, embodying everything Destiny isn’t at the beginning of the movie - in control of her sexuality, her business, and customers. Destiny, who has discovered that being a stripper is neither glamorous nor lucrative, is taken under Ramona’s wing. The two become partners and develop a close friendship, earning money together. Yet, the recession hits them hard. Destiny gets pregnant and as it soon becomes apparent that her past has made her unemployable, she returns to the strip club. She is reunited with Ramona, who hatches a plan where Destiny, Ramona, Annabelle (Lili Reinhart), and Mercedes (Keke Palmer) find and drug men from outside the club, bring them back to the strip club, and rack up exorbitant credit card bills on their cards. For Ramona, the plan is not just fitting revenge, but it is a means of survival and an opportunity to prosper post-recession. However, as the crew begins to earn huge amounts of money, their plan soon spirals out of control.

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Through the lens of economic inequality, Hustlers uses the culture of the strip club to briefly explore complicated themes of power and gender dynamics in American society. "It’s all a strip club," is what Ramona powerfully ends the movie with. "You have people tossing the money and people doing the dance." Hustlers does not judge Lopez’s character and her crew. Instead, it shows us the moments in which the women in this movie briefly rebel against “doing the dance.” Rather, they take charge of changing their circumstances, taking revenge on the men who used corrupted means to orchestrate the recession that drove them towards their downwards path. In those moments, “the hustlers” are the ones tossing the money while the men, figuratively, are the ones dancing. 

Ultimately, Hustlers’ greatest strength is its focus on women, being a movie about strippers made by Lorene Scafaria, a female filmmaker. It explores the life of a stripper from the woman’s point of view. Hustlers neither exoticizes nor romanticizes the profession. The characters are fully fleshed out and complex, deeply flawed and tough. Likewise, the strong friendships in the film, such as Ramona’s and Destiny’s, are intensely intimate but not sexualized, built instead from a sense of understanding and solidarity. 


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