“Suspiria” is bad. “Suspiria” is a mess. “Suspiria” is a movie set in 1977 Berlin that’s about both a psychotherapist mourning his wife and about an American Mennonite girl who gets admitted into a prestigious dance academy that turns out to run by a coven of witches. “Suspiria” tries to do many things and does none of them well. But this and its other technical problems are the least of its flaws. In fact its greatest flaw — no, its greatest sin — lies in what it tries to seem like it’s saying and what it instead is actually saying.
Posts tagged as “jackie richardson”
The beginning of “mid90s” is comprised of sudden images cut together. Skateboards, still on the ground, are scattered with a force. A hallway where an older brother pounces on the younger one, pelting him with his fists. And the younger brother — the thirteen year-old boy we will come to know as Stevie — looks in the mirror and pokes at his bruised chest, then punches it, groaning with the pain.
“Concinnitas” was a term used by 15th-century scholar and architect Leon Battista Alberti to describe beauty in architecture, which he believed existed when — and only when — parts of a building cohered to a harmonizing whole. It was also used to name The Concinnitas Portfolio, to which Professor Pau Atela responded in his Re(Creations) and MathStudio. Both the portfolio and Atela’s work will be displayed at the University Museum of Contemporary Art at UMass until Dec. 9.
I have a complicated relationship with the word “slam.” Every time I hear the word qualifying some literary event — a poetry reading or a storytelling event — I feel my stomach lurch, as though I caught a whiff of some food that once gave me torrential runs. Not that I only have bad experiences with slams, not at all. But for every poem I’ve heard that revelled in the snap of a word as it rolled off the tongue, for every story I listened to that sparked against the speaker’s animated telling, there were five, ten, fifteen others that made me cringe back into my seat.
Spending your fall break at Smith can feel a little surreal. All your friends leave, any semblance of structure is torn from your day, and…
Jacqueline Richardson ’21 | Assistant Arts Editor
Oh, the lesbian movie! If there exists a genre more fraught and loved to the people it tries to portray, I haven’t heard of it. Dead lovers, sex scenes so obviously shot with a man panting behind the camera and straight actresses fumbling through flat performances fill the film’s minutes, and yet we continue to watch. Of course some successes exist. But these are few.
The Me Too movement blew away, at least in part, the air of inherent dignity and importance of The Great Male Artist. Before the movement,…