Christmas is over, and so are the leftovers from our New Year’s Eve feast. But the emotional scars of enduring distant relatives? Those linger. Whether it’s that aunt grilling you about your master’s plans or Dad’s cousin not shutting up about Trump’s return to the White House, we all have that one family member who turns festive cheer into festive dread. As we bid farewell to the holiday season—and thankfully, to some of those relatives—I can’t help but reflect on an unspoken truth: the painfully familiar awkwardness of large family gatherings. Call this a relatable take on a universal experience or an ode to Emma Seligman’s debut movie, Shiva Baby. Either way, here’s to one and only Rachel Sennott and surviving it all.
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Does Yorgos Lanthimos’ "Poor Things" truly empower women, or does its fixation on Bella's sexuality blur the bigger picture? While the film dazzles visually, is it missing the mark on deeper self-discovery and female growth?
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Pain is a gift when eradicated. You uproot it and spit it out. It’s beautiful. You can’t eradicate your suffering where it was provoked. You drag it around and watch it like your shadow. You cannot make movies with unripe sorrow, nor with another’s eyes or hands. We come undone long before leaving.
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Everyday we talk, we conversate, we communicate. Everyday we use words. Nevertheless, the symbolic language with which we express ourselves is a mere invention, and as such confined by our imagination. So, I wonder, if the words we use to communicate are bound to remain in limbo, why do we continue to talk obstinately?
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