A collection of 113 posts
Tarantino is quintessentially American. He lets us linger and watch Tate in all her Technicolor radiance. He lets us love her. What’s more, he lets her watch and love herself.
Right now, I’m maybe most spooked by how a living, breathing cultural memory is seeming to evaporate.
Gattaca was prophetic, but not quite in the way Niccol intended.
If you haven’t seen Endgame yet—or if you take comfort in the delusion that Marvel is “woke”—stop reading now.
In a cultural moment that has seen reputations destroyed by a single tweet, each transgression can become the entirety of a person’s character.
Yet, this is the sort of hysteria used to justify yanking away the wonderful fun of watching Disney princess films. Remember fun?
Identity has become the locus of cultural value and representation the means of its transmission.
On a topic of particular pertinence to our own cultural moment, Billy Wilder’s 1960 classic is a fascinating artefact well worth revisiting.