by Tarique Ejaz
"Sometimes some things can't be saved. You need to know what is worth saving and what is not."
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by Moyurie Som  What happens when you as a woman, speak up about your experience of getting molested by a man whose social standing is higher than yours? Let us see, in the light of the accusations made against TVF comedian Arunabh Kumar. by Smita Ganguli What you are about to read isn’t a review of the sorts. It is however, an expression of dubiety.
For those of you who haven’t watched Matt Ross’s Captain Fantastic yet, why though? Get down to it as soon as possible because it is fucking VIGGO MORTENSEN and that’s all that should matter prior to watching it. Donald Glover And The Art of Maintenance of Perfection: Gambino, Community, Atlanta and much more22/2/2017 by Rick Mazumdar I would be the equivalent of a bad rash located on the upper right buttock on a sultry summer's day in Kolkata if I mentioned for the billionth time how unrelentingly terrible 2016 was as a year IN EVERY WAY POSSIBLE (I told my counselor "New Year, New Me," but I suppose that's not going to happen), but yet, regardless of all the celebrity deaths, of all the internet memes that became world leaders and all the countries facing upheaval of an nth degree; I, from a semi-privileged, not bigoted, socially and politically aware perspective (let's tick all the boxes here, shall we?) believe from the standpoint of media and culture that the best thing that has happened in the previous year was the rise and rise of one Donald Mckinley Glover.
This article basically serves to show how Glover's prowess as an artist has grown and has been moulded over time to reach the level of excellence he is at presently. We'll be focusing on his work on some of the episodes on Atlanta and "Awaken, My Love!" predominantly, while taking a look at all the previous work that has helped him gather the experience and technical nuances that has brought him to this present level. by Luv Mehta Cover image provided by Arnab Mondal  So here's the thing. The Oscars are a bunch of snooty golden statuettes awarded by old directors and producers who like watching grand dramas, populated by Acting (with a capital A, of course) and subplots about how the medium of films is amazing. Of course, this ends up with a system celebrating the same kinds of movies, year after year. And the frontrunner for this year's Best Picture, La La Land, certainly ticks a lot of the checkboxes to help it work its way to an easy win. Which is where the moviegoing public finds itself with the responsibility to help weed out movies that get massively hyped up without reason, right? There are plenty of awards that have been given to undeserving candidates already - we need to balance the playing field, so to speak, don't we? See, I'm not too sure about that. by Harsh Vardhan  It’s quite weird that, whenever something bad happens to us, the first thing we do is burst into lamentations about our fate, without looking back at what led us to this one moment in time. There have been so many occasions in this life of mine, so far, when I found myself questioning the partiality fate has for others over me, and contemplating things I couldn’t achieve, completely undermining the very blessed life I have been fortunate to live. To cut the narration short, I don’t think I have appreciated the gift of life enough and watching 127 Hours, for the second time, gave me a quite reminder of it. To set things to perspective, I first saw 127 Hours back when it released and I thoroughly enjoyed the film for the sparkling storytelling it boasted of. The experience was great and I had thoroughly enjoyed it, but it eventually faded just like any other movie does (including the good ones). So what made it different this time around? by Abinash Palai  Have you ever repeated something? Alphabet, semesters, those three words, weekdays? In a robotic world, repeat is the name of the assembly line. A conveyor belt, which processes such mechanisms at one end, and at the other end emerge clichés, habits, norms: the symptoms of the dystopia, the tumor which we misdiagnose as swelling, the warning signs we disregard, the disclaimers we don’t read
Here’s to people and art that surfaced, even though momentarily, in the sea of monotony. The hexagonal pegs for the round holes that didn’t fit but broke ground instead. The ones who braved this world to create new ones. The easy answers to “pick-the-odd-one-out” lists. The aberrations, the anomalies. A philosophical treatise by Mills and Boons, an Agatha Christie romantic novel, a Christopher Nolan Bhojpuri movie, a Radiohead rap, a porno with a great story. Things that stuck out like sore thumbs, or delightful weirdness. Here’s to Cliché Guevara, our new regular feature, the vigilante of Mundanetown, protecting the sanity of its citizens whenever the darkness of boredom has prevailed. |
