The Cornell Daily Sun (https://cornellsun.com/category/arts/page/3/)
Somebody was going to mention Palestine. This we knew. After all, the Academy asked a room of cynical film executives and incisive artists to celebrate themselves in front of a live television audience. What more could we expect than a spitting contest of performative agendas? We should concede, first, that the Oscars have always been a charade.
A phoenix! In I Didn’t Mean to Haunt You, Quadeca contemplates his life and loved ones from beyond the grave. His new mixtape Scrapyard sees him reborn with Ye-like confidence. “Room packed out with the fans,” he gloats on “Guess Who?”. “They said I was naive … ‘cause they couldn’t tell a masterpiece from a type beat.” They don’t doubt him anymore: Anthony Fantano rates Scrapyard a coveted “light 9.”
Scrapyard’s “Texas Blue” features Kevin Abstract, who underwent a rebirth of his own on Blanket.
These two different films are more similar than we may think.
Hatikvah, which translates to “the hope” is the national anthem of the state of Israel. Officially adopted as the national anthem in 2004, Hatikvah was created over a century prior to its installation. It has been said that “few words are as well-known to Jews around the world as the lyrics of Hatikvah.”
History
Hatikvah was first written as a nine-stanza poem by Naphtali Herz Imber. Imber was born in 1856 in the town of Zloczow (then in the Galician region of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, now part of Ukraine). In 1882, Imber came to Ottoman-ruled Palestine as part of the First Aliyah.
The Cornell Fashion Collective Annual Spring Fashion show was an outstanding hit.
In the landscape of language, the ubiquitous phrase “I’m sorry” reveals itself as a peculiar taste enjoyed by picky and indiscriminate palates alike. It has woven itself into our daily conversations, transforming genuine remorse into a linguistic reflex. Upon considering my own tendency to apologize, a nuanced pattern unfolds, blurring the line between selflessness and compensation for a self-perceived selfishness. Over the course of my youth, “I’m sorry” was a common courtesy, a nod to the etiquette that framed my social dispositions. Politeness, embellished with the overuse of these “magic” words, shaped my verbal cadence.
Content Warning: This article includes graphic descriptions of suicide and commentary on the Israel-Palestine conflict. Last month, I cited a TikTok about one woman’s decision to quit vaping in protest of labor conditions in the Congo. I wrote about the libidinal tendency for my generation to make sacrifices for victims of struggles that they have never felt. Not before the end of the month, Air Force serviceman Aaron Bushnell burned himself to death in protest of the Israeli occupation of Palestine.
Levi Pierpont, a friend of the late Bushnell, wrote an Op-Ed for the Guardian this weekend. Pierpont urges us not to throw the baby out with the bathwater — the baby being Bushnell’s spirited opposition to genocide and the bathwater being the way by which he expressed that opposition. “Please, don’t forget Aaron,” he writes.
These days, being a proud theater kid is not for the weak-egoed. I’ve learned that there is a certain kind of pride you must set aside to embrace the wonderful world of musical theater. Over winter break, my friend and I purchased two orchestra seats to Hadestown on a whim in order to take advantage of Broadway’s two for one deal which promptly rolled out after the holiday tourist rush. Though I had most certainly heard of the show, I went into Hadestown mostly blind. The one thing I was not blind to was the fact that To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before actor, “Elsa please I know you’re in there” singer and all-around icon Jordan Fisher is in it, and just for him, I was excited enough.
Like many young women my age, I love rewatching Gilmore Girls each fall. With the classic small town vibes and quirky cast of characters, I have always found it to be the perfect cozy show to watch when in need of comfort. However, the reunion show called Gilmore Girls: A Year in the Life from 2016 falls short and is frankly embarrassing. While I went into the show excited to see the familiar characters and setting that I have so enjoyed, I was sorely disappointed. First of all, the depiction of modern-day Stars Hollow is all wrong.
“The greatest films of all time were never made… the greatest loves of all time are over now.”
Taylor Swift’s discourse on romance tracks surprisingly well onto the recent history of the great Gen X directing duos: The last couple of years have brought about the divorces of the Safdie brothers, Wachowski sisters and — most tragically — the Coen brothers. Creative partnerships tend to be tenuous, and most historic examples (Martin and Lewis, Nichols and May, Powell and Pressburger, to name a few) end with one or both attempting to stake their own claim — or perhaps needing to after the death of one half. Still, this recent crop of breakups, and particularly the first individual projects from Joel and Ethan Coen, represent at once a great tragedy and fascinating subject for interrogation. A duo best marked for their juxtaposition of brilliant wit with bleak subject matter have split up and demonstrated that they each brought something incredibly different to their collaboration. Joel Coen’s The Tragedy of Macbeth brought the filmmaker’s trademark visual excellence but stripped the exercise of any humor, and the new film from Ethan Coen, Drive-Away Dolls (or D**es, as the final title card and filmmakers call it), cares about little more than getting a laugh out of its audience.