We’ve got a lot to get to this week, so we’ll keep the updates quick:
-Jonah squashed the bug! He’s back this week, with nary a germ on his person.
-But the virus remains at large!
-PSA: Wash your hands if you want to participate in any of the post-film communal hugs facilitated at the Goldsmith.
-Big news regarding the Big Red Bird (aka the Cardinal): The eggs! Last time we checked in, they were fit to burst, but now they’re starting to rumble. We’ve trained a GoPro on the back row of the Goldsmith and we’ll be putting up a link to the live stream shortly.
-We’ve got a new calendar coming out after fall break! Stay tuned for some spooky fare during Halloweek.
With all of that out of the way, there’s one thread that we think deserves a spot under the microscope:
Readers surely remember TSullivan—one of last year’s three Cinefiles Superfans®—and the lively correspondence he maintained with us week in and week out, sometimes emailing us multiple times a day to share his insights and aspirations. TSullivan: Look. We miss having you in our column as much as it’s clear that you miss us, but we just don’t have room to publish your conspiracy theories about a film major-exclusive VR lounge. Even if we’d been able to turn up any concrete evidence in the investigation prompted by your email (as far as we know, Higgins and Basinger have NOT been experimenting with Oculus Rifts in the Archives), it doesn’t change the fact that our column has a particular vision, and it can’t fit in everything. In lieu of publishing your crackpot theories, we’ve decided to showcase an exemplary response to a question we asked a fortnight ago. Let this serve as an example of the kind of correspondence that nourishes us Cinefiles and keeps us going.
“hah. some go the route of layers and zip off pants/shorts,” Luke MacDonald ’17 writes in response to our question about the ideal Goldsmith attire. “usually i just wear my street clothes, but bring a blanket/quilt to keep warm under. good for making friends with my lucky neighbors, too”
This answer’s got it all. It’s pithy, chipper, gives us a nice visual. We can imagine the space, and the light coat of humor goes a long way. Really far out. Far out work, Luke.
Now that we’ve reminded everyone of what we’re looking for, we look forward to reading your answers to these questions at email@example.com:
Wednesday, Oct. 12. 8 p.m. Free.
Fed up with the antics of Tracy Fleck, an ambitious junior hoping to claim the class presidency, high school teacher Jim McAllister convinces a popular, easy-going athlete to enter the race. As McAllister’s meddling in the campaign brings him in direct conflict with Fleck, Payne’s gift for balancing the acerbic and the heartfelt ensures that both parties receive their emotional due. What could well have been a cynical allegory of political machination is a humorous and complex account of what happens when personal stakes are raised well beyond their rightful height.
Thursday, Oct. 14. 8 p.m. Free.
On the slopes of an active volcano, modernity and ritual collide. Young María works at the coffee plantation, goes along with the preparations for her arranged marriage, and dreams of the United States beyond the volcano. Her circumstances provide no room for change, until an unexpected pregnancy changes her circumstances.
Friday, Oct. 14. 8 p.m. $5. In 3D!
A year after helping Marlin find his son Nemo, Pacific blue tang Dory (voiced by Ellen DeGeneres) embarks on a journey across the ocean to find her parents, undaunted by the challenges presented by her frequent lapses in short-term memory. Dubbed “Endearing… with a twist” by Jonah’s housemate AJ, “Finding Dory” should prove to be a heart-wrenching experience not only for those invested in the plight of an anthropomorphic fish, but also for anyone in the audience who realizes halfway through that “Finding Nemo” came out thirteen (!) years ago. Where does the time go?
Saturday, Oct. 15. 8 p.m. Free.
Shakespeare said an artist’s role was to hold a mirror up to nature; in this semi-autobiographical work, Tarkovsky does just that, though his looking-glass is as fractured and opaque as human experience itself. Here, cinema’s great poet of images weaves a series of haunting, half-remembered dreams as a dying man reflects on his broken past.