Insomniacs After School is a manga that ran from 2019-2023, following a high school romance between two insomniacs who comfort each other through their sleepless nights. The Earth is Not a Cold Dead Place is a 2003 post rock album by band Explosions in the Sky. These works are not remotely related. They also compliment each other perfectly. 

Insomniacs After School starts with protagonist Ganta Nakami going to school after getting no sleep, since, as you might have gathered from the title, he’s an insomniac. His classmates try to get him to do some work for the culture festival, but he runs off to find a place to rest. This place happens to be the astronomy tower, where fellow insomniac and deuteragonist Isaki Magari is resting. They split the space and use it as their secret napping place for a while, but they’re eventually caught by a teacher, who forces them to either leave the tower or reform the Astronomy Club to keep using the observatory. They agree to this and this kicks off the events of Insomniacs After School. 

The Earth is Not a Cold Dead Place is Explosion in the Sky’s third studio album, coming after their well-received 2001 release Those Who Tell the Truth Shall Die, Those Who Tell the Truth Shall Live Forever. “Post-rock” as a genre doesn’t really have a concrete definition – the only thing that “defines”  it is using rock instrumentation while evolving from “traditional” rock song structure. Generally, the term has come to mean instrumental rock without lyricism, with this album helping kick off the “second wave” of the genre. The other thing post-rock is known for is building to emotional crescendos, having long runtimes and a soundscape that compounds in complexity throughout these prolonged durations. Since it doesn’t have any lyrics, The Earth is Not a Cold Dead Place isn’t really about anything, but the most common interpretation is that it’s a post 9/11 take on the genre – Music critic Hartley Goldstein argues that the sound is “laced with an intense yearning for optimism in the face of horrific circumstance.” 

After this introduction, the characters of Insomniacs After School don’t have a clue on what to do in the Astronomy Club, since it’s been abandoned for a few years and everyone who was in the club graduated years ago. The duo track down one of the former members and figure out their club activity – taking pictures of the stunning night sky to send to national photography competitions. And this is what makes this manga so special – in between dozens of chapters of a generic, saccharine, pretty cute high school romance, there appears gorgeous, breathtaking panels of the infinite, vast night sky; the night previously so cruel to our protagonists becomes something beautiful. 

Legend has it that Pink Floyd’s album The Dark Side of the Moon syncs up with 1939 film The Wizard of Oz, with the lyrics synchronizing with what happens on screen uncannily often. This falls apart after the first “cycle” through the album, but it’s still a fascinating way to view the two pieces of art. Obviously, Insomniacs After School and The Earth is Not a Cold Dead Place don’t sync up like this, considering that one of them is kind of a book that everyone reads at a different pace. Yet, listening to the album while reading the manga is a life affirming experience – part of it is the album’s timeless, simplistic melodies, sure. But what makes it really special is when the crescendos of the two combine and intertwine to create something greater, where the music swells as the characters of Insomniacs After School try to capture the immeasurable beauty of the moment in a single shot, where both them and you are reminded that despite everything, despite all the sleepless nights and violence ravishing the world, the Earth is not a cold dead place. 

It was raining last night and I couldn’t sleep, so I started my favorite TV show again 

The Pink Opaque

I Saw the TV Glow is a miracle of a film, a once in a generation lightning in a bottle, the abstract, lofi identity horror of director Jane Schoenbrun’s previous film We’re All Going to the World’s Fair blown up in scale and budget to create the kind of experience that leaves you sobbing on your bedroom floor at 3 A.M. because of how profoundly it understands you. The film follows protagonist Owen through various stages of his life, starting with his first meeting with deuteragonist Maddie and his subsequent first exposure to the fictional television show The Pink Opaque. 

I know there’s something wrong with me.

My parents know it too, even if they don’t say anything 

Both these characters are lost, drifting through life – Maddie is lesbian and ostracized from the conformist structures of high school and Owen struggles with socializing, identity, and his mom’s declining health. The Pink Opaque is their escape from all that – it’s a Buffy the Vampire Slayer homage, a supernatural drama that’s simultaneously a little silly and a little scary. It follows Isabel and Tara, who can communicate via the “psychic plane” to help each other defeat monsters of the week sent by the “big bad” –  Mr. Melancholy, who wants to trap the two in the “midnight realm” so he can rule the world. Maybe their suburban existence is suffocating, but in the warm glow of the television, they feel alive. 

She started leaving tapes for me

Owen, unfortunately, can’t stay up to watch The Pink Opaque on Saturdays, since his bedtime is before the show’s 10:30 p.m. showtime. After learning this, Maddy starts leaving tapes for him in the school’s dark room, tapes that he watches over and over again. While the two are otherwise nothing alike, the show provides a connection between them. This starting section of I Saw The TV Glow is most importantly about art’s power to lead to self discovery and community – as film critic David Ehrlich puts it, “…the things people watch can have the power to see them in return. Even the parts of themselves they might be hiding from. Even the parts of themselves they aren’t ready to name yet.” 

I’ll die if I stay here

But it’s not enough – Maddy runs away from home, with the only trace of evidence remaining being a burning television set in the backyard of her childhood home. The month she disappears, The Pink Opaque is cancelled. Cut to eight years later. 

Does time ever feel like it’s not moving normally?

Like it’s all out of whack?

Owen encounters Maddy at the grocery store, the first time anyone has seen her in this decade. Maddy brings Owen to a far away bar, ominously saying “It will be safe for us to talk there”.

Do you ever feel like you’re narrating your own life, watching it play out in front of you 

Like an episode of television?

This point marks where the film becomes an absolute masterwork (or an incoherent mess, depending on how willing you are to wrestle with the film’s ideas). After a short conversation, Maddy reveals that she’s been in the world of The Pink Opaque. 

And I was me

I was finally me again

I Saw The TV Glow is a trans allegory, but not a traditional one like say, The Matrix. Rather than a simple self discovery narrative, It uses its allegory to tell a cautionary tale – not taking the rough path to your happiness will lead to suffocation. The world of The Pink Opaque is the true reality for Owen and Maddy, who are really Isabel and Tara. The “real world” that they’re living in is the midnight realm keeping them from their true selves, much like the titular Matrix of The Matrix. 

Soon you won’t remember anything

Your real name

Your superpowers

Your heart

You won’t even remember that you’re dying!

Maddy asks Owen to recall the final episode of The Pink Opaque before it got cancelled. This episode is a nightmarish conclusion, resembling classic creepypastas like Dead Bart or Squidward’s Suicide, with Mr. Melancholy beating Tara and Isabel, storing their beating hearts in an industrial freezer, and burying them both. 

That place I knew would kill me if I stayed 

But something was still wrong 

Wronger, even

When Maddy first escaped, she ran off to Phoenix – “The trees looked different, but everything else was exactly the same”, she complains. “And then I was 19. And then I was 20. And then I was 21. Like chapters skipped over on a DVD.”

This isn’t how life is supposed to be 

Maddy recognizes that running won’t save her, for the thing she’s trying to run from is intangible and within herself. Once she turns 22, she’s had enough and pays someone to bury her alive. She struggles for what seems like eternity in there. “I pissed and I shit my pants”, she says in her account, staring right at the camera. And then, somehow, she feels herself leaving her physical form and manages to claw her way out and finds herself at the summer camp of The Pink Opaque as Tara. 

This isn’t the midnight realm, Maddy

It’s just the suburbs

Owen, understandably, isn’t having it. He feebly tries to argue against what he believes to be nonsense, but as much as he attempts to point out the false equivalency between the “midnight realm” and the suburbs, does it really matter if it’s placating him just enough that he’s rejecting his shot at true euphoria? Maddy eventually convinces him to come to the football field – after all, she says persuadingly, “I haven’t told you anything tonight that you don’t already know.”

The longer you wait, the closer you get to suffocating 

There have always been signs for Owen, signs that he’s really someone else inside. He somehow knows Isabel’s lines in The Pink Opaque the first time he watches the show, places from the show bleed into his reality, he even admits that “it feels like someone took a shovel and dug out all my insides. And I know there’s nothing in there, but I’m still too nervous to open myself up and check” during his most intimate conversation with Maddy. And now? Now is his chance to go through his metamorphosis, to chase the white rabbit and take his red pill. 

I know it’s scary. That’s part of it 

Maddy is overwhelmingly empathetic to Owen as they walk down the football field, gently pushing him towards the outcome that will make him truly happy. Owen stops at the 50-yard line. Just walk the other half of the field, bury yourself, be born anew. He makes his decision. 

It’s not real if I don’t think about it

Owen shoves Maddy to the ground and runs away. This isn’t a coming of age film, this is a horror story about not coming of age. 

What if I really was someone else?

Someone beautiful and powerful

Someone buried alive and suffocating to death

Owen lives in a depressive haze for a while after making his decision, constantly waiting for Maddy to show back up and force him underground; whenever his mind wanders, he starts thinking about his other, beautiful self.  But while you can lead a horse to water, you can’t make him drink – Owen knows the path to finding fulfillment in his life, but he wants someone else to make the decision for him, his indecision leading to an unsatisfying existence. 

There is still time 

But ultimately, I Saw The TV Glow is hopeful in your ability to choose happiness. There is still time to make your big decision, whether it be transitioning or quitting your job or moving to a faraway land. And when you’re ready, you better seize that opportunity, lest you end up like Owen in the following coda section of the film. 

Time moves fast these days

Years pass like seconds

I just try not to think too hard about it

And so he drifts through life for the next twenty years, switching jobs to work at the local fun center but otherwise just letting it all pass by. 

I even got a family of my own

I love them more than anything 

This is a strangely haunting line – we never see his so-called “family”, the camera is at a Dutch angle typically used to create discomfort in the viewer, and he says this while leaning over his brand new LG television. Maybe he’s just really emotionally distant with his family, maybe his new TV is functioning as his “family”, as a source of comfort in his constant emotional distress over a decision (or lack thereof) he made a couple decades ago. 

I started The Pink Opaque again. It’s nothing like I remembered it. 

Owen starts The Pink Opaque on a rainy day, but instead of the terrifying creature features he remembers the episodes as, they’re instead comically silly and childish. Art can help us immensely with our self actualization, but it cannot save us from ourselves.

You need to help me!

I’m dying right now!

And finally, Owen snaps. From all the pressure of being in the wrong body, of having to live with his bad decision, of his escapism in television not being enough to make him forget about his own self hatred. He screams for help, for somebody, anybody to save him. The film then splits into two realities. In the first, he takes a box knife and cuts open his chest, revealing the TV glow inside. He smiles at himself in the mirror for the first time in decades as he begins his metamorphosis. In the second, he goes back to work, apologizes for his breakdown, and the film cuts to the credits. There is still time, but Owen will continue to suffocate more and more in this reality until he can’t take it anymore. With this abrupt ending, the film forces you to contemplate – which path will you take? 

At times one runs, one runs out of caves you know

I Saw The TV Glow is the film of the generation. It’s profoundly vulnerable in a way that changes people, pushes them to make that decision they’ve been dreading and ultimately leads them to a better future. While I may have spoiled the entire film’s plot in an attempt to explain its appeal, I Saw The TV Glow is so much more than its story. The neon tinged cinematography is stunning, the indie rock/shoegaze soundtrack is sublime, and the overall nightmarish energy the film emanates is ineffable. If you were to watch just one film this year, have it be I Saw The TV Glow.

Links 

I Saw The TV Glow has led to some great writing, will shout some of it out here + there’s links to purchase this movie 

David Ehrlich’s Review – https://www.indiewire.com/criticism/movies/i-saw-the-tv-glow-review-1234946004/

Sally Jane Black’s Review – https://letterboxd.com/fuchsiadyke/film/i-saw-the-tv-glow/

Julie’s Review – https://letterboxd.com/mesh509/film/i-saw-the-tv-glow/ 

Esther’s Review (?) – https://letterboxd.com/estheronfilm/film/i-saw-the-tv-glow/1/

Buy on Amazon – https://www.amazon.com/gp/video/detail/0RJ65F0GK1MAYMT09DVUL2YN83/ref=atv_dl_rdr?tag=justusqxg9-20

Buy on Apple TV – https://tv.apple.com/us/movie/i-saw-the-tv-glow/umc.cmc.242rbnzf6nayp7azafo3z8jck?playableId=tvs.sbd.9001%3A1745006179

Buy on Vudu – https://www.vudu.com/content/browse/details/I-Saw-the-TV-Glow/3150284

Buy on Microsoft – https://www.microsoft.com/en-us/p/i-saw-the-tv-glow/8D6KGWXWZVHD/0009?ranMID=24542&ranEAID=Hs39S7JJ7m0&ranSiteID=Hs39S7JJ7m0-X1wr2aqfUloZXYHq1F5YXQ&epi=Hs39S7JJ7m0-X1wr2aqfUloZXYHq1F5YXQ&irgwc=1&OCID=AIDcmm549zy227_aff_7593_1243925&tduid=(ir__epve33xva9kfa2m3fvdcgzkthm2xfx9czpvnoxtx00)(7593)(1243925)(Hs39S7JJ7m0-X1wr2aqfUloZXYHq1F5YXQ)()&activetab=pivot%3aoverviewtab

Stream on Max – https://play.max.com/movie/54c4cadd-7d0b-4fb9-bb37-2c4a50cf3dee

House Within A House opens with a quote from Gloria Anzaldúa – “Beneath your desire for knowledge writhes the hunger to understand and love yourself”. The next page reveals an image of something – a tree? carpet? A wall? It’s at once entirely perceptible and indescribable,intangible, ineffable. House Within a House is about depression, simultaneously deeply academic and profoundly personal, shifting from narrative essays to emotionally charged poetry to pictures that seem to become clearer and clearer until they slip back into abstraction. The book isn’t particularly accessible – it effortlessly plays with form as metaphor, calls on dozens of past writings on depression, constantly switches languages to French and Spanish, explores the intersections between race, sexuality, gender, and mental health struggles, and the subject matter isn’t all sunshine and rainbows. The book ends with a nearly identical picture to the one it started with, but this time brighter, clearer, recontextualized, because to plunge into the infinite complexity that the 150 pages of House WIthin A House holds is to understand depression on a far deeper level than when you first open the cover and read the Anzaldúa quote. 

I, like many others, grew up loving Harry Potter and its kind of nonsensical but infinitely charming fantasy world. Yet, as I learnt more about the world around me, I came to the conclusion that many others also have – J.K. Rowling is a piece of shit who doesn’t deserve her status as a literary genius. Her wizarding saga isn’t even that good, it just capitalized on a market of readers that the industry didn’t write books for at the time. So, I gave my copies away and went on to better fantasy worlds to escape into. I still retained some fondness for the series though, so after many years, I decided to rewatch the films to reconcile my feelings for the universe I once held so much affection for. 

8 – Chamber of Secrets (1/10)

Chamber of Secrets is, unfortunately, the most accurate adaptation of its source material out of the eight films. This is regrettable for two reasons. Firstly, and most obviously, film is a completely different medium from literature. Literature is free to indulge in details and worldbuilding through words that a film has to create through imagery. Director Chris Columbus perhaps did not get the memo, since Chamber of Secrets is an excruciating 161 minutes long (174 minutes if you make the horrible decision to watch the extended edition). Secondly, Chamber of Secrets is the most dreadful book in a mediocre series to begin with. It’s an aimless adventure in a world we don’t particularly care about yet without the nuance behind every character that makes later entries somewhat compelling. I would even argue this entry is completely skippable – anything introduced in Chamber of Secrets isn’t all too important or reintroduced in later movies. At most, it introduces that Harry can speak to snakes and a character that makes a minor appearance in Order of the Phoenix. All in all, Chamber of Secrets is pretty atrocious, enough so that I was quite jealous of Gilderoy Lockhart when he lost all memory of the events of the film. 

7 – Goblet of Fire (3/10)

Ah yes, Goblet of Fire, the one where Rita Skeeter, a character described as having masculine hands, excessive makeup, and fake hair spies on children by transforming into another form. Why, exactly, were we surprised that J.K. Rowling was a TERF when this is how she chooses to represent a trans woman in her beloved children’s fantasy series? Besides that, everyone just decides to kind of be a moron this year. Harry decides to ignore his tasks for months until somebody tells him the solution (relatable), Ron suddenly decides to be jealous of his best friend, 14 year old Hermione dates 18 year old Viktor Krum, the teachers just let Harry keep participating in the tournament when somebody else put his name in the goblet, the ghost in the bath is a pedophile, and everybody needs a haircut. Yes,this is a film that is fairly accurate to the experience of being a freshman, but that’s certainly not a good thing. 

6 – Philosopher’s Stone (4/10)

Chris Columbus comes in with another miss, but at least Philosopher’s Stone does a phenomenal job at establishing the rules of the world. This includes the rules of Quidditch (basically an excuse to beat your wizarding enemies up while some guy is somehow supposed to find a tiny 2 inch flying ball to win the game), the rules of Hogwarts classes (there’s like two a year and they’re both three minutes long), and how every conflict is solved (Hermione conveniently pulls a new spell or MacGuffin out of nowhere).

5 – Deathly Hallows Part 2 (4/10)

Deathly Hallows Part 2 is empty and soulless – the saga’s fights have never been interesting because of the killing curse, a spell that is supposedly “forbidden” yet every single enemy somehow manages to use it, making any other spell useless for them to use since they aren’t as powerful. And if you can’t make the fights interesting in a fantasy world, you have deeply, irrevocably screwed up. Yet, the film seems so thoroughly convinced that we enjoy watching these CGI nothing battles that it speeds through redemption and heroic journey arcs to get there. Somehow, the anti-Semitic caricatures that are the goblins in the series get worse here. This film would absolutely be lower on the list if not for Minerva McGonagall, objectively the best Harry Potter character, getting some great scenes. 

4 – Half Blood Prince (5/10)

Half Blood Prince spends at least half its runtime dealing with teenage romantic hijinks which rival Chamber of Secrets in excruciating dullness, but the other half is really quite strong. It’s Harry Potter at its most operatic, with a grandiose soundtrack, frequent palatial overhead shots, and the fascinating notion that Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy are two sides of the same coin, both tragic products of their upbringings. 

3 – Prisoner of Azkaban (6/10)

Prisoner of Azkaban is largely considered the best Harry Potter movie for good reason – it’s the adaptation that’s technically the best film. But as powerful as the imagery of this one gets, it’s impossible to escape how completely introducing time travel breaks the series. It introduces so many questions (Why not go back and kill Voldemort? Why not save Harry’s parents? Hell, why are they giving this power to an eighth grader so she can take more classes? Why are the adults enabling her obsessive, overworking personality until she eventually implodes with stress? Why can’t J.K. Rowling write a book without a deus ex machina?), but Prisoner of Azkaban is an enjoyable enough blockbuster if you don’t think about it too hard. 

2 – Order of the Phoenix (7/10)

Order of the Phoenix is the first film in the series to really do anything with Harry’s anti-authoritarianism and it all flows really well – David Yates condenses the longest and arguably hardest to adapt novel into a tight 138 minutes that has the students finally take initiative and fight against the systems that are oppressing them but also makes sure that the students never forget that kindness, love, and connection are what makes them different from the enemy. Plus, Umbridge’s downfall never fails to be the most satisfying moment in the entire series and Dumbledore vs Voldemort is the only fight that has ever lived up to my expectations of creative, exciting wizard battles. Yes, I was the kind of kid that loved this black sheep entry focused on teenage angst and failure of mentorship and it still holds up now, even while I watch it through a hyper critical lens. 

1 – Deathly Hallows Part 1 (8/10)

In splitting Deathly Hallows into two films, the best Harry Potter was inadvertently made (and it’s not even close). Deathly Hallows Part 1 is a tragic masterpiece – the weight of the world is put on three teenagers who just a year ago were safe and sound within the walls of Hogwarts, their biggest worries being whether or not their crush likes them back. Yet, they know that they can’t seek help, for every time they have, they’ve suffered the loss of a loved one. This is the only film in the series where the weight of everything the heroes have been through really sinks in – best highlighted by the two strongest sequences in all eight movies. The first follows the trio wandering through a desolate rural wasteland, listening in on a radio broadcast declaring every missing witch and wizard, praying that they don’t hear the name of a loved one. The second sequence has Harry and Hermione dancing to Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds’ “O Children” to forget about the fact that their best friend has left them and they’re left on their own to complete an impossible task that happens to be the only way to defeat the strongest dark wizard of all time. It’s all mindbogglingly depressing for a children’s fantasy series – I couldn’t appreciate it as a child, but now, it’s to me the only truly great film in the saga. 

In conclusion – Despite how critical of it I am, I still have a soft spot for this series. Is Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality infinitely better than the original series and not written by a POS TERF? Yes, but I still thoroughly enjoyed my rewatch of this series because I’m not immune to nostalgia and because there’s some genuine moments of brilliance amidst the general mediocrity.

Ghostlight is a film about the power of art to heal us and help us process our emotions, told through a construction worker’s journey as an actor in a small scale production of Romeo and Juliet – my English 9/10 teacher would adore this. Fortunately, she managed to impart some of her affection for Shakespeare onto me, and the creation and eventual final production of the play is highly entertaining (it most closely resembles Luhrmann’s fever dream gangster movie adaptation of Romeo and Juliet, AKA the best adaptation). But the emotional core of the film lies in how Romeo and Juliet reflects a recent familial tragedy for the blue collar worker and how being in the play helps him reckon with that event, which leads to some absolutely devastating moments. Ghostlight is being swept under the rug by the big summer blockbusters (Inside Out 2, Bad Boys: Ride or Die, A Quiet Place Day One) alongside its very limited release (was only able to catch this one because I was on vacation in Florida), but if you get the chance to see it, Ghostlight is a hidden gem that deserves to be watched by more people (especially my English teacher). 

“A movie with no emotional core, no character arcs, or growth. No one learns anything. It’s not saying anything. It shouldn’t work, but somehow it’s perfect. No one has been able to replicate it and they should stop trying”

 – Patrick, 5 star Letterboxd review

Even the most ardent supporters of the film presumably agree with this, considering that the above review is the most popular review of Ghostbusters on the biggest film social media site. Yet, is this argument not fundamentally flawed? There is no piece of art that says nothing. (though, calling Ghostbusters art is hyperbolic)

“It shouldn’t work”, and it doesn’t: The pacing has all the rhythm of a middle school percussionist, the jokes are missing the laugh tracks they belong with, and the script reads like it was written by prep school students who haven’t felt a woman’s touch since their own birth. Nobody can replicate it, not because Ghostbusters is a masterpiece of the likes that could never be made again. No, it can’t be replicated because of the historical situation surrounding it. This was at the time when Ronald Reagan was the  president, when the vast wealth gaps were rapidly pulling further and further apart. Americans needed a film that could support their delusion of the American Dream, the fantasy that one could become rich through sheer determination, grit, and hard work. Yet, just that wasn’t enough. They needed protagonists that seemed relatable, protagonists that they could see themselves in. Is it a coincidence that they happen to be white, misogynist, middle aged assholes that are rather incompetent at their job, coasting through with their charisma in absence of any actual skill? Is it a coincidence that the women are relegated to damsel in distress roles, seemingly having zero agency for themselves and that the protagonist ends up with one of these women, even when she clearly doesn’t feel anything for him? Is it a coincidence that the antagonist is an environmentalist?

No – Ghostbusters is the ultimate Republican fantasy, an irredeemable film that has helped justify hatred and corrupt systems for two too many generations, a clear representation of the self-deception middle class America was living in at the time, a sort of film that only works as satire and is yet not presented as one. It’s not surprising then, that the same fans of the original would riot over a reboot that cast women as the leads before the movie was even released. And for all the sins that Ghostbusters (2016) may have committed, at least it didn’t commit the deadliest one: Glorifying America under Ronald Reagan’s rule.

“Mama always said life was like a box of chocolates. You never know what you’re gonna get.” – Forrest Gump

This is the most famous quote from Forrest Gump, suggesting that life is unpredictable and all we can do is go along with the flow. So, why do the characters in this film that challenge the status quo end up with expired advent calendar chocolate and the characters that do as they’re told get premium Vosges Haut-Chocolat? Jenny, a war protestor, drug user, and stripper out of necessity dies from Hepatitis C (the actual disease isn’t ever specified in the movie, it’s revealed to be Hepatitis C rather than the typically assumed HIV/AIDS in the sequel book). Meanwhile, Forrest, who doesn’t challenge the system and drifts through life like a feather through the wind, ends up rich and famous. There is a typical defense against this argument – Forrest does things that he’s told not to all the time during the movie. He saves his commander’s life in battle when he’s told to leave him behind, his ship is the only survivor of Hurricane Carmen which leads to insane profit, and he decides to go running for three years straight, baffling the nation. But does he ever think that the status quo he’s thriving in is wrong? No – largely in part due to his intellectual disability. This is why the film is morally corrupt – blindly believe in the system and work hard and be rewarded; do otherwise and be severely punished. Don’t you dare dream of how things could be better. This is the movie that led to the successful Bubba Gump Shrimp Company restaurant chain. This is the movie that won 1994 best picture. This is the cynical garbage we choose to believe in because thinking that we’ve done anything wrong in the past is too painful, even if it could lead to a better future. No wonder this shallow, saccharine, “apolitical” film won over the geezers at the Academy. 

*Disclaimer – My friend made this game – while there is a conflict of interest here, I do genuinely really like the game and feel confident in recommending it, regardless of my relationship with the creator. 

How does it feel to witness the rise of a bona fide auteur? To see Tarkovsky’s student film in its first showing, to read Toni Morrison’s master thesis, to listen to Radiohead while they were still On a Friday? I don’t know that exact feeling of seeing a keg of talent blow up into a fireworks display of mastery, but I can see the sparks in Dungeon Land. Yes, the game is flawed – the loading times are fairly long, the power imbalance between weapons is very noticeable, there’s not a whole lot of content in the game. But the core gameplay is impeccable – fast paced, satisfying, and fresh throughout every short run. In 15 minutes, you turn from a weak, powerless creature into a force of nature able to take down Lovecraftian horrors, but even in the endgame, being too reckless easily leads to your demise. This instant shot of gratification through the progression system and movement shooter gameplay is what has led to me coming back to this game time and time again to beat the game dozens of times and even try a few speedruns (my PB is 5:38). I’m absolutely fiending for the next update to this game, but more importantly, I believe in the creator’s ability to give a bright, vibrant fireworks show of proficiency in the future. 

Download Dungeon Land free on itch.io (https://oddmin8.itch.io/dungeonland)

“The robbery should have taken 10 minutes. 4 hours later, the bank was like a circus sideshow. 8 hours later, it was the hottest thing on live T.V. 12 hours later, it was history. And it’s all true.“

Robbers John Wojtowicz, Salvatore Naturile, and Robert Westenberg did make history, but so does Sidney Lumet in this luminous work, perfectly highlighting the struggles of everyone in a broken system that glorifies violence and fame while ignoring those that need help. Yet, despite this heavy subject matter, Dog Day Afternoon is constantly humorous and an easy watch throughout its runtime. This is a quintessential New York film – it wouldn’t work as well if it took place anywhere else. The humor works because this is exactly how New York reacted to the real life event – A bank robbery by a bi man to pay for his lover’s sex operation is just another afternoon in the Big Apple. 

Yes,all of this representation seems very ahead of its time for a film released in 1975. Nevertheless, Sidney Lumet always handles every character with the utmost respect; every character is portrayed in a supremely compassionate and humane manner. This is par for the course with Lumet, a director who from the start has been tackling important societal issues. From 12 Angry Men’s rallying cry against prejudice to Network’s sharp critique of the decline of journalism, it is clear throughout Dog Day Afternoon that Lumet is an incredibly empathetic director, and this empathy shines throughout the whole movie. Nobody is portrayed as a villain, everybody is only trying to get through this difficult situation. 

Despite how much the audience is rooting for the robbers to make it through unscathed by the end, their downfall is inevitable. It’s been written in history, it’s been the ticking time bomb the audience has been expecting since the movie started. Yet, the final sequence remains forever heartbreaking, devastating, agonizing. The jovial tone comes screeching to a halt as the audience is given a harsh reminder that anybody who fights the system will eventually be silenced. Dog Day Afternoon is simultaneously a harsh reminder that authority figures are not your friends, an astringent critique of media spreading misinformation for higher viewership, a deeply empathetic film to everyone’s everyday struggles, a riotous comedy, a roller coaster of emotions, Lumet’s magnum opus, and a watch that will stick with you for the rest of your life. 

The Barnes and Noble exclusive version of Demon Copperhead starts with an essay by Barbara Kingsolver titled “An Ethereal Visit”. In it, she talks about the catalyst for her writing the novel – a visit from famed (and long dead) author Charles Dickens. She talks about the residual hurt she felt while in Dickens’s study, about the pain she felt Dickens “never fully exorcised” after a troubled childhood. From the start, Demon Copperhead was written to be a novel about the suffering inflicted onto those who have no control over their lives and how that pain lingers not just in individuals but the area that they reside in too. “‘Look to the child’”, Dickens tells Kingsolver. She listens, and for the next 500 or so pages, we experience a couple decades through the eyes of Demon, a wide-eyed, spunky boy hardened through the trials and tribulations of the American foster care system.

“‘Anybody will tell you the born of this world are marked from the get-out, win or lose”, Demon says in the first chapter of the book. From the opening pages of the novel, Demon Copperhead has an admittance of defeat. Through the course of the winding plot, nobody escapes the fate given to them from being born into a poor family in Appalachia. This is an area cursed with the blood of the young, where children are forced into a broken foster care system and escape their pain through the very drugs that thrust them away from their parents in the first place. This overwhelmingly depressing portrait that Demon Copperhead paints is what the novel is most often criticized for – The Boston Globe’s Lorraine Berry argues that “[Kingsolver’s] characters wallow in dark hollows with little light, condemned to forever repeat the horrific mistakes of previous generations. She makes the people of Appalachia into objects of pity, but in doing so, also intimates that falling into drug abuse, rejecting education, and ‘clinging’ to their ways are moral choices.”

But to view the novel as simple poverty porn is to ignore the beating, resilient heart at the center of it – right after his statement, Demon continues: “You want to think it’s not over till the last page”. Despite the circumstances of his birth, he continues to hold onto hope that things will get better – in this way, Demon Copperhead is a remarkably optimistic story about hope as a necessity for survival. Throughout the seven circles of hell Demon goes around, one throwaway phrase from his neighbor Mr. Peggot acts as a lens with which we can view the events of the novel through  – “a man can get used to about anything, except hanging by the neck”. The misery is not the point, the strength Demon displays to keep moving on despite it all is. 

Of course, this isn’t to say Demon Copperhead is all sunshine and rainbows – it is a story about the overwhelmingly negative effects of big pharma, specifically the sins of the Sackler family, a story about the people we ignore to keep our delusions of Americana alive. To say that the overarching plot of the novel practically just functions as a vehicle to take Demon from one unfortunate event to another wouldn’t necessarily be wrong, though this would be a little like saying Frankenstein is a slasher and the plot of the novel is a vehicle to get from one kill to another. This is perhaps why critic Jessa Crispin of The Telegraph argues “Beset by earnestness, Demon Copperhead breaks the most important rule of working in the Dickensian mode: you must show the reader a good time … Demon Copperhead is only sad and glum, with every bad thing that happened in the original cranked up a bit”. 

To say this, however, is to overlook Demon Copperhead’s greatest scenes, the rare, sparse sparks of joy that Demon experiences, where all the brokenness within him and the systems around him disappear into the background and he can live in the moment – scenes like Demon and his role model Fast Forward talking and taking drugs under the moonlight, Demon learning to further his innate artistic abilities under the tutelage of his hippie art teacher, Demon working up the courage to ask out his charmingly debilitating crush. These are the memories that hurt him the most to reminisce about but are also the ones that keep him moving forward when he’s at his absolute worst. And that’s to say nothing of American football, the source of Demon’s most vibrant memories and his most vivid pain. 

Kingsolver has never believed in the American project – her first book, The Bean Trees, is about, among many other things, Native American parental rights and the failure of the U.S. to protect them. There’s a clear through line between The Bean Trees to her controversial 9/11 essays to Demon Copperhead, which essentially acts as her thesis statement on the state of America. Never is this more clear than in her depiction of football, simultaneously an incisive critique of the permanent damage the sport causes and the pure euphoria it creates in its players that have nothing else to live for. Our dreams are ultimately what suffocate us but are also what keep us breathing and Demon Copperhead is Kingsolver grappling with this contradiction, this dilemma at the roots of our country – how do we reconcile the inherent savage ruthlessness of the American Dream with our innate human nature to be caring and empathetic? 

Demon Copperhead isn’t perfect (no piece of literature has been since Hamlet), but its potent mix of misery and magic positions it as a contender for the 21st century Great American Novel. It is no more a piece of misery lit than other novels given the title of GAN (think The Catcher in the Rye or The Grapes of Wrath), perhaps because to be a classic is to confront the dark parts of human nature, and to focus purely on the misfortune of Demon is to miss the forest for the trees. Through what Goodreads reviewer Emily May derogatorily calls “every single hillbilly tragedy trope [combined] into one life story”, it tells a beautiful, messy story of those cut on the shards of a shattered American Dream, the indomitable human spirit in the face of all the cards being stacked against you, and hope as a necessity for survival in a broken world.