If the glossy pages of my elementary school history books had told me stories like that of Grace Lee Boggs, I would have paid more attention. Like me, Boggs is Asian-American who was born to immigrant parents—if I’d learned her story growing up, I might have felt invested in our country’s history instead of feeling disenchanted by it.
When a screenwriter-turned-director snags numerous Oscar nods in one year alone, it’s not surprising that they'll try to sweep the Academy Awards with ambitious films again and again. But when that director is Paul Haggis—the white guy famous for his deeply problematic and dubiously dubbed“progressive” film on racism Crash (2004)—each continued effort is heartily dreaded. Haggis has had plenty more commercial success with films like Casino Royale and Quantum of Solace, but his latest attempt, Third Person, likely won’t even be able say that much.
When we first meet fresh-faced director Kate Logan in new documentary Kidnapped for Christ, she’s a budding Evangelical filmmaker from a Christian college heading to the Dominican Republic to document a school for at-risk American teens.
The new Melissa McCarthy movie has already been panned far and wide: There's a no-star review from the Washington Post ("a misbegotten movie that starts badly and ends worse"), a scathing assessment in Time ("In film schools of the future, professors will teach Tammy as an object lesson in Making Everything Go Wrong"), and a highbrow takedown from the New Yorker ("though I’m honor-bound to report that Tammy is not a very funny comedy, it’s worth adding that, in substance, it’s hardly a comedy at all"), among others.
If NYC single life actually resembled every bad rom-com ever, I’d be telling you about my ultimate meet-cute right now: me, a feminist media critic alone at the Brooklyn Academy of Music to review a movie for Bitch, him a handsome, witty stranger reading Naomi Klein's Shock Doctrine.
New film "Obvious Child" stars Jenny Slate as a 20-something in Brooklyn who gets an abortion.
One in three women in the US have an abortion in their lifetimes, while nearly 40 percent of Americans claim they do not know anyone who has had an abortion.
I left the latter group, not coincidentally, around the same time I joined the former. When I got pregnant as a 20-something in Brooklyn five years ago and started telling people I was getting an abortion, I quickly discovered I actually knew three women who’d had one.
When I was 10 in October 1985, “Jem and the Holograms,” an animated half-hour program about an all-girl band, made its debut. I was all about it. Now, almost 30 years later, Jem and the Holograms are staging a comeback, via a new live-action movie, announced this March and set to premiere in 2016.
If you've already seen the new, Sundance-anointed comedy Obvious Child, you'll likely agree that it's the romantic comedy many feminists have long waited for—talky, sweet, and fearless; entirely relatable; offering humanity and fart jokes with equal aplomb. There's no reason to think of it—as many of us do with rom-coms—as a "guilty pleasure." It's just a pleasure, full stop, and one that has the potential to finally clue Hollywood in to what female moviegoers want to see onscreen.
Who has the right to self-defense? How do race, class, sexuality, and gender expression affect what our society sees as violent? In 75 minutes, new documentary Out in the Nightchallenges us to consider these questions.
The film follows the case of Venice Brown, Terrain Dandridge, Renata Hill and Patreese Johnson, four women who became known as the New Jersey Four after they defended themselves against an assault on the streets of New York City's West Village.