Trinity Film Review Best Film Ever

The Awards’ Issue

editor’s letter

I started writing for the Trinity Film Review when I was in first year of college. COVID had completely decimated my freshers experience. I had no societies, ways of making new friends, and a course I felt lukewarm about. Nothing really motivated me. And then one day a Trinity Film Review article comes up on my timeline. It was like the clouds had parted, I knew what I wanted to do, and that was write for TFR.

After one review, I was completely hooked. It was probably an algorithm that recommended that article to me, but I like to think it was Divine Intervention. Working on the Trinity Film Review has been the highlight of my college experience, and I’m jealous of everyone else who comes after me, they’re in for a treat.

I’m aware of how incredibly lucky I am to be in this position. So, instead of writing about the theme of this issue, I’d like to thank everyone who made Trinity Film Review an absolute pleasure to work on, and helped me get to the position I am in today. Don’t worry there’s a huge amount of articles in this issue exploring the film canon in a more

I want to thank Emily Thomas, Peter Horan, and Markéta Ní Eithir for giving me the opportunity in the first place. Seamus Conlon and Luke Bradley for helping and supporting me when I was a deputy editor. I didn’t even know how to edit an article before I met them. Mia Sherry, for even letting me on her editorial team. While she ran Trinity Film Review, which is a full time job in its own right, she also supported and encouraged me, she was the person who made me believe I was actually good at this sort of thing. Which I might not be, you still have to read the rest of the issue. Without her belief in me, I’d probably have just reverted back to being some disengaged BESS student.

And finally, I want to thank my editorial team Cat Earley, Eve Smith, and James Mahon. They are the lifeblood of this magazine. None of this would exist without them. Everything you see on each page is down to them. From their own profound articles, to the numerous prompts they’ve thought of that other people (including myself) have based their articles around, to the lack of typos (something a magazine lives or dies on) to Eve’s beautiful designs. There is no Trinity Film Review without them, and they’ve made my year as Editor-in-Chief an absolute pleasure, and something I’ll treasure for the rest of my life.

For one final time; happy reading, Katie.

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TFR’s Top Ten

What is the best film ever? A question so large it’s almost laughable. Our previous articles have tried to analyse the criteria for a “classic” film, and what it even means for a film to be good. Now it’s time to answer the big question. For the last two months, the Trinity Film Review editorial team have polled our contributors and readers asking them what the best film ever is. Here are the top ten:

10.

12 Angry Men (Sidney Lumet, 1957)

It’s hard to find someone who hasn’t heard of this film. Based on a play of the same name, Lumet’s courtroom drama is a classic in every sense of the word. From the claustrophobic atmosphere to the gripping story, there are no chinks in this film’s armour. Aided by a career best performance by Henry Fonda, 12 Angry Men’s exploration of morality, justice, and the legal system has only become more relevant with time.

9. Spiderman: Into the Spiderverse

(Peter Ramsey, Bob Persichetti, Rodney Rothman, 2018)

With the combined efforts of the MCU and DCU, it seemed like there was a new superhero movie every month. Fatigue was kicking in; all the films seemed the same. And then came Spiderman: Into the Spiderverse. Beautifully animated with a powerfully simple story, Spiderman: Into the Spiderverse

reinvented the genre. How did they do it? By adding one quality all its contemporaries were missing: sincerity.

8. Star Wars (George Lucas, 1978)

What’s left to say about Star Wars? While now it seems inescapable; from the sequels, to the tv shows, to the video games, it’s safe to say that this space epic has a chokehold on pop culture, for better or worse. And while it may hurt the inner film-snob in all of us, sometimes things are popular because they’re just really good.

7. Donnie Darko (Richard Kelly, 2001)

Its’ poster is a staple of college room walls, and for good reason. Swinging from laugh out loud one liners to moments of deep melancholy, Donnie Darko seems more like an experience than a film, oh and what an experience that is. This famously trippy film that made a star out of Jake Gyllenhaal (sorry Swifties) only gets better with each rewatch.

6.. Interstellar (Christopher Nolan, 2014)

The first time any of us watched a Christopher Nolan, we knew he was good. But it wasn’t until Interstellar that we knew how truly great he was. The

Katie McKenna

Parasite , Bong Joon-ho, 2019

ground-breaking special effects, haunting score, gorgeous cinematography, and heart-wrenching performances, Interstellar really has it all. It’s watching a great performing at his best, and God is that brilliant!

5. Moonlight (Barry Jenkins, 2016)

It’s sad to see what Moonlight’s legacy has become. An Oscars mix-up has overshadowed Jenkin’s masterpiece. Following a black, gay man coming of age in modern America, Moonlight explores identity and sexuality in a heartbreakingly tender fashion. We look forward to the day that social media and pop culture moves on, and all we have left is Moonlight the film, a stunning and gut wrenching odyssey of adolescence.

4. In Bruges (Martin McDonagh, 2008)

McDonagh may be getting a lot of critical acclaim at the moment, but we shouldn’t forget where he came from. In his breakout film In Bruges, McDonagh follows two hitmen hiding out in Belgium. Wickedly funny with iconic lines, this film shouldn’t be missed.

3. Parasite (Bong Joon-ho, 2019)

What’s left to say about Parasite? Bong Joon-ho’s hilarious class satire made history by becoming the first

foreign language film to win Best

Picture at the Oscars. It’s also been one of the less controversial wins in recent history. And rightly so. Parasite captured the ‘eat the rich’ attitude becoming more prevalent in today’s society, showing us the world through a lens we hadn’t quite deciphered yet. Whether you love Parasite for its nail-bitingly tense scenes, darkly comedic lines, or its whip-smart satire, it’s easy to understand its entry on our list. The only question we have is: why isn’t it higher up?

2. Shrek 2 (Andrew Adamson, Conrad Vernon, Kelly Asbury, 2004). Ok, ok, hear us out. Joining the ranks of The Godfather (Francis Ford Coppola, 1972) and Alien (Ridley Scott, 1979), Shrek 2 is a sequel that far surpasses its predecessor. And a staple of any happy childhood. This film has arguably better needle-drops than any other on this list. And a white-knuckle third act, with one of film’s saddest deaths (in our humble opinion). Let’s all free ourselves from our inner film bro and just admit the truth; Shrek 2 is fantastic.

1.Everything Everywhere All At

Once (Daniel Kwan, Daniel Scheinert, 2022) Maybe it’s recency bias, but we don’t think so. Everything we like about the previous entries have been fused together to one perfect (?) film. Stunning cinematography, unforgettable performance, belly laughs, a piercing script, and charming sincerity by the bucket-load. What’s not to love? And if you weren’t sobbing in the cinema while watching this, you’re lying.

Everything Everywhere All At Once, Daniel Kwan, Daniel Scheinert, 2022

In Bruges, Martin McDonagh, 2008

For and against

The Film Canon

Against the Film Canon

Everyone knows a film bro—someone who chain smokes with a mullet, asking you to follow his Letterboxd, whining how something wasn’t as good as Goddard’s 13th film, and brags about his Reservoir Dogs (Quentin Tarantino, 1992) poster (“I’m not like everyone else, it’s not a Pulp Fiction (Quentin Tarantino, 1992) poster”).

These people—whether acquaintances or professional critics—embody the very worst tendencies of the film canon: its echoes. Everyone becomes accustomed to regurgitating each other’s opinions forming a consensus. To speak against a critical consensus is dismissed as ill-informed or as reflexive contrarianism. By only following the critical consensus—watching only the canon—lines become drawn in the sand: this film deserves to be watched, treasured, and preserved.

But this position is unfortunate because it is uncurious. It means somebody does not trust their own judgements enough to watch something new, form their own opinions, they have to be told it’s great. And beyond that, sometimes really God-awful trashy movies, bring out the best emotions in the viewers.

One summer, I made my way through the Friday

the 13th series with friends. There was one character—a star high school athlete who, following an accident, was forced into a wheelchair. Throughout the movie, he flirted with a girl, explaining how he refuses to give up on his dreams of becoming a professional football player. Everything is drawn into providing some attempt at sympathy to his character: then he dies. But he doesn’t just die. He is slashed in the face with a machete then rolls for a full ten-seconds down beach stairs that were never seen before or after in the movie. There is no moment that has brought me closer to my friends than as we shouted “Not Wheels!”

The film—even for a slasher film—is disposable, the characters are unmemorable except for the ways they go out—yet there is nothing more entertaining than watching something mindless with your friends.

If we only ever had the high and mighty canon to decide what to watch—then we’d cry out for

“Instead, the film canon should be treated as a museum—not everything is for everyone’s liking, but peruse through it, and there will inevitably be objects that stick out.”

Gabriel

Gurule

something mindlessly stupid. The importance of the canon is to understand the criteria: what makes something good? How is it decided? Can you recognize it? And once someone can make these decisions for themselves—cast it out of mind forever. Don’t let someone else tell you what’s good—but if you think something is good, it’s best to explain why.

For the Film Canon

The canon of films has become an easy target for all: from fans of super hero films criticizing out of touch filmmakers to audiences wanting films (and filmmakers) that represent different and diverse walks of life. It’s clear that everyone, no matter their stripes of preference, find that the Film Canon—perhaps best exemplified by the Sight and Sound’s 100 Best list—is out of touch. The list, revised every decade, is made by cultural elites: storied filmmakers, critics, the sort. It’s an institutional approach—but this is perhaps the strongest reason to endorse the film canon.

The film canon—we’ll say films widely regarded as classics—seems imposing. It seems like these movies must be perfect, they must tackle important themes of life, and if something does not do so, then it cannot be a serious film. But I believe that’s a limiting view: instead, the canon should be treated as a series of guideposts.

Instead, the film canon should be treated as a museum—not everything is for everyone’s liking, but peruse through it, and there will inevitably be objects that stick out. This could be editing, stories, acting, or the way certain films will sit with you long after the credits roll.

When the canon is treated like this, it functions as a common language for fans of films. It can be treated beyond just quality, but for the roots of many other films. These lofty classics become touchstones. When someone watches their favourite director—they see homages, references to the moment when that director was growing up, staring with their jaw on the floor, at some other picture. Gene Kelly’s Singing in the Rain (1952) —which can be dismissed as just some musical— has its fingerprints everywhere from Truffaut’s Day for Night (1973) to Damien Chazelle’s Babylon (2022). John Ford, who could be dismissed as a simple cowboy director, pioneered tracking shots that Akira Kurosawa and Orson Welles borrowed. By recognizing these filmmakers, their pictures, and preserving it within the loftysounding canon—we can provide a singular language to aspiring filmmakers and critics alike.

For people, the canon shouldn’t be the only marker of quality. Just because a movie isn’t ancient and widely revered doesn’t mean it’s not good. But instead, it’s a building block: this movie is relevant for these reasons, watch it, gather your thoughts, and see how its influence has spread further.

Citizen Kane, Orson Welles, 1941

Pulp Fiction, Quentin Tarantino, 1992

The State of Disunion:

Ireland and The Oscars

It’s the most wonderful time of year once again. No, I am not referring to Christmas. I am of course referring to the All-Ireland final for film nerds: the Oscars. With another year of movies over, it now comes down to members of the Academy of Motion Pictures Arts and Sciences to make their picks for the best of the best. There is lots to keep track of, but some things are crystal clear. One such thing is that it is already a massive year for Ireland and with a record 14 nominations, it begs the question of how many of them we will be able to win. In this article, we will look at the Irish nominations in some of the biggest categories and analyse their chances of actually taking home the gold.

Best International Feature

As the first Irish nominee in the category, Colm Bairead’s The Quiet Girl (2022) will have to settle for being a historic nominee as opposed to a historic winner. The film’s nomination came as a surprise to awards pundits and given that fellow nominee, Germany’s All Quiet on the Western Front (Edward

Berger, 2022) is also represented in Best Picture, we might not make much noise here come Oscars night.

Verdict: Unlikely

Best Original Screenplay

In this category, Martin McDonagh’s The Banshees of Inisherin (2022)  faces off against Daniels’ Everything Everywhere All at Once (2022). Though a win for the latter is not out of the question, given the leg up that EEAAO has in categories such as Supporting Actor, Director, and Picture, it’s plausible that the Academy will spread the love around. Therefore, there is a strong chance that McDonagh wins his first writing Oscar.

Verdict: Likely

Best Actor

While his co-stars are happy to be nominated (hence why they were not mentioned

Adam Clinton

individually in this article as it would make me sound like a broken record), Colin Farrell has emerged as one of the frontrunners to take home Best Actor. However, it bears repeating: he is one of the frontrunners. He faces stiff competition from Austin Butler in Elvis and Brendan Fraser in The Whale. Despite this, it’s possible that the desire to give Farrell his due could push him over the finish line.

Verdict: Possible

Best Picture

And finally, the big one. Like Original Screenplay, the race is between Banshees and Everything Everywhere. And as mentioned before, EEAAO has been viewed as the likelier winner, given its more uplifting nature than the depressing Banshees. However, as we have seen in previous years, the early frontrunner isn’t always the eventual winner (*cough* La La Land). As such, there is a chance that, if EEAAO proves to be too bizarre for the more stuffy voters (it is a movie where hotdog fingers are not even the 10th weirdest thing to happen), The Banshees of Inisherin could become the 95th Best Picture winner.

Verdict: Possible

No matter what happens on March 12th, one thing is for certain: people will be mad about something.

The Quiet Girl, Colm Bairéad 2022

Aftersun, Charlotte Wells2022

“as we have seen in previous years, the early frontrunner isn’t always the eventual winner (*cough* La La Land).”

‘Silly Rabbit! Flicks are for Kids’:

Animation for Adults

Cat Earley

When Disney’s Beauty and the Beast released in 1991 and became the first animated film to be nominated for Best Picture at the Academy Awards, it should have been the sign the film industry needed to recognise the public’s growing appetite for animation as being - perhaps - a bit more nuanced than a 20th century gimmick. In fact, the film would not be animation’s (or much less, Disney’s) first major appearance at the Academy Awards ceremony, with Disney’s first feature film Snow White and the Seven Dwarves (1937, Disney Studios) taking home the studio’s first (honorary) award in 1938 and Pinocchio (1940, Disney Studios) taking home their first official Oscar some years later.

In the decades that followed, animated films would continue to dominate the Best Original Score and Best Song categories, reaching their 20th century peak in the 90s when the Disney Renaissance brought films like Beauty and the Beast to the very apex of the Academy Awards, even

challenging prestige live-action films like Silence of the Lambs (1991, Jonathan Demme). Tipping into the beginning of the new millennium and in response to the unexpected commercial and critical success of Dreamworks’ Shrek (2001), the 74th Academy Awards in 2002 finally gave the public what they had assumed we had all been waiting for.

They added a Best Animated Feature category.

And in the years that followed, Disney, Pixar, and even fringe studios like Paramount Animation would remain locked in an annual tango for the honour of being crowned Best Animated Feature at the Oscars, but no animated film would ever come so close as Beauty and the Beast did to a Best Picture award ever again.

So what is it about animation that drives this infantilisation in the film canon? After all, many don’t consider classics like Snow White and the Seven Dwarves akin to Sight and Sound poll smashers like

Bojack Horseman, RaphaelBob-Waksberg, 2014-2020

to their predominating status as ‘children’s films’ as contributing to their low-brow nature, but plenty of animated adult films have graced our screens in the past decade. Netflix’s Bojack Horseman (Raphael BobWaksberg, 2014-2020) premiered on the streaming service in 2014 and cultivated its own dedicated fan base of cinephiles and sad kids alike, but - despite its cult popularity - the show is rarely given the Golden Age of Television prestige it arguably deserves.

Perhaps it would be easier to continue to list animated classics like Bojack and touching and sophisticated tales like Flee (2021, Jonas Poher Rasmussen) as the true taste-makers of the genre, but I believe to completely dismiss the family-friendly flicks that came before them as merely ‘kids’ movies’ would be to fundamentally misunderstand the genre and its strengths. After all, why choose to create an animated film at all? What does animation add to the artform? Beauty and the Beast used its animated world to bring candelabras and clocks to life and smashed the barrier of disbelief in the minds of its audience with its dancing plates and loveable beastly hero. Shrek not only recreated a preexisting medieval fantasy world, but used its setting and characters to turn that world comedic. What does animation do but make the unimaginable visible? An obvious avenue for films geared towards children, but also a clear gateway into the more nuanced storytelling we now see in shows like Bojack Horseman, which - in the vein of Shrek - heavily leans on silly character names and presentations to convey more complex story beats, and - like Beauty and the Beastcapitalises on the fluidity of animation to portray concepts and displays more difficult to achieve in live-action cinema.

This year’s Academy Award for Best Animated Picture see films like Turning Red (2022, Domee Shi & Lindsay Collins), Guillermo del Toro’s Pinocchio (2023, Guillermo Del Toro), and Marcel the Shell with Shoes On (2023, Dean Fleischer Camp) nominated - all films that have been incredibly

commercially successful in their own right, but perhaps lack any recognition of that success by the larger award ceremonies. After all, the Academy has demonstrated an admiration for story beats that convey themes of coming-of-age and complicated mother-daughter relationships in films like

the live-action Everything, Everywhere, All at Once (Daniel Kwan, Daniel Scheinert, 2022), but not in Turning Red. They have shown their interest in the nuances of life and death in Best Picture nominated All Quiet on the Western Front (Edward Berger, 2022), but not in Guillermo del Toro’s Pinocchio. Why the double standard? Maybe the obvious answer is the most likely one in this instance - children’s films do tend to inspire a kind of adult-snobbery, an insistence that no family-friendly film could ever be as impactful or ground-breaking as one which has a 15+ label stamped on it - but what does that say for the dozens

of brilliant animated mature films that have been and continue to be completely snubbed at the Oscars year after year? Whatever the reasoning, the Academy’s messaging is quite clear: if you want a Best Picture nomination, go live-action; Animated flicks are for kids.

“I believe to completely dismiss the family-friendly flicks that came before as merely ‘kids’ movies’ would be to fundamentally misunderstand the genre.”

Pinocchio, 1940, Disney Studios

The Genres We Leave Behind

The Genres We Leave Behind

Last year I was delighted to see that Mulholland Drive (David Lynch, 2001) had broken into the Sight and Sound top ten. In my view, it’s the best film ever made, so to see it appreciated made me happy. After the list came out and I saw the discourse surrounding it unfold, I began to wonder; why is it that we care about our favourite films being included or left off these kinds of lists? Horror, comedy, animation and musical fans often feel jilted by these lists’ perceived lack of regard for films from those genres, and I can see why. There seems to be some kind of bias towards these genres, almost as if they’re perceived as a lower form of art.

As an avid horror fan I am often left underwhelmed by its usual exclusion. Whenever a horror film does get on one of these lists, people often rationalise it as “not being like other horror movies”. I have heard people declare both Jaws (Steven Spielberg, 1975) and Alien (Ridley Scott, 1979) to not be horror, in what I can only assume is a way for fans of these films to not have to stoop to such a low form of art as horror. I’d also just like to commend the critics at Sight and Sound for including, what is in my view, the finest horror movie ever made, and one

of my favourite films in general: The Texas Chain Saw Massacre (Tobe Hooper, 1974) in their top 250.

Along with comedy and pornography, which I shockingly won’t be discussing in this article, horror is classed as one of the so called “body genres”. Genres of film that are meant to elicit a physical reaction in their audience, with an emotional reaction placed in a role of less importance. I wonder if it’s this prioritising of the physical that people have aversion to. The horror of a jumpscare doesn’t last but the horror of the final sequences of Requiem for a Dream (Darren Aronofsky, 2000) does. But then if the ending of Requiem is so horrific, what’s stopping us from classifying it as a horror movie?

Comedies always seem to be forgotten when these lists are made. Of the top twenty films on the 2022 Sight and Sound poll, approximately only 10% are comedies or could be considered humourous in any way. The highly controversial and, in my view, very poor “100 Best Movies of All Time’’ list from EMPIRE magazine contains, according to the best of my counting ability, only three comedies in its top 75, being Hot Fuzz (Edgar Wright, 2007), Singin’ in

Diarmuid O’Dwyer

Alien, Ridley Scott, 1979

the Rain (Stanley Gonen, Gene Kelly, 1952) and UP (Pete Docter, 2009). These are classics, no doubt, but why are other classics left off, seemingly for no reason? Movies like Planes, Trains & Automobiles (John Hughes, 1987) or Fantastic Mr. Fox (Wes Anderson, 2009) can’t be found on any of these lists, despite their worldwide acclaim and universal appeal.

Speaking of Mr. Fox, animation is also commonly left aside in favour of its live action counterpart. Now while animation isn’t a genre but a mode of filmmaking, it’s often treated as a genre of its own and so I’ll discuss it as such. Sight and Sound includes only three animated films in its entire top 250, all of them being directed by Hayao Miyazaki. The aggregate movie rating website Letterboxd, however, features nine animated films in its top 100, showing to me that audiences think higher of animation than perhaps some critics do. One of my very favourite films, Anomalisa (Charlie Kaufman, 2015) is very rarely brought up in the conversation for best films of even just the 2010s, and I suspect it might have something to do with its uncanny stop motion animation style. I think it puts some people

but who can deny the staying power and unequalled sheer fun of Mamma Mia (Phyllida Lloyd, 2008)? I’ve never met anyone who doesn’t like Mamma Mia, and when asked about one’s favourite musical, I suspect a large portion of us would cite this ABBA fuelled fever dream. Even the more critically beloved musicals like All That Jazz (Bob Fosse, 1979) or The Wall (Alan Parker, 1982) are often dismissed by the average moviegoer as being “just musicals” and therefore less worth their time. It’s a shame because when that combination of music and film works, it creates a beautiful thing.

off when a crafted world is similar to our own, but just slightly off. Maybe that’s why the Miyazaki films are the only ones on S&S. Unlike much of Western animation, anime rarely focuses on photorealism. Then we get to the musical, another of the “body genres”. I’ll admit to not being the biggest musical fan,

I don’t think that the canon is going to change so drastically as to include more horrors, comedies or musicals any time soon. The Godfather (Fracis Ford Coppola, 1972) won’t be replaced by Jack & Jill (Dennis Dugan, 2011) any time soon and Lord knows I’m not advocating for that, but I do think it’s time to reappraise the genres we left behind in the search for the best crime thrillers and dramas.

“Whenever a horror film does get on one of these lists, people often rationalise it as “not being like other horror movies.”

Jaws, Steven Spielberg, 1975

Anomalisa, Charlie Kaufman, 2015

Heroes of Silver Screen:

The Superhero Genre and the Film Canon

Sadbh Boylan

Superhero flicks have been a mainstay of cinema since Hollywood execs first plucked characters from comic books and Saturday morning cartoons and splashed them onto the big screen. Today, the majority of tentpole theatrical releases are superhero stories. Even in the treacherous waters of post-pandemic cinema, superhero films have continued to stick the landing, drawing in the largest crowds and biggest box-office gains. However, with high-brow critics (and directors) questioning the validity of these blockbusters as “cinema”, do any of these flicks belong in the Film Canon? I would argue there’s plenty of room for these stories in the ranks. Here, I’ve distilled four essential flicks that I feel have truly earned their spot in the canon, capturing the most influential, most spectacular, and indeed, most super of the genre.

SUPERMAN (Richard Donner, 1978)

While some would gripe that the genesis of superheroes on the silver screen can be traced back to the silent crusades of ‘The Mask of Zorro’ (Niblo, 1920), it is commonly accepted that the modern superhero flick was born with Richard Donner’s Superman in 1978. Riding the success of sci-fi epics like Star Wars (George Lucas, 1978),

Donner’s Superman featured Christopher Reeve as the Man of Steel battling against arch-nemesis Lex Luthor (Gene Hackman), decked out in his finest spandex and dipped in brilliantine. The true original model, Superman, set the benchmark for superhero blockbusters and proved to Hollywood that there was an appetite for these stories on the big screen. The revolutionary special effects delivered on the film’s (extremely corny) tag-line promise to make audiences “believe a man can fly.” Significantly, it shifted public perspective on the superhero genre from cheesy cartoon fodder to fantastical cinematic fare. A true pioneer of the genre, we have Superman to thank for the thriving superhero scene of the last forty years, and the Film Canon itself simply wouldn’t be complete without it.

Black Panther, Ryan Coogler, 2018

Superman, Richard Donner, 1978

THE DARK KNIGHT (Christopher Nolan, 2008)

Christopher Nolan reinvented Batman in 2005’s Batman Begins, and redefined the superhero blockbuster with The Dark Knight in 2008. With The Dark Knight came the dawn of the mature superhero, and a new era of comic-book movies away from traditional tropes. It was the first superhero movie to gross a billion dollars, though was truly more akin to a gritty crime noir disguised with familiar IPs. The movie boasted what was considered an overqualified cast, but it was Heath Ledger’s Joker (a performance that garnered the late actor a posthumous Oscar) that truly won audiences over and cemented its cultural impact.. Many have attempted to mimic its rule-breaking, angsty take on classic comic characters since, though none have quite managed to break the mold and earn a place in the Film Canon like ‘The Dark Knight.’

BLACK PANTHER (Ryan Coogler, 2018)

Looking back at the impact of Ryan Coogler’s Black Panther (2018), it’s clear that it was not only one of the most influential superhero movies, but one of the most culturally significant movies of all time. For the genre, the film made history as the first superhero movie to secure an Academy Award

nomination for Best Picture, lending some serious legitimacy to the typical comic-book blockbuster. For both superhero features and the wider film industry, Black Panther proved that action flicks led by diverse voices exploring themes of race in a contemporary setting could be both critically and financially successful. It emboldened studio juggernauts to take more risks in both their superhero offerings and beyond, paving the way for greater diversity and celebration of previously unheard voices in film.

THE AVENGERS (Joss Whedon, 2012)

Come on, there was no way I could close this out without including at least one Avengers flick. Although later installments arguably caused a greater cultural phenomenon, none of this would be possible without Marvel’s initial gamble in 2012. Such a feat of interconnected storytelling had never been attempted in cinema before, and suffice to say the industry hasn’t quite been the same since Marvel Studios brought together its individual heroes for a team-up that blew the genre wide open. The ‘Marvel formula’ that itself went on to change the film industry was truly perfected here, and despite its faults, it’s almost impossible not to get caught up in the gleeful nerdy hijinks even all these years later. There have been – and will be –bigger, more bombastic team-ups, though it’s difficult to imagine how anything can match the incredible, industry-altering impact of the first Avengers.

HONOURABLE MENTIONS:

LOGAN (James Mangold, 2017): Taking its influence from classic Westerns, Logan is a dark, nuanced character study disguised as a superhero flick.

SPIDER-MAN: INTO THE SPIDER-VERSE (Bob Persichetti, Peter Ramsey & Rodney Rothman, 2018): Not only a gamechanger for the art of animation, but received near universal acclaim as one of the best superhero offerings of the last few decades.

GUARDIANS OF THE GALAXY (James Gunn, 2014): Marvel’s gamble in 2014 paid dividends, and paved the way for greater risks and whacky concepts in major theatrical releases.

The Dark Knight , Christopher Nolan, 2008

So Bad, It’s Good

Many people will agree that romantic comedies are objectively bad films. But how did they become the way they are? What came before them? What set the precedent for these technically terrible yet endlessly entertaining and popular films? Cue the screwball comedy.

Screwball comedies were popular for a reason. They are fast-paced and funny with likeable characters and enjoyable plots. I am not going to argue that all of them are objectively bad. That opinion would be easily stated and frankly untruthful, especially when films as good as His Girl Friday (Howard Hawks, 1940) fit the screwball genre. However, as a general rule, (and while I have not personally produced a screwball comedy) I do not believe the production companies funding these films were setting out to make Academy Award winners. Screwball comedies are made to entertain - it is that simple. There is nothing extraordinary about the cinematography, the mise-en-scène or the editing. The jokes are silly and often the characters too. But something about a film that can keep

up that level of silliness throughout, something about that very silly nature that just seeks to make the viewer smile is why these films are so good.

Screwball comedies were made in 1930s and 40s Hollywood. They often include themes of marriage and divorce, and if there is a divorce at the beginning of the film you can be sure there will be marriage at the end of it. In fact, regardless of whether there was a divorce at the beginning of the film you can be sure it will end in marriage. The formulaic nature of these films can be both off-putting and comforting at the same time. The Awful Truth (Leo McCarey, 1937) is one of those divorce comedies. It stars the magnificent Irene Dunne and Cary Grant and their snappy dialogue. When distrust arises within their characters’ marriage, they decide to separate. Yet, as the hour of the divorce becoming finalised approaches, both begin to wonder if it is really what they want. This film is worth watching for the chemistry between Dunne and Grant alone. Within such clearly defined framework it is nigh on impossible for a film to do anything new. And take my word for it, this film does nothing

Isabella Hogg

Man’s Favourite Sport, Howard hawks, 1964

new. But it ticks all the boxes if you are looking for a funny feel good flick. Take the opening scene when Grant’s character Jerry jumps through ridiculous hoops to convince his wife he was in Florida when he wasn’t. He goes to a tanning salon and buys her a basket of oranges which he neglects to realise have a Californian stamp on their peel. Meanwhile, Dunne’s character Lucy has been spending a suspicious amount of time with her singing teacher Armand (Alexander D’Arcy), or at least a suspicious amount of time when you are already looking for a reason to point blame. The fizzling tension and spectacle these events create make the film delectable. Despite the lack of genre redefinition The Awful Truth provides, it is still so good.

Bringing Up Baby (Howard Hawks, 1938) is the screwball comedy at its peak level of ridiculousness. It is packed with misunderstanding after misunderstanding between the main characters (Katharine Hepburn and Cary Grant). In the scene they first meet, Hepburn’s character Susan Vance begins playing Grant’s character Dr David Huxley’s golf ball, apparently mistaking it as her own. She then proceeds to drive his car, believing it to be hers also, in spite of Huxley’s assurances to the contrary. This leads to her driving away with Huxley hanging onto the side

of the vehicle – and so their romance begins. These nonsensical occurrences that could easily be sorted out with a little clear communication accumulate throughout the movie until you want to shout at the screen. The most eccentric idea of all has to be the titular “Baby.” Despite all of this being ridiculous, there is something brilliant in the spectacle of it. (Any film is a good film when it features Cary Grant running around the house in a flowy feathery dressing gown).

Screwball comedies are formulaic and silly. They are an absolute pleasure to watch for their sheer spectacle. These things can and do co-exist. The legacy of screwball comedies continued in comedy films of the 1960s. Man’s Favourite Sport? (Howard Hawks, 1964) is a prime example, starring Rock Hudson and Paula Prentiss getting into scrapes similarly as ridiculous as Grant and Hepburn before them. Hudson’s character doesn’t know how to fish but is entered into a fishing competition. This legacy persists also in the romantic comedies of the twenty-first century (think the implausibility of any of the plots of Love Actually (Richard Curtis, 2003)), forming a large part of why audiences love them: they are so bad that they are, simply, so good.

“This legacy persists also in the romantic comedies of the twenty-first century (think the implausibility of any of the plots of Love Actually (Richard Curtis, 2003))”

The Awful Truth, Leo McCarey, 1937

Bringing Up Baby, Howard Hawks, 1938

Missing Mainstream:

Blockbusters Actually

Christine Hickey

Although the general outlook is bleak, art does not always perish when grasped by commercialism

The commercialisation of films is inevitable, no matter the context. Marketing departments of studios release trailers revealing glimpses of the most attention-grabbing moments within a film in order to generate interest within the market, often spoiling its plot as a result. If the intellectual property of a popular film is owned by a corporation, then merchandise is mass produced and sold in stores globally to capitalise on the popularity. Without cinemas or studios which operate on business models, audiences would have a harder time accessing films. Filmmaking is a service which must be paid for, and those involved cannot simply live on the praise that their film may generate.

As a result, profitability is an important consideration for studios when deciding to finance a production. When the desire to maximise interest among cinemagoers is combined with modern industry trends, the result is standardisation in blockbusters. Such trends include the Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU) and the beginning of a juggernaut that engrossed superhero movies, beginning with 2008’s Iron Man (Jon Favreau). There has also been the rise of legacy sequels which bank on nostalgia of beloved classics to entice people to the cinema or pay a streaming subscription in order to rejoice in

watching old characters on screen once more, namely Jurassic World: Dominion (Colin Trevorrow, 2022). In these instances, the numbers delight. The MCU has earned billions and continues to be lucrative. Legacy sequels are equally profitable. With the calamitous Covid-19 pandemic subduing cinemas, it was films like these that kept projectors rolling.

Yet there have also been negative consequences of this trajectory. Prolific directors not being able to access funding for their visions is not a contemporary issue. Alfred Hitchcock struggled to fund Psycho (1960) with studio money, so he financed it himself. More recently, Martin Scorsese revealed that for years he could not get funding for his 2019 film The Irishman until Netflix stepped in. The pessimistic account of this is that studios seek the most common denominator, PG-13 productions which appeal to the biggest audiences, therefore non starting scripts that fail to meet these criteria. The ultimate ramification is that theatrical films cease to be artful. They are too safe and formulaic, almost juvenile.

This is partly true. However, blockbusters are not innately devoid of creativity and craft. Think of Avatar: The Way of Water (James Cameron, 2022) and Top Gun: Maverick (Joseph Kosinski, 2022). Despite these films being sequels, it was evident that they were made with thought and effort. They have been met with immense praise from audiences and critics alike, proving that the market still has a palate for productions other

Jurassic World: Dominion, Colin Trevorrow, 2022

Mainstream:

Blockbusters That Are Actually Good

To totally deny a commercial film’s artistic merit is to disregard the meaning of art. Who am I to dismiss a film because I could not derive substance from it? Yes, films can be made solely to make money and they can lack originality. But an unintended effect is the creation of art. Film is a vessel transporting us into a universe different to our own, allowing us to experience stories that impact us emotionally, physically, and psychologically. Mindless action can be awesome; one-dimensional characters can have resonance. If a person leaves a screening stimulated by the spectacle they just witnessed and must readjust to reality, then cinema has done its job. Art embeds within our core and induces feeling, whatever that feeling may be. This is the importance of film.

than watered down derivations of their predecessors.

There is of course entertainment to be derived from commercial films that enjoy global releases. I may dare say art. An MCU release that means a lot to me is Spider-Man: No Way Home (Jon Watts, 2021). There have been numerous adaptations of Spider-Man, but the film was not a tired rehash. It had pathos, exploring virtue and the true cost of responsibility and doing the right thing. The film was made with a palpable respect for Spider-Man fans. It moreover appealed to the cinephiles and the casual moviegoer, evident by its return as the seventh highest grossing film ever.

Prolonged franchises can also have significance. Sequels which are cash grabs for studios, evident through short release times between instalments or messy scripts, can make contributions to film. Think of the A Nightmare on Elm Street series’ impact on horror and wider pop culture. If it wasn’t for the subsequent films expanding the story, then Freddy Krueger would not be as resonant as he is today. The so-called “final girl”, ubiquitous in horror history, would be less pronounced, and practical make-up artists would have had fewer outlets to shock an audience with gory goodness.

Typical industry output changes through the decades. We are in a trend of reviving old intellectual properties or continuing with popular franchises. Buall is not lost. A commercial film can have merit, either by going beyond surface level entertainment, or by very well succeeding in this purpose. Originality can pop up where we least expect it to, and if audiences’ wallets continue to sing (profit, whether we like it or not, is still a primary goal) then the outlook for the industry and the cinema is just fine.

“They are too safe and formulaic, almost juvenile. However, blockbusters are not innately devoid of creativity and craft.”

Iron Man, Jon Favreau, 2008

The Coming of Age Canon

Coming of age films are difficult to categorise precisely, but I chose the below films because they capture a particular essence that characterises the genre for me – a grit, a longing, and an aching sensibility. This guiding metric may skew my perception of the canon somewhat, but I believe to come of age is to be changed deeply and permanently, and any film which has succeeded in acting on audiences in this way has likely also succeeded in rising to canon status.

Stand By Me (Rob Reiner, 1986) chronicles the journey of four friends determined to find the dead body of a local boy. What ensues is an adventure through junkyards, train tracks and leech-infested waters; boyish fun with dark undercurrents. In the haziness of the hot 1980s summer, the air hangs heavy with the weight of their personal struggles and of course, their destination. So enraptured we become with the boys as complex individuals and close friends, we forget there even is an endpoint for Gordo (Wil Wheaton), Chris (River Phoenix), Vern (Jerry O’Connell) and Teddy (Corey Feldman). The

film’s tagline describes that destination as being a loss of innocence and a first taste of life, a poignant reflection on burgeoning adolescence. I have adored this film since I was a pre-teen like the protagonists, but don’t believe I’m biased in saying that its dual sense of danger and adventure have defined a genre and a generation.

Greta Gerwig’s directorial debut, Lady Bird (2017) is a force to be reckoned with. Following the girlhood of high school senior Christine “Lady Bird” McPherson (Saoirse Ronan), this film indelibly marked a genre long dominated by male characters and friendships. The eponymous Lady Bird longs for freedom from the stifling atmosphere of Catholic school and suburban California, attempting to make sense of herself and the world around her while hitting conventional teenage milestones. Lady Bird is tenacious, entertaining, and not wholly likeable, coming of age messily and with fierce resolve. The mother-daughter relationship upon which the story hangs is the film’s tour de force, skilfully portraying a complex dynamic that is criminally underrepresented in film. Lady Bird suggests that the

Hana Rae Quinn

home and family are often not distilled until they are in the rear-view, a thesis with enough universality to make it an instant classic upon release.

Dead Poets Society (Peter Weir, 1989) charts the inspiring influence unorthodox English teacher Mr. Keating (Robin Williams) has on a group of students at the prestigious Welton Academy. This band of friends, including shy Todd (Ethan Hawke) and gregarious Neil (Robert Sean Leonard), have had their lives mapped out in front of them since birth, but are galvanized by poetry to dare forge alternative paths. The film balances romanticism and realism on a fine point, as explicated in the boys’ respective metamorphoses and the

ultimate consequences of their nonconformity. Dead Poets Society is a film about growing up and discovering your own values in the midst of those already placed firmly on your shoulders. It is a moving depiction of (probably) platonic love and the power of poetry, remaining enduringly quotable since 1989.

Unlike some of the films discussed above, Boyz n the Hood (John Singleton, 1991) is a coming of age story set far outside the borders of privilege. The film

follows childhood friends Tre (Cuba Gooding Jr.), Rickey (Morris Chestnut) and Doughboy (Ice Cube), as they contend with issues of race, violence, fatherhood, and friendship while growing up in Southern Central LA It examines the reverberating consequences small choices can have when you’re young, especially in heightened environments where threat is ever-present. Singleton is incisive, exposing uncomfortable truths about the lives of young black men in America and the unique set of challenges they face while coming of age. The film’s vulnerable moments and powerful climaxes are all encased in that intoxicating 90’s saturation, making for an engaging and vivacious watch with a lasting legacy.

Moonlight (Barry Jenkins, 2016) is one of my favourite films of all time. Director Barry Jenkins has described his own childhood growing up in the Miami projects as “a beautiful struggle”, a circumstance and sentiment that exactly reflect the trajectory of our protagonist Chiron’s (Alex Hibbert/Ashton Sanders/Trevante Roads) life across three time periods. We witness Chiron’s painful journey to adulthood, coming to terms with his sexuality and identity in an unforgiving environment. With Moonlight, Jenkins viscerally juxtaposes the beauty and horror of the Miami projects, creating a piece of media that is intense, intimate, and achingly beautiful. The cinematography is nothing short of breath-taking, reflecting a visionary use of light and colour. The deep empathy we feel for Chiron reaches excruciating peaks, yet his coming of age story is one of the most important and moving ones I have ever had the pleasure of viewing.

“To come of age is to be changed deeply and permanently, and any film which has succeeded in acting on audiences in this way has likely also succeeded in rising to canon status.”

CanonLady Bird, Greta Gerwig, 2017

Boyz n the Hood, John Singleton, 1991

Dead Poets Society, Peter Weir, 1989

Pretentious Film & I

James Mahon

I’ve been told on many occasions that I am the very embodiment of pretentiousness. The logical extension of this therefore is that I must watch pretentious films. I no doubt confirm this fact when I reply to the age-old question of what’s your favourite film with the seemingly smug ‘Basically any Italian film made in the 50s or 60s’. I am not, despite the immediate assumption, being an asshole - desperate to show off my in-depth expertise on Italian neo-realism. Rather, as I try to explain, an open module about Italian cinema revealed to me my scandalous lack of knowledge of directors like Bertolucci and Fellini, whose films I have consequently been entranced with. Nonetheless, such a declaration, no matter how enthusiastically I state it, fails to dispel the air of my own individual pretension and that of Italian cinema itself.

What do we mean though when we use the word ‘pretentiousness’ in relation to film-making. There is a certain ambivalence surrounding the term –are we referencing particular subject matters, the stylistic technique of the director or the overall aesthetic composition of a film? It seems it is an inherently subjective way of classifying a film, your interpretation of ‘pretentiousness ‘surely differs from mine. Nevertheless, I tend to identify a ‘pretentious film’ based upon its explicit desire to be considered a film of ‘high art’. Such a film is intentionally cerebral, not for the sake of narrative or its character, but because the directors want these signifiers to be the defining elements of the film. As such it is not really

specific acts of film-making or story-line that make a film ‘pretentious, although these help, it is rather a pre-mediated effort of infusing both the substance and appearance of a film with a conceited pseudointellectual aura. The end result being devoid of any emotionality, but possessing a stultifying insipid and academic tone. Charlie Kaufmann’s recent I’m Thinking of Ending Things ( 2020) is a case in point.

As such Bernardo Bertolucci’s film-making seems to easily fall into this ‘pretentious trap’. After all, virtually every one of his protagonists function as a means of exploring the tension between Freudian family dynamics and a Marxist critique of the capitalist system in which they exist. Two of his most striking films underline this fact. Before the Revolution (1964) centres on Fabrizio (Francesco Barilli) as a young man struggling to align his radical left-wing political views with his clearly defined bourgeois identity. The Conformist (1970) is an indepth examination of the psychological effects of fascist conformism, framed through a Freudian lens in which the main character Clerici (Jean-Louis Trintignant) must kill his father figure Quadri (Enzo Tarascio).

Although, at least on a surface level, such films are manifestly trying to achieve a level of self-importance, it is in fact the opposite. Bertolucci deliberately subverted

“To believe in this however, would be to miss out on one of the greatest filmmakers who ever lived. “

8½, Federico Fellini, 1963

the pretension intrinsic to Freudism or Marxism. He transfers them from abstract theoretical commentaries into the practical reality of everyday life. The whole point of his films is to show the struggle of his characters as they try to apply these conceptual ideals to their lives, and their varying degrees of success and failure in doing so. Bertolucci is engaging with these topics, not as a form of self-gratification, but to investigate and challenge their utility in explaining our actions.

Moreover, as a director he acknowledges the artificiality intrinsic to his profession – he consciously breaks the artifice of filmmaking purposely including mistakes and technical inaccuracies. In revealing the make-believe Bertolucci paradoxically emphasises his true authenticity.

Federico Fellini’s films suffer from a similar popular denigration of pretentiousness. This is not helped by the fact that a large part of his filmography seems to make a concerted effort to dislocate and bewilder his audience. His two critically appraised ‘masterpieces’, La Dolce Vita (1960) and 8 ½ (1963), possess seemingly bizarre dream sequences, off-beat fantasies and surreal childhood flashbacks. Marcello Mastroianni, who plays the title role in both films, cultivates a brooding cynicism that borders on contempt for anyone who attempts to understand him, or the world he occupies. Such is the feeling that Fellini’s films can evoke, enmeshed in this intellectuality that almost punishes any endeavour to comprehend it.

To believe in this however, would be to miss out on one of the greatest filmmakers who ever lived. Of course, there are nuances and complexities in Fellini’s work, but to call it pretentious is simply incorrect. Amongst the kaleidoscopic array of themes and theses in La Dolce Vita and 8 ½ , the prevailing one is a refutation of academic explanation. Both films contain intellectuals. In La Dolce Vita this is Steiner (Alain Cuny), who Marcello idealises and desires to emulate. In 8 ½ Guido, an autobiographical version of Fellini as himself, is accompanied by a film critic Daumier (Jean Rougeul).

Whilst the portrayal of both is different, the outcome is the same. Marcello and Guido are ultimately both disillusioned by the vacuity and yes, pretence, of their companions. It would be too reductive to say that Fellini is anti-intellectual, instead he is underscoring the need at times to simply enjoy an existence without the need to constantly interpret life through a certain ideological framework, – the joyous collective celebration at the end of 8 ½ is an evident reminder of this.

Perhaps then it is the aforementioned uniqueness of Fellini’s filmmaking that leads one to disregard his work as that of inflated grandiosity. However, Fellin’s dream sequences or surreal escapades have a distinct purpose. They provide a further means of insight into the psychological makeup of his characters. Guido’s distorted flashback to his school days, symbolic of the Catholic guilt surrounding carnal desire or Marcello’s dancing with the arriving Hollywood star Sylviia (Anita Ekberg), the question of whether it’s real or not reflective of the dubious reliability of Hollywood itself. Fellini utilises this personal fantasy mode, not to disorient, but when the limits of reality itself are too inhibitive.

A lot of Italian Cinema is pretentious, this is undeniable. However, Bertolucci, or Fellini cannot be unfairly tainted by the same brush. The fundamental nature of their films interrogates and untangles the complexities innate to the world we live in. A superficial glance at their work would lead to presumptions of pretension, yet any substantial exploration dismisses this entirely. As for my own pretentiousness, well that is still up for debate.

Before The Revolution, Bernarndo Bertolucci, 1964

‘Filums’: The Irish Film Canon

Ireland has produced some truly wonderful films, and some of my personal favourite films of all time. The Irish film industry has grown significantly in the last few decades, producing notable and influential works which can be said to construct an Irish Film Canon.

The ‘Film Canon’ itself comprises films which are recognised as being high quality and important. This recognition can come from awards such as The Academy Awards, The Golden Globes and in the case of Ireland the IFTAs or just wide recognition from the public.

For the purposes of this article, I will consider any film which had an Irish director or was made by an Irish production studio an Irish film. In terms of compiling my idea of a canon, I will be looking at films which won awards such as The Academy Awards, BAFTAs or IFTAs or had wide critical acclaim. I will also consider films which were important for Irish Cinema as a whole. I won’t be considering anything that’s not at least 5 years old.

THE IRISH FILM CANON

Mise Eire (George Morrison, 1959) This was the first ever feature length film in Irish. Named after the poem by Padraig Pearse, it chronicles the events

of the Easter Rising. It is important not just for being the first film in Irish but also for being an archive of such a pivotal moment in Irish history. It is made up almost entirely of newsreels and real footage from the time. It was a massive undertaking by director George Morrison and it is a beautiful preservation of Irish history and a moving ode to the martyrs of 1916.

My Left Foot (Jim Sheridan, 1989) This is widely considered to be the best Irish film of all time, and for good reason. It is based on the life of Christy Brown, a working-class Dubliner with cerebral palsy who could only control his left foot and went on to be a renowned artist. It was nominated for several Academy Awards including Best Picture. It is inspirational without feeling hollow, and it got Daniel Day Lewis his first Oscar for Best Actor.

The Snapper (Stephen Frears, 1993) Based on the novel by Roddy Doyle, this slice-of-life comedy takes place in the same world as The Commitments (Alan Parker, 1991) and The Van (Stephen Frears, 1996) All three of these films could make it on here for their importance in Irish cinema’s history but The Snapper is perhaps the most fondly remembered and quotable today. It centres on a working class family in North Dublin and how they deal with the news that the eldest daughter, Sharon (Tina Kellegher), is pregnant and refuses to identify the father.

Michael Collins, Neil Jordan, 1996

Leah Kelly

Trinity Film Review

Michael Collins (Neil Jordan, 1996) With a $25m budget, this was one of the most expensive films ever produced in Ireland. Starring Liam Neeson and Alan Rickman as Michael Collins and Eamon DeValera it focuses on the life of Michael Collins after 1916 and through to the Anglo-Irish Treaty negotiations. It won the Golden Lion at the Venice Film Festival and was nominated in two categories at the Academy Awards.

The Wind That Shakes The Barley (Ken Loach, 2006) Winner of the Palme D’Or at the Cannes Film Festival and Best Irish Film at the IFTA’s. It focuses on the Irish War of Independence as two brothers from Cork join the IRA. It received overwhelmingly positive reviews and is still one of the most well known Irish films.

Once (John Carney, 2007) Another film set in Dublin. A musical about a romance between a busker and a flower seller. It is one of two films on this list which went on to be adapted into a stage musical. The lead song “Falling Slowly” won the Academy Award for Best Original Song that year and the soundtrack got a Grammy nomination. It was so successful that the actors even got to reprise their roles in an episode of The Simpsons. The Broadway adaptation of the musical went on to win eight Tony Awards.

Brooklyn (John Crowley, 2015) A staple of Leaving Cert English courses around the country - this drama about the Irish diaspora was nominated for three Academy Awards including Best Picture. Saoirse Ronan is dazzling in her portrayal of Eilis, a young Irish woman who moves to New York. It was based on the novel by acclaimed Irish writer Colm Toibin.

Room (Lenny Abrahamson, 2015) This film about a kidnapped woman and her child who has never seen the outside world was directed by the same director of 2020’s Normal People. The screenplay was penned by Irish author Emma Donoghue who also wrote the novel. This film was also nominated for Best Picture at the Academy Awards and Brie Larson took home the Best Actress award for her unforgettable performance.

Sing Street (John Carney, 2016). This is my personal favourite Irish film, but that’s not the only reason it

earned a spot on this list. With wide critical acclaim and audience reception - it has become one of the most famous Irish independent films and a sort of cult classic. The soundtrack is incredible, with “Up” and “Drive It Like You Stole It” being the standouts. In 2020 it was also adapted into a Broadway musical featuring Brenock O’Connor. It is about a young boy in Dublin in the 1980’s who starts a band to impress an aspiring model.

You might notice while reading that the Irish Film Canon suffers from the same problems the Film Canon in general suffers from. That is the lack of diversity in voices making these films. Every director on this list is a man. There are unfortunately very few films made by Irish women and those that are are not as critically acclaimed and well known as those by their male peers. There isn’t much diversity regarding class backgrounds of directors and screenwriters either. Despite this, films about working class people like The Snapper, My Left Foot and Sing Street have been some of the most successful Irish films.

With successes like The Banshees of Inisherin (Martin McDonagh, 2022) and An Cailín Ciúin (Colm Bairéad, 2022) this year, we can hopefully expect more and more Irish films coming out in the next few years to stand alongside the legendary ones listed here.

“It is important not just for being the first film in Irish but also for being an archive of such a pivotal moment in Irish history.”

Sing Street, John Carney, 2016

Thirteen (Real) Lives: Trauma in Film

A

t the end of 13 lives (2022) gruelling two-hourthirty-seven -minute running time, we watch the worried parents of the boys who spent thirteen days trapped in a Thai cave, look in on their kids lying safe in the ER and begin to weep with joy. As a viewer, your insides can’t help but swell with optimism; people are pretty fucking tough. But as someone who’s dealt with recovering from physical trauma, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the film was closing out on what was really only the beginning of these kids’ story.

The film follows the near two-week pursuit in 2018, to figure out how this group of boys could be evacuated underwater through six miles of cramped and unmapped territory of the Doi Nang Non cave, and make it out alive. Early on in the film, sceptical John Volanthen (Colin Farrell) tells his fellow diver Richard Stanton (Viggo Mortensen), “You try to dive those kids the whole way, all you’ll be bringing out is dead bodies.” The world watched on with morbid curiosity, hoping against hope for a deus ex-machina plan that could save the children. While Elon Musk willed it to be his feeble contraption, ultimately it was the coordination of the international divers with

the help of the Thai Navy Seals, that brought all the boys home, safe and sound.

You’d be forgiven for thinking this real-life tale of determination, resilience and a happy ending against all odds was plucked straight out of a Hollywood producer’s wildest box-office fantasy. And that’s just it: the problem with a Hollywood story is that it’s predicated on having a polished, Hollywood ending. While the film does address the high-adrenalin, confined pursuit of the international rescue mission, it shies away from looking beyond the same simplistic narratives that piqued the world’s interest in the initial news cycle. In the end, this potentially huge life event for the young boys was reduced to a feel-good fluff piece for an ambivalent audience.

Because of this, the stimulating shift in perspective that the film induces starts to feel cheap. Its story stops at exactly the same point that international interest did. The world spent a couple weeks chattering about the news and saying isn’t it awful as they made small talk at the office. But once the chase for a binary outcome had been resolved (the boys were rescued), the international psyche snapped right back into believing that the world will always right its unspeakable wrongs.

Thirteen Lives, Ron Howard, 2022

Eve Smith

This makes for a worrying cinematic void in instructing us how to deal with trauma when it comes. As it stands, these stories tend to play out as either a closedloop of inspiration porn, or they’re the most depressing shit you’ve ever seen. After I sustained a permanent injury from a road accident as a teenager, one of the hardest facts to reckon with was that the experience would have no clear endpoint. Growing up in a reality where becoming sick always meant being well again and getting back to normal after being injured was a given, having no cultural reference point to contest that against my current reality was dispiriting at best and completely isolating at worst.

Lives: Film

When you’re reckoning with what’s happened to you, this lack of visibility only adds to your understanding that the sheer length of time it took you to adjust, will only ever be understood by other people as a small footnote to your reality. In 13 Lives, despite being the titular characters of the film, the Thai boys struggle to emerge as anything larger than a baker’s dozen smiling heads. We get glimpses of their personalities, and the film brushes on their young instructor’s use of meditation to keep the boys calm during their sustained period underground, but ultimately, these kids whose experience the film attempts to detail, are always presented as cut-off objects.

Like when the news played out in real time, we imagine their feelings, but the film doesn’t detail their experience with any actual bite. The emotional depth of what happened is always fleshed out by proxy: through the cynicism of the divers and the government, the lurid news interest, or the sheer relief of the parents come the kids’ safe return. On a surface level, the film struggles to push past a traditional orientalist view - the Western divers are a prerequisite to saving the helpless Thai people. But on a more abstract level, the camera’s avoidant gaze ncompasses a general societal refusal to look the dismay of trauma in the face, and instead it clings to a sensationalist narrative rooted in having a false endpoint.

All this being said, the film does manage to believably encompass the claustrophobia of the situation. We know the story (everything will work out in the end), and yet as the viewers, we get a palpable sense that the outcome could have very easily been markedly different.

While it’s true that the film doesn’t engage with the boys’ experience much directly, Ron Howard’s use of tight shots and extended sequences of cramped struggles underwater turn the film into a near-4Dviewing experience. The unchanging location has the potential to become repetitive, but Howard doesn’t allow the tension to let up, and the dark walls of the cave become an endless hellscape, under which, as a viewer, you can’t quite let yourself breathe.

In an indirect sense, this depiction fleshes out the reality of trauma in a fresh way. It touches on what it means to live your day in the shadow of unprocessed horror, and to carry grief around with you everywhere you go. It’s easy with hindsight to dismiss what happened to the Thai boys as a blip of a couple of weeks, but being able to actually imagine how those three hundred and thirty six hours actually unfolded without the benefit of foresight, requires a degree of empathy that words will always struggle to communicate. The airless atmosphere of the film compensates where language fails, capturing the exact panicked feeling of not being able to cope with anymore, but carrying on nonetheless.

The unbelievable fact that every kid made it out of the cave alive against all expectations, means that there will always be room for feel-good stories that fill us with hope, and remind us of the durability of the human spirit. But it’s worth sparing a thought for the real lives that exist behind the ten seconds of rolling credits at the end of the film. While you might not get your clear-cut Hollywood ending, there will come a day when you wake up, and feel okay again.

“The problem with a Hollywood story is that it’s predicated on having a polished, Hollywood ending. “

Eternal Sunshine: How do memories affect the way we view films?

I am 16, at a filmmaking camp, sitting outside having lunch, the guy sitting across from me asks; “Do you think you’d be here if it wasn’t for your dad? Would you even be interested in this kind of stuff?” I want to be honest, probably not. I’m not honest though, I give the answer everyone knows is fake to save face.

“No, I was always into film, I’ve always loved it.”

That is true. I have always loved films, but I have also always known my dad. It’s hard to separate the two. Growing up (and even now, though I’m usually too embarrassed to admit it) I would do anything my dad did. We would go for drives, practice basketball, garden, but my favourite thing to do was watch movies. Sure, everyone watched movies, but not like he did. It felt like I was being shown a special world, only an elite few could access. In a town with a two-screen cinema that showed the first Avengers (Joss Whedon, 2012) for 6 months, the ability to escape to different worlds was essential for survival.

I’ve always had a difficult relationship with competitions like the Oscars. My favourite film of the year has never won. The film snob within me likes to think that I have great taste in film, but the industry seems to disagree. Why wasn’t Aftersun (Charlotte Wells, 2022) nominated for Best Picture? I loved it, it had great performances and stunning cinematography. And most importantly it made me feel something (rumour is I cried during it, but you can’t prove it). Is there some intrinsic quality that Triangle of Sadness (Ruben Östlund, 2022) or All Quiet on the Western Front (Edward Berger, 2022) has that Aftersun is missing. What do Academy voters know that we don’t?

I am 14, earlier that day my dad had come up to me excited, he had a DVD in hand. It’s Goodfellas (Martin

Scorsese, 1990). We never had any streaming services, I was dependent on Channel 4 and the local library for my cinematic needs. And this was our lucky day. Dad has managed to secure us Goodfellas. I’ve heard him talk about this film for years. He doesn’t have a favourite film, but if he did it would probably be Goodfellas. Growing up Goodfellas was my Citizen Kane (Orson Welles, 1941), an unarguably fantastic film, that only those of us “true” film lovers get to watch. I’d finally made it, I was deemed smart enough to watch it. And it did not disappoint. Even now, I would argue that Goodfellas is the best film ever made. But I think most of the world would disagree with me on that one.

A film is never just a film, that’s where we go wrong. We create a canon of what’s supposed to be the best based on certain criteria. But that criteria is too narrow. Sure, the director’s background, the filmmaking landscape, and the socio-political atmosphere when that film is being made is important. But it’s not enough. As much as we hate to admit it at times, films are only made for one type of person, the audience. A film is not an island, it does not just exist within the filmmaker’s world. It exists in ours too.

Aftersun, Charlotte Wells, 2022

Katie McKenna

Sunshine: affect films?

I am 20, and I am a mess. I have just failed three exams (there goes my summer) and I have been rejected by every college I applied to study abroad at. I had known your 20s were supposed to be fast and loose. The last time you’ll never be responsible for anyone else. But my first dip into the 20s experience had been too fast, and too loose. I was free-falling. Everyone else seems to know who they’re supposed to be. They’re on a path with a clear destination. Not me, three months out of my teen years and I don’t know who I am anymore. I’m not even a work in progress, I’m just a vague idea. It’s Christmas eve and my Dad has picked a film for movie night, he tells me I’ll like it. The film starts with the quote “Julie disappointed herself. This used to be easy.” For 2 hours, I feel seen, I’m not the only one freefalling, and maybe I’ll be ok too.

What makes a movie good isn’t what it is, it’s who you are. Aftersun didn’t win Best Picture, neither did Goodfellas or The Worst Person in the World (Joachim Trier, 2021), but that doesn’t erase what I felt watching them. I love these films because of how I felt watching them. And I felt those things, because of who I was while I sat down to watch these films. We can read all the top ten lists we want, and we can curate the films around what is

“best”. But where’s the fun in that?

I’ve spent three years writing for the Trinity Film Review, watching films and telling people which ones they should see like it’s gospel. But the more I write, the more I realise there are no good films or bad films. Just the movies we love and the ones we don’t. The ones that made us cry, or laugh, or scream. The ones that we’ll never forget. And why can’t that be enough?

McKenna

“A film is never just a film, that’s where we go wrong. “

The Worst Person

In The

World, Joachim Trier, 2021

Goodfellas, Martin Scorcese, 1990

Films that were Overhyped

The cultural hive-mind influences film discourse more than ever in our beloved internet age. Unfortunately, quite often, the hype, be it in awards season, by word of mouth, or in the media, is undeserved. On the flip side, many films absolutely deserve the cultural hype - some deserve even more praise. We decided to round up a few films that fit in either category: films that didn’t live up to the hype and films that lived up to it and soared beyond expectations! Please note, our word is final and we will not accept feedback. Thanks so much! ;)

FILMS THAT DON’T LIVE UP TO THE HYPE

1. Inherent Vice (Paul Thomas Anderson, 2014)

Inherent Vice, written and directed by Paul Thomas Anderson, boasted great anticipation due to its starstudded cast and Anderson’s previous hits such as Boogie Nights (1997) and The Master (2012). The story follows the disappearance of a hippie private investigator, played by Joaquin Phoenix, on his journey through the criminal underworld to find his disappeared ex-girlfriend. Disappointingly, this film is shallowly acted and unbelievable (not in a fun way). It is a poor parody of 70s stoner culture, couched in an obnoxiously complicated plot, that seemed to be constructed simply to seem impressive. Anderson should have watched The Big Lebowski a few times to learn how to make a complicated plot about crime and stoners actually work. Of course, we can’t blame Anderson too much as the film is based on a Thomas Pynchon novel by the same name. As Anthony Lane wrote, “Nobody has ever turned a Pynchon book into a movie before, for the same reason that nobody has managed to cram the New York Philharmonic into a Ford Focus.” Regardless, after hearing about this film for years and finally watching it, I was let down, to say the least.

2.Glass Onion (Rian Johnson, 2022)

I could write a book about how bad Glass Onion is.

I mean, give me a break. It would be trashy on its own, but in comparison to the delightful entertainment of Knives Out (2019), it was shockingly bad. Written and directed by Rian Johnson, the film’s attempt to be camp ended up a superficial, glossy, techno nightmare - absolute contrast to the believability of the performative, rich, xenophobic New England family of Knives Out. The acting, for which I held out hope that it would be a redeeming factor amidst the rest of the chaotic mess, was abysmal. Katherine Hahn was overwrought and gave me heaps of second hand embarrassment; Kate Hudson did the same. Janelle Monáe seemed like she was in an off-broadway musical striving in vain for fame. It was dire. Most disappointingly, Benoit Blanc, the connecting thread in Knives Out was made clownish and goofy, rather than the cleverly odd but insightful detective we knew previously. Furthermore, Blanc’s own intentions and role in the plot became central to the mystery, rather than the actual mystery of who killed whom and who knew what. Again, this is in direct opposition to Knives Out and is not the point of a detective mystery genre film. You would have to ClockworkOrange-eye-scene me to get me to watch this again.

3. Don’t Worry Darling (Olivia Wilde, 2022)

Directed by Olivia Wilde, this ‘psychological thriller’ was on everyone’s mind throughout summer and fall 2022. Released September 5th in the US, the two weeks before its release in Ireland were full of anticipatory discussion. The hype was bolstered by the complex personal (and highly publicised) drama between the actors both on and off set. Did Harry Styles spit on Chris Pine at the Venice Film Festival? In fact, on March 1st, Chris Pine publicly insisted this did not happen. What did Olivia Wilde actually say to Shia LeBoeuf, and why? Why did Jason Sudeikis lie in the driveway in front of Wilde’s car when she took her salad dressing out of the fridge? Where does Florence Pugh fit into all of this? Why does she look so good in purple?

Chiara Gregor and Lilian McCarthy

Overhyped

And how bold of her to skip all of the press tour except Venice! With all of this excitement, I went into the film expecting, based on the trailer, a thrilling plot, perhaps like a crossover of Deep Water (2022, dir. Adrian Lyne) and Inception (2010, dir. Christopher Nolan).

Unfortunately, what I encountered instead was girlboss techno-dystopia feminist buzzwords without substance or a cohesive plot. The cast was packed with A-list stars, but it served no purpose. Luckily, Pugh’s acting, as usual, was stunning, and she came out of the film as the absolute star; she fervently portrayed the induced insanity of gaslighting and the strength it takes to break through, especially when it’s coming from inside your own home. Otherwise, however, the film boasts weak and simplistic engagement with the incel topic that reportedly fueled Wilde’s plot conception. Furthermore, the only Black woman in the film, Margaret, played by KiKi Layne, served a stereotypical role for Black actors. She was the first woman to figure out that something was ‘off’ about their little world, and was somewhat of a Cassandra figure. Ultimately, she was simply the trope of Black women in film wherein they only exist to aid the white person on their journey. Finally, although

the off-screen drama was entertaining, it ultimately corrupted the viewing experience–knowing the real-life drama changed how the viewer sees the fictional world and its own dramatic relationships.

FILMS THAT DO LIVE UP TO THE HYPE

1. Portrait de la jeune fille en feu (Portrait of a Lady on Fire, Celine Sciamma, 2019) Not only does Celine Sciamma Portrait de la jeune fille en feu deserve the initial hype it received premiering at Cannes Film Festival in 2019, where it was awarded the prize for best screenplay, as well as the first ever Queer Palme for the best LGBTQ+ film, but it has already established itself as modern classic, ranking no. 30 on last year’s Sight and Sound poll for the greatest films of all time. First and foremost, what makes Portrait such a remarkable work is its contribution to queer cinema. The powerful love story between Héloïse and Marianne so perfectly captures queer yearning - it proves painfully relatable to its queer spectatorship, despite its setting in pre-revolutionary FranceI’m not going to go into why the overwhelming majority of lesbian storylines in contemporary cinema are depicted in period drama films,

Don’t Worry Darling, Olivia

Wilde, 2022

Glass Onion: A Knives Out

Mystery, Rian Johnson, 2022

but here, the presentation of impossible gay love is coupled with questions of representation, politics and female solidarity, and, well, it is simply genius. Stylistically, Portrait is just as unique: it is, as Sciamma herself called it, “a manifesto about the female gaze.” Although the idea of the female gaze has already been incorporated into mainstream pop cultural discourses (“written by a woman”…) and lost some of its subversiveness, it is still a fairly new concept in film studies. Portrait employs the female gaze through the focus on representations through art and seeing the self in the other, resisting the authoritative and objectifying male gaze which has dominated and is still dominating cinema today. As such it is a pioneering work in both queer as well as feminist cinema, and will 100% stand the test of time.

2. Raw (Julia Ducournau, 2016)

Another French female director who is turning the world of arthouse cinema upside down is Julia Ducournau. While Titane (2021), arguably received more hype after its win of the Golden Palm in Cannes, her lesser known first feature-length film Raw (2016) is just as, if not more deserving of the critical acclaim it received. The film follows seventeen year old Justinea strict vegetarian, who enters into veterinary school, and discovers a taste for human flesh amidst the chaos of freshman year. Growing more and more ravenous, Raw is a tale of sisterhood, cannibalism, sex and

leaving us with indelible images of sudden suicide attempts in the family home with objects you might find in any kitchen, or Anna screaming, convulsing, seizing, and miscarrying some sort of repulsive bloody liquid out of her orifices in the wet, empty U-Bahn tunnel. I truly think about the scene every time I descend into a subway station now. The subway miscarriage/nervous breakdown, and the general rigor of the film’s shooting that pushed all of the actors to the edge, actually contributed to Isabelle Adjani’s suicide attempt after shooting wrapped and the years of mental health recovery she underwent.

love. This body-horror coming-of-age story is tender as it is shocking, and blends disgust with humour, empathy and a surprising amount of depth. Her visceral approach to filmmaking sets Ducournau’s cinema apart from other contemporary auteurs, and tackles topics of alienation, family ties and female sexuality in a way that speaks to (and revolts) all senses.

3. Possession (Andrzej Żuławski, 1981) (trigger

warning for mentions of suicide and miscarriage) This psychological horror film, directed and partially written by Andrzej Żuławsk, is a cult favourite. It deserves to go down in history for its perfect depiction of the descent towards insanity. To me, the plot attempts to uncover why exactly Anna (Isabelle Adjani), wife of Mark (Sam Neill) the West Berlin spy, is losing it. We are shocked over and over by the unassuming goriness caused by Anna’s increasingly unhinged behaviour,

Furthermore, two interesting layers people often analyse within the film are the East/West Berlin divide as a metaphor for divorce, as well as the relationship devolvement in general. How do we invent/create our partner rather than truly knowing who they are? How do we parent during divorce, especially when one spouse is psychotic, inconsistent, and cheating? There is also the issue of the doppelgängers, who come into being throughout the film, as representatives of the perfect man/woman/couple. We are prompted to consider this ideal (and its relationship to the political landscape of the time) versus the reality of marriage. Finally, what might be the most striking scenes of all are those involving Anna’s bizarre, oozing, tentacle sex monster hidden away on the most disgusting mattress you’ve ever seen in a second apartment. We never fully understand what exactly this tentacle monster is or where it comes from. Is it her sexuality? Her psychosis? Is it Mark? Is that what turns into his doppelgänger? Why, how, and when did it come into existence? What does it mean that it exists in an apartment in a derelict building in contrast to Anna and Mark’s modern apartment? The beauty of the film is that, despite the confusion and repulsion of the monster, its ambiguity adds to, rather than devalues, the chaos of the plot. Bartłomiej Paszylk was correct in calling Possession “one of the most enigmatic and uncompromising horror movies in the history of cinema” (The Pleasure and Pain of Cult Horror Films: An Historical Survey, page 163). If you have never felt on the verge of going crazy, watch Possession and you will understand what it’s like.

Portrait of a Lady on Fire, Celine Sciamma, 2019

Possession, Andrzej Żuławski,1981

Where Oblivion Dwells’: Forgotten Classics

“There, far away; where oblivion dwells”, writes Cernuda, recalling the inevitability of time and, therefore, the subsequent absence of memory. Oblivion, though unjust, is irremediable. In the field of cinema, there is an inordinate number of films that have been forgotten within the cultural panorama due to the cruelty of time and the persistence of certain films to remain paradigms within the history of film.

We all remember Hateful Eight (Quentin Tarantino, 2015) as a western that blends the scepticism of Agatha Christie with the virulence of 1970s Blaxploitation; however, many seem to overlook the influence, admitted by Tarantino himself, that André de Toth’s Day of the Outlaws (1959) had on Tarantino’s movie. The Day of the Outlaw is about a rancher

(Robert Ryan) who faces a gang of outlaws who are trying to take his land in a frozen Wyoming.

At first glance, it might appear to be the starting point of a story of revolvers, sombreros and horses typical of the Western genre. Nevertheless, as well as making you feel cold just by watching it, it also laid the foundations for the snowy westerns that precede it, such as Jeremiah Johnson (Sydney Pollack, 1972) or Wind River (Taylor Sheridan, 2017). Thus, it seems that certain influential films that marked a particular era, to quote Borges, “walked into oblivion” never to be remembered again. Yet, the fact that they are not mentioned does not mean that they did not - and do notenjoy an equal or greater impact, albeit surreptitiously, than canonical films within the contemporary

Ricardo Picazo

context. Continuing with the importance of de Toth, his film The House Of Wax (André de Toth, 1953) was one of the first, if not the first, to innovate with 3D (a paradoxical fact given that the director was one-eyed). Take that, James Cameron!

That certain films are forgotten is not entirely due to the passage of time. Admittedly, throughout history, cinema has been a man’s game, and, particularly, a white one at that. It took eighty years for a woman director to finally win the Oscar. And no black person has yet won the Oscar for best director. For that reason, in the twentieth century, ground-breaking films directed by outsiders to the white elitism that dominated the board were underappreciated and swept into oblivion.

Ida Lupino’s The Hitch-Hiker (Ida Lupino, 1953), for instance, is the first film noir directed by a woman and a filmic exercise ahead of its time. The fedora and the femme fatale have always been male-dominated elements (who doesn’t remember the fantastic The Maltese Falcon (John Huston, 1943) or the nail-biting films directed by Alfred Hitchcock?) However, The Hitch-Hiker subverts the conventions of film noir to create a film set in the southern United States where two friends in a car are threatened by the arrival of a hitchhiker. Here, there is no sexualised femme fatale, no revolver and no corrupt detective, but a low-budget film that challenges male authority. It should also be noted that Lupino’s film has been a major influence on directors such as the Coen Brothers or Quentin Tarantino. In the case of the former, the corrosive Fargo (Ethan Coen, 1996) could be considered a direct descendant of Lupino’s film, as the Coen Brothers subvert the rules of film noir to portray a black chronicle of male stupidity in a rural American context.

On the other hand, while The Birth of a Nation (D.W. Griffith, 1915) revolutionised the history of cinema by its never-before-seen forms and, at the same time, making an apology for racism and slavery, the African-American director Oscar Micheaux was practically forgotten from the history of film. His film Within Our Gates (Oscar Micheaux, 1920) is a forgotten classic that sought to challenge the racist stereotypest presented in D.W. Griffith’s film. However, his film fell into obscurity while Griffith’s film was still considered an untouchable classic of cinema. Nevertheless, Micheaux’s vindication is imperative as he is considered one of the pioneers in portraying AfricanAmerican lifestyle. In Within Our Gates, Micheaux depicts the story of an Afro-American woman who travels to the Northern United States in search of funds for a rural school in the Deep South for poor black children. In it, Micheaux explores the consequences of racism in America, from extreme bigotry to deadly lynchings. Although may be considered a difficult film to watch, it is necessary since Micheaux tries to counter the caricatured and comical portrayal towards black people, such as the Jim Crow representation, in an attempt to reclaim African-American pride. Although he was forgotten and reviled over time, the truth is that Micheaux has ultimately been revendicated by contemporary directors such as Spike Lee and John Singleton. Consecutively, classic cinema has always been there. Who doesn’t remember Humphrey Bogart’s “we’ll always have Paris” at the end of Casablanca (Michael Curtiz, 1942)? However, beneath the rise of the classic cinema that we all remember, some films have faded into oblivion over time. The films of de Toth, Lupino or Micheaux are but one example of the immense number of films that have been unjustly forgotten, either because time has failed to rejuvenate such works or because socio-cultural circumstances have prevented important films from making a place for themselves in the history of cinema. For this reason, it is necessary to see the other side of the coin to rediscover hidden classics to reclaim them and appreciate their influence even nowadays, without neglecting the already popular classics. Of course, Casablanca will always be in our hearts.

“Here, there is no sexualised femme fatale, no revolver and no corrupt detective, but a lowbudget film that challenges male authority. “

Within Our Gates, Oscar Micheaux, 1920

The Hitchhiker, Ida Lupino, 1953

acknowlegements

editor in chief

Katie McKenna

Cat Earley

James Mahon

Eve Smith

editors design

Eve Smith

contributors

Adam Clinton

Diarmuid O’Dwyer

Sadbh Boylan

Isabella Hogg

Christine Hiickey

Hana Rae Quinn

Ricardo Picazo

Gabriel Gurule

Chiara Gregor

Lilian McCarthy

Leah Kelly

Katie McKenna

James Mahon

Cat Earley

Eve Smith

This publication is partially funded by the DU Trinity Publications Committee. This publication holds no special rights or priviledges. All serious complaints may be directed towards chair@trinitypublications.ie or Chair, Trinity Publications, House 6, Trinity College, Dublin 2. Appeals may be directed to the Press Council.

Moonlight, Barry Jenkins, 2016

Interstellar, Christopher Nolan, 2014

Mulholland Drive, 2001

Aftersun, 2022

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