FILM Ethan Hill (SCS ’25) praises “Taste of Cherry” as more than just a philosophical masterpiece. B2
FILM “Shoplifters” remains authentic in its raw storytelling , says Elizabethe Bogrette (SFS ’27). B4
FILM Isabelle Cialone (CAS ’27) says “La Haine” remains impressive both in messaging and form. B7
MARCH 14, 2025
International films are increasingly relevant in the context of today's geopolitical divisions. B3
Caroline Woodward Senior Guide Editor
Ethan Hill
Hoya Staff Writer
Content warning: This article references suicide. Please refer to the end of the article for onand off-campus resources.
In my 17 movie reviews, I’ve never given a full five-star rating — until now.
Directed by Iranian filmmaker Abbas Kiarostami, “Taste of Cherry” (1997) follows Mr. Badiei (Homayoun Ershadi), who spends the day searching for someone willing to bury his body after he takes his own life. Despite how heavy the subject matter sounds, it is a very peaceful and slow watch. “Taste of Cherry” earns its widely considered belief as one of the best and most influential minimalistic films to date.
The filmmaking in this movie is simply incredible. Everything from the shot composition to the cinematography to the sound mixing is remarkably simple yet deeply immersive. It truly puts you in the passenger seat of the story, right alongside Mr. Badiei and the people
he encounters. While minimalist, each scene is strikingly beautiful. The flat shots are particularly stunning, with gorgeous backgrounds reminiscent of a Wes Anderson film. This simplicity perfectly reinforces the film’s central theme: Life is worth living because of its small, everyday moments. Whether it’s watching a plane glide across the sky, hearing a child’s laughter or savoring the taste of cherries, these fleeting details make life precious, no matter the hardships one faces.
Beyond its cinematography, the film’s sound design is unparalleled and deeply detailed. It’s mixed in a way that makes the audience feel like they are inside the world of the movie. If a character is speaking from another room, their voice is muffled just as it would be in real life.
As Mr. Badiei drives, you hear the crunch of gravel under his tires. Snippets of conversation drift in and out as he passes different groups of people. These details create an immersive, almost voyeuristic experience.
The writing is just as masterful. We never
fully understand why Mr. Badiei wants to end his life. We know he feels deeply lonely, and we can infer that he has had a falling out with his son, but the specifics remain vague. This ambiguity allows the audience to project their own struggles onto the character, rendering him a deeply relatable figure. Combined with the film’s first-person perspective, it feels less like we’re watching a story unfold and more like we’re being asked to reflect on our own lives and the beauty we may be overlooking. This deeply personal approach extends to the long, thoughtful conversations Mr. Badiei has throughout the film. His interactions give us a rare, intimate look at everyday life in Iran. He speaks with a young soldier, a seminary student training to become an imam, a security guard overseeing a construction site and an older man who has overcome his own suicidal thoughts. These conversations offer a firsthand glimpse into the motivations, struggles and daily realities of people from different walks of life in the country. The result is a film
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Ethan Hill (SCS ’25) gives his first ever five-star rating to “Taste of Cherry,” an iconic work of minimalist filmmaking and philosophical contemplation hailing from Iran.
that feels both universal and deeply specific. That said, “Taste of Cherry” isn’t for everyone. It’s an artsy, slow-moving film that some viewers might find boring. This was my second time watching it, and I found it resonated with me more on the rewatch. The first time, I appreciated its beauty but struggled with the pacing. On this viewing, however, I realized that the film’s slowness isn’t a flaw — it’s intentional. The meditative quality of its pacing allows you to fully absorb each moment. These quiet shots of the sky, the sound of tires crunching on gravel and the distant murmur of background conversations all reinforce the film’s central message that life is fleeting but full of beautiful moments that are worth cherishing. The story’s central contrast — the tranquil atmosphere paired with heavy themes of suicide — only strengthens its emotional impact. There were times I felt my eyes beginning to water when the film started discussing the beauty of life given how well the technical components fit into these dialogues.
This film is a masterpiece. It’s a movie that everyone should watch at least once in their lifetime. Even if you don’t fully appreciate it on your first viewing, even if you find it slow or difficult, there’s nothing else quite like it.
As my first five-star rating, I don’t hand out perfect scores lightly — doing so for just any great movie would diminish what Kiarostami achieves in “Taste of Cherry.” This film isn’t just great. It’s something more. It’s a quiet, contemplative work of art that lingers long after the credits roll. Simply put, it is a masterpiece.
To access mental health resources, reach out to Counseling and Psychiatric Services at 202-6876985, or for after-hours emergencies, call 202444-7243 and ask to speak to the on-call clinician. You can also reach out to Health Education Services at 202-687-8949. Both of these resources are confidential.
Caroline Woodward Senior Guide Editor
“Once you overcome the one-inch tall barrier of subtitles, you will be introduced to so many more amazing films.” - Bong Joon-ho In recent months, the United States’ relationship with the rest of the globe has become increasingly tense. Donald Trump’s administration has removed the United States from the World Health Organization, threatened to halt aid to allies in Ukraine and attempted to impose tariffs on our clos-
est neighbors, Mexico and Canada. These acts have communicated one central message: The United States should be alone. The government’s general belief seems to be that U.S. citizens should not need — nor want — any influence, money, commerce or cultural exchange from across its borders. In this special issue of The Guide, we hope to encourage our readers to look beyond what is currently occurring in America, to see past the fear-mongering of foreignness that has become so prevalent in our country’s politics and expand their
personal perspectives. To do this, we have chosen to explore and highlight the artistry of foreign films, a category that covers any movie made outside the United States. From a romance set in colonial Korea to an award-winning tragedy from Iran to an iconic drama from Brazil, along with so much more, our writers have spotlighted stories, perspectives and experiences from across the globe. These films all touch on human experiences that are not only inherently tied to their country of origin but also our common humanity. These small
HEATHER WANG
Your Guide to the World:
Senior editor Caroline Woodward (CAS ’27) introduces this semester’s Guide special issue by reflecting on the importance of expanding artistic boundaries and intercultural understanding in a time of great political division.
glimpses into other nations act as windows into different lives and cultures, windows that we at The Guide feel can foster understanding and connection. In our current zeitgeist of political, cultural and social division and strife, a sense of understanding and connection beyond borders is not only an ideal to aim for but, indeed, a need. Through this edition, we want to not only promote the global interconnectedness that foreign films foster but also highlight global cinema within the movie industry. As a medium, foreign film is frequently ignored in American culture. Besides the singular “Best Foreign Film” category at the Academy Awards — which narrows every single film made outside the United States into a neat, succinct and all-too-short list of five — the Academy Awards rarely appreciate these movies: It took 92 years for a non-English language movie, Bong Joon-ho’s “Parasite,” to win Best Picture. Commercially, movies from other countries often struggle to achieve widespread theatrical distribution in America and require full English translations and dubs to be considered “approachable.” Culturally, as a common stereotype, foreign movies are often lauded as pretentious and thus unnecessary to the average audience. In our opinion, it feels both brash and limiting to discount any film purely based on the fact that it was not made in America. By expanding the realm of storytelling we are willing to witness, we open ourselves to entirely new, exciting and even life-altering artistic experiences.
We want to acknowledge that film is not a fix-all. Watching a movie won’t change foreign policy, stop international conflict or fix the economy. Still, on a personal level, there is something to be said about intimately witnessing the lives of others, lives that are often so different from our own, to expand our individual horizons. Movies are not only meant to entertain their audiences but inspire them. Truly taking the time to absorb the art of film, a medium that requires such love, care and craftsmanship to produce in the first place, can inspire deep, moving emotions — love, compassion and, hopefully, empathy for even the farthest away stranger.
So, sit down with some popcorn, turn on those subtitles and see a little more of the world.
Elizabethe Bogrette Deputy Guide Editor
Content warning: This article references child abuse. Please refer to the end of the article for on- and off-campus resources.
“Shoplifters,” directed by Hirokazu Kore-eda, showcases a multigenerational family that relies on theft to support their livelihood while living on the outskirts of Tokyo, Japan. The film tackles themes of filial piety, death and the monetary constraints that define our lives under a capitalist system, all through the shifting perspectives of the family members.
The film opens with Osamu (Lily Franky) and Shota (Jo Kairi), an adopted father and son duo, shoplifting from a grocery store; the audience watches as Osamu distracts the workers while Shota swipes various foodstuffs into his backpack. On the way home, Osamu finds a 4-year-
old girl named Yuri (Miyu Sasaki) sitting outside in the cold and decides to bring her home for a meal. As the film progresses, we see the family open up further, with Nobuyo (Sakura Ando), Shota’s adopted mother, and her grandmother, Hatsue (Kirin Kiki), taking on the roles of dueling matriarchs, specifically when it comes to Yuri’s future with the family as they realized the extent of the abuse she suffers from her real family. As the film continues, we see these dynamics shift as Osamu and Nobuyo adapt to adding another member to their family alongside themes of divided loyalties, seduction, deception and death.
Like Kore-eda’s previous works, “Shoplifters” stands out for its deeply enthralling plotlines and cinematography. Scenes of wintry desolation are spliced in with the warmth and intimacy of a family sharing meals; audiences watch as the seasons cycle in tandem with the closeness of Yuri and her newfound home.
The happiest scene of the film shines as the family takes a beach trip for the day, and Nobuyo and Hatsue look on as Osamu and Aki play with the children. This moment’s framing is truly a masterpiece. It feels as if the audience is watching a memory from an outside perspective, peeking into a moment lost in time. This is a constant pattern throughout the film, as the simple portrayal of joy exudes an almost painful feeling of nostalgia. Kore-eda’s trademark observational style through wide angles allows the audience to view these moments in their natural habitat, so to speak, and it feels as though the camera isn’t even there most of the time.
The film’s cinematography directly correlates to the overarching development of each character’s plotline. Audiences watch as the perspective shifts constantly between characters, specifically between the adults and the children. For example, the lens moves from a traditional
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‘Shoplifters’ stands out as a masterpiece of cinema, says Elizabethe Bogrette (SFS ’27), who sings the praises of this deeply emotional triumph of Japanese filmmaking.
observational standpoint of an argument between Nobuyo and Osamu to the children in Shota’s makeshift room on the floor in their own world. Transitions like these give the story a unique depth as we see the subtle effects of extraneous circumstances on each character. Ultimately, these shifts support the audience’s investment in the perspective of every family member regardless of the dialogue at hand, because we see the development of their own personal narratives in every shot of the film. This creates an intimacy between the audience and the family itself; one feels as though they are just another person sitting at the dinner table instead of an observer.
In the vein of intimacy, the display of emotional and physical connections is extraordinary. We see the connection between Nobuyo and Osamu transcend the traditional schema of married couples and instead act more like a codependent friendship, two individuals once bonded by the physical but now reliant on the necessity of being a unit to support one another in the stressful moments of their lives. Osamu explicitly says, when explaining their relationship to Nobuyo’s sister, Aki (Mayu Matsuoka), that they are connected by the heart, not by the physical. Aki replies, half-jokingly, that they are connected by money first and foremost. In this simple conversation, it’s clear the movie transcends traditional representations of intimate relationships by contextualizing them within reality. There is an element of monetary reliance on each other — without being a dual-income household, they wouldn’t be able to survive. It forces audiences to reckon with somewhat uncomfortable truths regarding their lives, taking away the romantic lens of intimacy and seeing it for what it truly is: dependence.
Tackling deeper topics is something the film doesn’t shy away from at any point. Themes of abuse and neglect permeate the relationships, specifically with Yuri. “Shoplifters” divulges that Yuri has been the victim of her parents’ mistreatment, as one scene shows her comparing burn marks with Nobuyo, received under different contexts. Exploring childhood abuse is a risk, but the film does it in a way that remains respectful in its authenticity.
Overall, “Shoplifters” succeeds where other films falter: in its unique observational lens of human intimacy. We see family dynamics shift and change, subtle reactions that add to the overarching motif of every moment and darker themes intertwined with everyday moments.
Resources: On-campus resources include Health Education Services (202-687-8949) and Counseling and Psychiatric Services (202-687-6985); additional off-campus resources include the Crisis Text Line (text HOME to 741741).
Celeste Viana Hoya Staff Writer
No, not “The Handmaid’s Tale.” It’s “The Handmaiden” — a scintillating story of romance and trickery set in Japanese-occupied Korea that is still feminist but a bit more queer. The BAFTA-winning film, directed by legendary Korean director Park Chan-wook, follows Sook-hee, a Korean swindler tasked with serving as a handmaiden to the Japanese heiress Lady Hideko in 1930s colonial Korea. Sook-hee aims to make Hideko fall in love with the swindler’s con-man employer Count Fujiwara, who, after marrying her, will throw Hideko in an asylum and run away with her fortune.
Park’s masterful use of contrasting visuals shines through early in the film, with the distinct lighting between interior and exterior shots a hallmark of the film’s style and messaging. While the inside of the house where Hideko resides is incredibly lush and ornate, it is dark and feels claustrophobic, suffocating the viewer just as it suffocates its resident. In contrast, shots of the natural world outside the home use highly saturated, warmly lit colors, emanating a sense of freedom and joy that grows as the film progresses.
The use of language in the film, alternating between Korean and Japanese, is also noteworthy, with different colored subtitles distinguishing the two languages depending
on the situation and character. Given that the film is set during Japan’s interwar occupation of Korea, oppressive characters often use Japanese to establish order and supremacy over others, while Korean is reserved for more sincere, passionate and intimate moments. This language barrier also often falls along gendered lines, as the men speak Japanese more often to assert their authority over women in colonial society.
The exploration of gender, sensuality and sexuality in “The Handmaiden” creates some of its most memorable moments; scenes focusing on these motifs often contain subtextual commentary on colonialist oppression. Although the film can sometimes teeter toward the male gaze with its depictions of female sexuality, it nevertheless succeeds in revealing women’s oppression under a patriarchal society while capturing female autonomy through relationships that decenter men. The centralization and legitimization of the primary queer female relationship felt almost radical in its willingness to explore the trials, tribulations and intimacy of such a dynamic, freeing the women of both direct and structural oppressions.
The film further explores its central themes through the repeated use of symbols, such as bells, gloves and rope. Park includes these symbols effectively, if somewhat heavy-handedly, to demonstrate the effects of entrapment and suffocation and to keep viewers engaged. The performances in the film are stellar. Kim
Tae-ri’s earnestness as Sook-hee allows audiences to sympathize with the trickster, and Ha Jung-woo’s nonchalant cruelty as Fujiwara manages to convey the attitude of a truly disgusting man. However, of all the performances, Kim Min-hee’s multifaceted portrayal of Hideko truly stands out, with her enigmatic and often difficult-to-place personality drawing in the viewer just as it draws in Sook-hee.
Although complex cons are the focal point of the film’s plot, the story’s core masterfully tackles class, gender, violence, sexuality, colonialism and love. While the film’s craft is timeless, it also offers poignant commentary
on a specific period of Korean history and its impacts on society through the cultural pervasiveness of patriarchy. The messages remain ever powerful and relevant for the contemporary world. Overall, “The Handmaiden” is a story about regaining autonomy, whether over colonialism or a patriarchal society. The narrative succeeds in fully enabling women to retake their power as well-rounded characters and individuals.
Whether you are more interested in the plot’s twists and turns, the sociopolitical commentary or just want a “good for her” kind of movie, “The Handmaiden” is sure to seduce you.
‘Yi
Grace Ko Deputy Guide Editor
There are a few films that manage to capture the totality of life as “Yi Yi” does. Directed and written by the late Edward Yang, the Taiwanese film “Yi Yi,” translated as “A One and A Two,” details a massive story with a masterfully simple lens, capturing a familiar normality through a uniquely dreamy viewpoint.
It is difficult to summarize what exactly “Yi Yi” is about — this is part of what makes the film so special. At its core, the film focuses on a moment in time within the lives of the Jian family: father NJ (Wu Nianzhen), mother Min-Min (Elaine Jin), daughter Ting-Ting (Kelly Lee) and son Yang-Yang (Jonathan Chang). Each family member has their own storylines fraught with both loss and joy that, while diverging at points, interweave with the others throughout the narrative.
One of the most beautiful parts of “Yi Yi” is the sense of interconnectedness between the members of the Jian family. A prominent moment of this connection happens
during NJ’s business trip to Tokyo. While at his brother-in-law’s wedding, NJ has a chance encounter with his first love Sherry (Su-Yun Ko). Now married, they reconnect in Tokyo, reliving their shared past and recounting their lives since their split 30 years ago. Interspersed with NJ and Sherry’s travels is a date Ting-Ting has with Fatty (Chang Yu Pang), a near exact reflection of her father’s reminiscing. Even with the years that separate father from daughter, there are echoes of his past in her present. Another strong aspect of the film’s storylines is their ability to capture distinct pieces of everyday life. NJ deals with an unsatisfactory job that comprises his morals, all the while facing regret when he reconnects with his first love. Min-Min works through grief when her mother falls into a coma, facing questions of whether she has truly lived her life to the fullest. As TingTing begins to discover who she is, she simultaneously grapples with the world’s cruelty. Finally, Yang-Yang questions his life as he gains a sense of the world at only eight years old for the first time. The challenges these characters face are so grounded and so benign in scale that “Yi Yi” acts as a natural reflection of the everyman’s life.
These moments, like the rest of the film, are captured in patient shots that emulate the feeling of viewing a painting. Scenes are captured in wide frames that take time to relish in the beauty of Taiwan quietly. As the film holds on an image, you feel your eyes move throughout the whole frame, taking in all the small details that bring the scene to life. The most impressive shots are those of the settings’ reflections in mirrors and windows that invoke a sense of everlasting melancholy. These shots capture beauty in what are everyday surroundings, untouched and uncontrollable, emphasizing how much beauty is already present all around us.
Additionally, “Yi Yi” successfully develops an entire cast of distinct personalities, brought alive by nuanced and natural performances. One highlight is Ting-Ting, who hides her optimistic core with a shy exterior. She adapts to life’s challenges, yet when her grandmother falls into a coma, she experiences the burden of guilt, believing the coma was her fault. Lee’s performance as Ting-Ting is simply beautiful, as she conveys each emotion — heartbreak, sadness and contemplation — while maintaining a quiet demeanor.
The true heart of “Yi Yi,” though, is Yang-Yang, NJ’s eight-year-old son. Curi -
ous and with a bubbling determination that seems too big for his eight-year-old body, he bears much of the same introspectiveness as his father, albeit in a stranger manner. In one part of the narrative, to understand the perspective of his crush, he attempts to teach himself to swim, practicing holding his breath by emerging his head in a sink full of water at home and eventually diving headfirst into the pool with no fear. While peculiar, Yang-Yang holds a sort of deep wisdom in the way he interacts with the world, which Chang perfectly portrays through his oddly immovable poker face, seen examining everything with a uniquely atypical mind.
“Yi Yi” is a gorgeous reflection of life, full of quiet questions and musings. It finds life risky, a sentiment highlighted in one of Yang-Yang’s moments of wisdom. He questions why humans only live on half the truth — how we operate without even knowing what the back of our head looks like. The answer “Yi Yi” provides is that living means waking up each day and facing the uncertainty of life with bravery — we walk with one another into our lives while we grow older and, perhaps, wiser.
Francis Rienzo
Deputy Guide Editor
Maybe life is not so sweet, and maybe art is not all escapist. Following the immediate success of “La Dolce Vita” (The Sweet Life), which introduced Italian films to global success and acclaim at the Academy Awards, director Federico Fellini decided to further expand on the film’s themes of cafe society, Hollywood and life itself. These goals led him to his ninth film, cheekily titled “8 ½.” The Italian film documents the making of the movie you are watching, which creates a metafictional playground for contradictions and confusion. Through the confusion, Fellini crafts an influential and thought-provoking piece.
Marcello Mastroianni, portraying a character with an archetype reminiscent of his role in “La Dolce Vita,” stars as Guido Anselmi, a filmmaker struggling creatively as he unsuccessfully attempts to make an epic science fiction film. Anselmi is clearly not focused on the science fiction aspect, though the audience never quite grasps what film or genre Anselmi is attempting to capture as it seems to constantly change. For example, the scaffolding of a set that is said to be
a spaceship clearly does not resemble such a machine, and its true nature remains unclear.
It is hard to decipher exactly what the movie’s core message is, and it requires a very close watch as the dream world of Anselmi’s mind and reality are interwoven and unclearly defined. This confusion seems to be exactly what Fellini aims to produce. At its core, the movie examines the figure of the “Ideal Woman,” who Anselmi imagines will save him from his struggles as a burnt-out director with marital difficulties.
What makes the film successful is its self-referential nature and critique of Anselmi. The film makes clear that Anselmi is responsible for every problem in his marriage, whether that be his cheating nature, or the “inability to love” that the “Ideal Woman” accuses him of possessing. Through Anselmi, Fellini is self-critical. However, other characters are also not morally perfect, as they relentlessly attack Anselmi while continuously trying to use him.
Anouk Aimée plays Anselmi’s wife, Luisa, perfectly. The character’s bipolar nature is expertly contrasted with Anselmi’s one-di-
mensionality. She goes from loving him in one scene to hating him in the next. Luisa, who knows Anselmi too well, can easily point out when he is lying. Anselmi’s mistress, Carla (Sandra Milo), is the complete antithesis of Luisa. She is loud and shameless and will tell Anselmi exactly what he needs to hear. However, the critique comes with the fact that despite Anselmi’s confused nature, both these women and other female actresses seek his approval, as he is a powerful man in the film industry who can make them very successful. Fellini is criticizing himself — the power he knows he possesses but does not fully know how to handle — and the attitudes within the film industry in general. In a larger sense, the film is about finding meaning within a fragmented and challenging personal life. It comments on the pressures artists face when expected to deliver profound work while simultaneously dealing with complex personal lives and intense public scrutiny. Vignettes throughout the film touch on various social issues, including a dream sequence of a cardinal religiously guiding Anselmi and references to contemporary events, such as the atomic bomb,
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Francis Rienzo (CAS ’27) explores the ever-confusing — but undoubtedly wonderful — work of iconic Italian director Federico Fellini through his ninth film, “8 1/2.”
which offer a taste of the noise that distracts Anselmi — and Fellini — as he tries to work.
Much of the film’s effectiveness is dependent on how closely the audience is willing to engage with its messaging, genre and structure. In other words, “8 ½” requires a lot of attention to fully grasp. The film, while having aspects of a comedy-drama, toes the line of being a psychological exploration. Reportedly David Lynch’s favorite movie, “8 ½” has inspired countless others in creating the likes of “All That Jazz” (1979) and the show “BoJack Horseman.” “8 ½” pioneered the sub-genre of films centering on morally ambiguous men in Hollywood reckoning with romantic and professional setbacks.
Fellini’s personal ethics, shown throughout the film, are also interesting to study and question. Does he rationalize cheating and personal immaturity because of his career struggles? Landing on one interpretation is impossible since the film focuses more on artistry than clarity. Despite the difficulty of grasping the full scope of the film’s commentary, it is highly entertaining, funny and enjoyable. While the audience may need a rewatch or a film degree to truly understand the whole thing, the entire narrative functions wonderfully as a piece of true art.
Isabelle Cialone Deputy Guide Editor
Content warning: This article contains references to police brutality. Please refer to the end of the article for on- and off-campus resources.
“La haine attire la haine.” Hate breeds hate. Mathieu Kassovitz’s 1995 film “La Haine” depicts the unbroken cycle of hatred in a Paris banlieue (suburb) teeming with rage in the aftermath of a protest against police brutality. The subsequent riots left a young man, Abdel (Abdel Ahmed Ghili), hospitalized due to the police attacking him at the protest. The film spans a period of less than 24 hours and follows three of Abdel’s friends as tensions between police and civilians reach a boiling point, with hatred and fear growing ever more palpable.
“La Haine” explores how each main character expresses a similar sentiment of utter helplessness toward their endless oppression but reacts in vastly different ways. Vinz (Vincent Cassel) seeks retribution for his hospitalized friend, wielding a police-issued Smith &
Wesson revolver, as he toys with the idea of taking action. Hubert (Hubert Koundé) longs to break free from the banlieue after the riots destroy his boxing gym, and he tries to steer both himself and Vinz away from unnecessary violence. Vinz’s violent outlook on life and Hubert’s rationality are balanced by the third friend, Saïd (Saïd Taghmaoui), whose silly nature and attempts to mediate the group keep them united.
The performances from all three actors are incredible — each feels genuine, with the natural delivery of every line packed with emotion. The characters feel completely developed and full of life despite the constant danger they face, and the chemistry between the actors sells the film’s authenticity. As tension brews, you cannot help but be invested. This tension is constant and slow-burning. The film is bookended by a quote about falling and assuring oneself by repeating the phrase “so far, so good, so far, so good” — but in the end, the landing is what matters, not the fall. This is echoed throughout the plot as increas-
ingly violent episodes become normal and society turns a blind eye toward its self-destruction. In less than a day, these young men experience a lifetime of violence, making typically traumatic experiences commonplace for them. In a scene that ultimately leads to the climax, the tension between civilians and cops ends at a devastatingly striking encounter, which might be interpreted as the aforementioned landing.
Perhaps just as captivating as the story is the breathtaking cinematography. The entire film is in black and white, simultaneously amplifying the grittiness and beauty of Paris and its banlieues. Several scenes use particularly incredible camerawork — the iconic mirror scene in which Vinz references the film “Taxi Driver” and the scene where the camera flies across the city while a DJ plays a set stand out as scenes that will continue to stick with me long after watching the movie.
The sound design of the second scene epitomizes the film as a whole. The DJ mixes Edith Piaf’s iconic “Non, je ne regrette rien,”
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“Hate breeds hate”: Isabelle Cialone (CAS ’27) dives deep into the messaging, motives and movie mastery behind French crimethriller “La Haine.”
meaning “No, I do not regret anything,” and a version of KRS-One’s “Sound of Da Police” with the eponymous lyric dubbed over by the phrase “assassin de la police.” This blending of classical French music with a vehemently anti-police song perfectly encapsulates the film and the Paris it represents: a flawed and violent city beneath the picturesque postcard perfection we typically see. The music used throughout the film consists primarily of reggae, a genre frequently used for sociopolitical commentary, and French rap, an art form that flourished in Parisian banlieues.
Alongside the excellent music, the use of actual footage of protests and riots during the opening sequence grounds the entire film in reality. The characters may be fictional, but “La Haine” highlights and compiles real-life tragedies, giving their victims names to magnify the unending cycle of systemic oppression and police brutality.
The black-and-white cinematography should make the events of “La Haine” feel dated and unfamiliar — but the film is perhaps more relevant today than it was 30 years ago, as police brutality pervades the streets of both France and the United States. In addition to its powerful and important message, the beauty of “La Haine” anchors it as not just one of the greatest French films but one of the greatest films of all time and an absolute must-watch.
Resources: On-campus resources include Health Education Services (202-687-8949), Counseling and Psychiatric Services (202-687-6985) and the Center for Multicultural Equity and Access (202-687-4054); additional off-campus resources include Crisis Text Line (text 741741) and the District of Columbia ACLU (202-457-0800).
Tanvi Gorripati Deputy Guide Editor
“City of God” is a harrowing depiction of the rise of organized crime and gang violence in the Cidade de Deus favela, or slum, of Rio de Janeiro. Released in 2002, the Brazilian film earned four Academy Award nominations at the 76th Oscars for Best Cinematography, Best Director, Best Film Editing and Best Adapted Screenplay. It was also Brazil’s submission for Best International Film at the 75th Academy Awards, though it ultimately did not receive a nomination.
Spanning two decades, the film presents a nonlinear narrative, chronicling the transformation of a neighborhood through the eyes of Rocket (Alexandre Rodrigues), an aspiring photographer who is caught between the relentless violence of warring gangs. His story unfolds alongside the ups and downs of drug dealer Li’l Zé (Leandro Firmino), the self-proclaimed boss of the neighborhood, and Mané Galinha (Seu Jorge), a bus clerk-turned-criminal seeking revenge.
Rather than sticking to a strict chronological order, “City of God” structures its story in interconnected chapters, each only introduced when most relevant to the overarching narrative. In this way, the film seamlessly weaves multiple storylines together, avoiding disjointed jumps and maintaining a sense of cohesion. As the film’s narrative progresses, audiences grow to learn how crime, poverty and power
can shape a community and the lives of those within it. The result is a masterfully paced film that never feels slow or unnecessary, as every character, no matter how minor, contributes to the bigger picture.
The film’s editing is phenomenal, making it clear why it was nominated for Best Film Editing. The fast cuts, chaotic angles and rapid-fire transitions heighten tension and immerse the viewer in the raw, volatile energy of the favela.
A particularly striking sequence is the “chicken chase” in the opening scene, where Rocket finds himself caught between the two opposing forces. The frantic cuts and shaky camera work immediately establish the film’s intensity and the chaos to come.
Another significant contributor to the film’s immersive atmosphere is its score and soundtrack. “City of God” masterfully blends traditional Brazilian music with pulsating funk and samba rhythms, reflecting the cultural vibrancy of Rio de Janeiro while underscoring the film’s darker themes. The upbeat nature of some tracks creates a contrast to the brutal violence on screen, reinforcing the film’s message about the normalization of crime in the favelas. At times, the music adds an almost celebratory feel to scenes of power, which, when contrasted with moments of violence, makes the scenes even more disturbing. The soundtrack also heightens the emotional burdens of certain scenes, such as those following a character’s death, making the world of “City of God” feel all the more alive and gripping. Adding to the film’s authenticity, the cast of the film is almost entirely made up of ama-
teurs, many of whom grew up in favelas around Rio de Janeiro. Rather than relying on a rigid script, director Fernando Meirelles encouraged improvisation to create a more natural depiction of street life. This pays off tremendously, as the performances feel raw and unscripted, capturing the unpredictability of life in Cidade de Deus. The young actors in particular, such as Firmino as the sociopathically cruel Li’l Zé, deliver hauntingly believable performances.
While “City of God” is an undeniably powerful and thought-provoking film, it is also an incredibly hard watch. The film does not shy away from depicting the brutal realities of gang violence, with some of its most disturbing moments involving children both witnessing and committing acts of extreme violence. These scenes force the viewer to confront the cycle of poverty and crime that children who grow up in these environments have little choice but to join. In my experience, the film makes you reflect on your own privilege, as watching the movie from a place of comfort and security makes it impossible not to feel the stark contrast between your life and the reality of the film’s characters.
Despite its brutality, “City of God” is an inspiration in storytelling, cinematography and editing, creating a harrowing and unforgettable cinematic experience. It demands your attention and keeps you watching, leaving you with a mix of shock and sorrow. For those who can handle the sensitive subject matter, the film is a mustwatch as it immerses you in a world that, for many, is a harsh reality.
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Tanvi Gorripati (CAS ’27) praises Brazilian film “City of God.”
Sophia Tremblay Hoya Staff Writer
“Crocodile Dundee” is a cult classic film that continues to captivate international audiences regarding life in the Australian Outback. Inspired by the true adventures of Rod Ansell, this 1986 comedy aimed to offer a glimpse of what life in this remote, often hostile wilderness entails. The film follows New York City reporter Sue Charlton’s (Linda Kozlowski) efforts to write a story on the Australian legend Michael “Crocodile” Dundee (Paul Hogan) — a character who serves as an almost exaggerated personification of the Outback itself.
In his first appearance on screen, Dundee sports a leather vest and cowboy hat, all while man-handling a crocodile. He could not be a more stereotypical depiction of an Australian personality; before he even appears on screen, rumors circulate that Dundee lost half of his leg to a crocodile before he ultimately killed the creature. His knowledge of nature goes beyond croc-
odiles, though, as Dundee is apparently extremely in touch with most Outback animals. Dundee exhibits his familiarity with the environment at the beginning of the film as he puts a large ox to sleep with just his mind. Despite his rugged depiction, Dundee is also undoubtedly quick-witted and clever, often silencing those who test him with puns (or punches). Likable and charismatic, Hogan’s portrayal of Dundee represents a highlight of the film.
Another high point of the film is the cinematography, which captures the breathtaking Australian landscape. Predating the reliance among filmmakers on greenscreen, the film highlights the sweeping scenery, vast open spaces and murky but intriguing waters of northern Australia. The Outback is portrayed as dangerous and empty, alluring and full of opportunity.
After Charlton’s time in the wild, the movie shifts to Dundee’s arrival in New York City. The movie uses the “country boy in a big city” trope in a myriad of stereotypical yet tickling quips. However, this is still where the comedy of the film hits its stride, with the cultural differences between Aus-
tralia and the United States on full display. Dundee’s introduction to modern technology is comical and ridiculous, epitomized by his bewilderment at an escalator. His interactions with locals are also hysterical — Dundee’s assumption that New York is a “friendly city” plays out just as one might think. The cultural juxtaposition is clear and allows the film to poke fun at both societies: New Yorkers appear overly rigid and impersonal while Australians come off as more laid back and relaxed. This contrast, though exaggerated for comedic effect, highlights Australia’s reputation for informality and friendliness compared to the hustle and bustle of metropolitan life in the United States.
While a through-and-through comedy, “Crocodile Dundee” does have some surprisingly introspective moments; the acknowledgment of Australia’s aboriginal peoples and their fight to maintain sovereignty over their native land is particularly striking. Dundee interacts with aboriginal characters, notably his friend, who is a tracker. When Charlton asks whether Dundee believes they should regain their land, he replies,
“Don’t own the land, they belong to it.” However, negative stereotypes — such as the depiction of the aboriginal peoples as having mystical powers and knowledge — persist throughout. As a result, while the film addresses issues facing these Indigenous populations in Australia, the surface-level approach to these complex issues ultimately falls short of providing a proper understanding of their cultures and histories.
“Crocodile Dundee” offers a humorous depiction of the Australian Outback for audiences in the United States. Despite its shortcomings regarding political simplifications and stereotyping, the movie is lighthearted and fun. Sure, it doesn’t break new ground or offer significant commentary on Australian sociopolitical issues, but it is not trying to achieve this goal. Instead, the film uses Dundee’s likability and charisma to offer an accessible taste of the Outback and a humorous glimpse of cultural contrasts between Australia and the United States. I would recommend “Crocodile Dundee” for those looking for a lighthearted watch, as it has become a beloved classic for international audiences.