5-8 A Thirst For Music: A conversation with up and rising band ‘emerson’
9-10 WATER LEVELS: Why do they suck?
11-12 The Patriarchal Paradox of Nosferatu
13 Blood Drinking 101 (For Fledglings)
14 Desire
15-20 MOONLIGHT: The Thirst for Human Connection
21-22 DIRTY SPONGES
23-26 A Thirst For Music: A conversation with up and rising band ‘The Dazed Minded’
27-32 Mouthfeel.
33-36 Queer: A Review 37 THIRST FOR…
38 Bloody Mary
39-44 STUDENT SPOTLIGHT 01: AN INTERVIEW WITH RIAN PAUL 45-46 Credits
‘fish bar’
Pau Orlikowska @kovvskii
Photography ELAMAI MIAH-REK
Text ELAMAI MIAH-REK & FIN DARROLL-DAVIES
BASSIST WILL AND VOCALIST
GEORGE FROM THE BAND EMERSON HAD A TALK WITH US ON INSPIRATIONS, GOALS AND THE HOPEFUL FUTURE OF LIVE MUSIC BEFORE THEIR HEADLINE GIG AT THE QUEEN’S HEAD, FARNHAM.
Their inspiration blends 70s soft rock with influences such as the Hollies and the Beatles, “Me and Alex [guitarist] really took inspo with that ride-or-die Beatles fan”.
With modern inspirations like the red-hot chili peppers and oasis. Even though Will had said they’re ‘not really listening to indie rock’ they admire that it’s ‘nice to not have a template and have that originality’.
When asked about their best gig George replied that he “doesn’t really have a best one”, though soon he said, “Water rats the other day was real good, good crowd and good sound which doesn’t always happen, but we felt at ease”.
He continued with discussing how the band now felt more comfortable with their concrete line-up, with the new drummer they picked up last October, though they found they always had good energy from the crowdwith one of their gigs at the queens head last may being “mental, dripping with sweat but a good gig for the energy”.
You may be thinking what kinda crowd is this though? Well, they answered with “do you have to know your audience? It’s more of a business perspective but, human beings with ears”, Will chimed in with ‘people who like good music”. Though they explained that it’s
“nice to play to younger crowds for the energy and seeing that resurgence in guitar heavy music, especially after playing in pubs with older men”
Leaning into the business perspective, we asked what they saw for the future of live music, in which they sang the praises of grass roots venues, since “there’s [only] a few good ones, but its shrinking and it’s a shame” … “the interest may be growing, but they’re [smaller venues] are still closing”. It’s like with social media, on which they had said “[you] Kinda have to do it, everyone says so but it’s sad how it’s a necessity”, “it’s nice to quantify our listeners and reach people who wouldn’t normally know of us, but in an ideal world it’s absent” … “Especially under the amount of pressure to share so much so quickly”
They also opened about their vision on the rising interest in guitar music and early thousands anthems, “the rise in interest is really good” … “good for us haha”
Will continued by saying, “music can be quite uninspired, written by a huge team of people. It’d be nice for more soul, jamming out in the garage making something people like rather than factory made” … “but who are we to say, when you look in the past Oasis was
the mainstream goal and now it’s changed so much”.
“But we like the exclusivity and specialness of music, especially when live”.
We ended our talk on a would you rather: would you rather have a small crowd or a stadium?
“Would that be selling out?” We replied, ‘take the question however you see it’.
“We’d rather ten people who know the lyrics, feel the passion, than a stadium of phone screens” …
“it’s about connecting with people, if you’re not connecting on a deeper level then what’s the point”
EMERSON’S MUST LISTEN TO:
The Hollies
David Bowie Rush
WHY DO THEY SUCK?
Water levels are most commonly featured in platformers, infamously Labyrinth Zone in Sonic The Hedgehog is often singled out as being one of the worst to play, Josh Coulson described it as a (Coulson, 2020:‘Nightmare-inducing level’). Water Levels are a broad concept, for the purposes of this review we can define it as a break in typical gameplay and movement where the player is haphazardly thrown into the nearest body of water. Water levels are infamous and have been or decades at this point, their hatred spans far and wide but how deserved is it?
A key to understanding why they are worse than the rest of the game is a lack of time and commitment, in game development a large amount of time is spent on testing and tweaking subtle values that eventually result in a satisfying mechanic such as movement, this concept is known as polish. A water level in contrast is a low priority as it only comes up in a very small segment in a much larger game, so it gets ignored and bad designs get kept.
Sonic The Hedgehog’s gameplay is defined by speed and acceleration, in a typical level the player must balance high-speed running with hazards spread throughout the level, be it enemies or hedgehog-sized spikes. Labyrinth zone is the fourth stage, meaning the player is well accustomed to the core game loop. Now this is where everything goes wrong for our beloved blue hog, immediately you are thrust into a wet, green, and slimy mess that Sega sold the public.
Everything you enjoyed from the clean running to the predictable jumping is all flipped on its head when your movement speed is halved along with the gravity making it feel like your hands are covered in a thick honey and the overworked Mega Drive struggles to send signals down the rusted AV cables into an ancient SCART converter and finally shown an encrusted LCD display in a glorious resolution of 320×480. In all seriousness this massive gameplay shift from the fine-tuned terrestrial movement into a significantly slower and reduction in the gravity making it feel more like you are on the moon, resulting in a less rewarding experience. The breaking of the well-established rules, rather than being a unique level it frustrates and annoys the player with its spike in difficulty and inaccurate portrayal of movement in water. The cherry on top of this failure of game design is breathing, Sonic has the lungs of a newborn baby and will drown in about ten seconds, so adding breathing to the mechanics the player has to learn in this short amount of time is a true recipe for disaster.
modern example, New Super Mario Bros was released in 2006. Fifteen years in the Games Industry is a long time, since 1991 the 2D sprites has been ditched for hyper-realistic 3D graphics starring every one’s favourite genocidal plumber. This game features several water levels sprinkled throughout the game rather than Sonic’s strategy of having a massive difficulty spike.
The overall water movement has improved somewhat, the jump button propels Mario forward based on the current direction of his moment while also pushing him higher up. This provides a more “realistic” representation of swimming, this means that the player can immediately infer how to move within the given environment. Unlike Sonic, Mario has lungs of steel and can survive underwater for any amount of time – this is a significant improvement as having the player wondering if their lungs have enough oxygen is far too much even for the most veteran of players. The first appearance of a water level is mid-way through the first world and is fully optional, the water aspect isn’t the worst sin in this level that would be the auto-scroll. Rather than the camera fixed onto Mario, the camera is continuously scrolling right to left and if the player falls outside of this fixed area Mario dies and the level restarts. Cheep Cheeps appear frequently in the first water level with new varieties being added in in later levels. They are a fairly simple enemy lacking in any complex thought and strategy, they simply move towards Mario in a vain attempt to kill and presumably devour him. Your only line of defence against these waterborne menaces is the fire flower which appears thrice in this level, this is quite generous to the player making it a fairly easy level overall. The Mario water levels are a significant step-up from the depths that is Labyrinth Zone, while they still aren’t as good as the main levels they serve their purpose in a break from predictable gameplay.
To sum up the question concisely it would be the movement, water levels take the slowest and dullest parts of a game and increases it by a factor of ten. The only saving grace is the simply amazing music that often comes with them, from the symphonic synths of Sonic 3’s Hyrdocity zone to the Aquatic Ambiance from Donkey Kong Country the music is what makes water levels stick out so much more in the minds of players.
Taking these examples and looking at how they work we can distil some concepts on making a water level:
1. Free movement
Much like in real life, gravity drags us down to the ground but in the water, we float to the surface. Games shouldn’t replicate reality but basing mechanics in the familiarity of real-world physics will allow the player to figure out how to traverse this new environment quickly.
2. Engaging Visuals
Having a boring colour filter over the screen isn’t enough to create the unique environment that a water level has the potential to be. The ocean isn’t one constant environment, mix it up with different types of corals and underwater plants.
3. Don’t waste it
A lot of water levels are one-off’s that are rarely touched on again in the game. Use it as a mid-level mix up, keeping the player on their toes without ruining the flow state. You wouldn’t have Mario jump in one level and never do it again, you reuse it so the player can master the mechanic so you can create an even more satisfying level.
4. Be generous
A major issue with water levels is the massive spike in difficulty, in the modern age people have thousands of games to play so keeping the game at the right amount of challenge is very key. Giving the player some wiggle room allows them to get a hang of the new systems you are introducing.
5. Don’t stick with a bad idea
This goes for really any creative endeavour, but in my experience if the core idea doesn’t work, even if you’ve spent days on a single concept, in many cases you are better off changing the idea or shelving it for another day and starting from scratch.
The Patriarchal Paradox of Nosferatu
Robert Eggers’ latest scares and perplexes in equal measure
Miles Farrow
Robert Eggers’ recent remake of the classic Nosferatu: A Symphony of Horror, which first emerged as an unofficial cinematic version of Bram Stoker’s Dracula, has created quite a stir. The traditionalism of the story made this effort quite a compelling one, both thematically and as a cinematic choice on Eggers’ part. It was always going to be somewhat of a challenge to bring such a classic story to a new generation, 102 years after the original premiered, but Robert Eggers has certainly achieved an interestingly prescient renaissance of the phenomenon. Maybe it’s the haunting, and somewhat unpredictable performances (most clearly seen in Lily Rose-Depp’s turn as the iconic Ellen) or the careful balance of the classically Gothic and more modern horror elements, or something entirely different. There is a sense here that this version successfully acts as an updated version of the original, whilst also providing almost the exact right amount of newness; Enough to gently provoke, but only gently. At its heart, the story is one of domination, depicting the vast inequality in power between the men and the women of society – a division that is ultimately symbolised by the Count himself. Ellen is a well-to-do woman in the late 19th century, a fact that is constantly reinforced throughout the film. Hopelessly devoted to her husband, perhaps even in a problematic way, she is devasted when he leaves town for his job – in the hopes of delivering prosperity for his family.
Despite her suspicions about Thomas’s (her husband) trip, she is ignored and patronised immediately. It is assumed that Thomas’s hopes of a better life naturally and therefore must take precedent over his wife’s concerns and somewhat crippling co-dependence. Ellen’s anxiety is eventually vindicated when we meet the Count, a character so dripping in eeriness and suspicion he makes Frankenstein’s monster seem endearing. The introduction of the Count in the story is also notable in terms of a broader discussion of power. The Count’s interactions with Thomas, which escalate from moderately creepy to full-on craziness, is obviously devoid of any meaningful gender imbalance, but is rife with class power. The Count, an old and generationally wealthy figure, living in a large manor house indicative of the aristocratic tradition of the 19th century, immediately dominates Thomas and exudes dramatic power over him. Initially, the domination is cloaked as one of profession, but we also know of the inner conflicts and implications behind it. Thomas is there to serve him, devotionally and relentlessly. In fact, it can be argued that most of the conflict in the first act surrounds this meeting. Submission, dominance (the negotiation between the two) and power in
‘At its heart, the story is one of domination, depicting the vast inequality in power between the men and the women of society’
Nosferatu: A Symphony of Horror (F.W Murnau, 1927)
Fig. 1: Ellen in Nosferatu (2024) [Film still] In: Nosferatu. Directed by Eggers, Robert. Prague: Universal. At: https://uk.pinterest.com/pin/753297475209278659/ (Accessed 13/3/2025).
Fig. 2: Albin in Nosferatu (2024) [Film still] In: Nosferatu. Directed by Eggers, Robert. Prague: Universal. At: https://uk.pinterest.com/pin/753297475209277672/ (Accessed 13/3/2025).
Fig. 3: Ellen and Count Orlock in Nosferatu (2024) [Film still] In: Nosferatu. Directed by Eggers, Robert. Prague: Universal. At: https://i.pinimg.com/736x/6a/07/9f/6a079f08809c9ea72f30e589dce8a22f.jpg (Accessed 13/3/2025).
Fig. 1
‘This version successfully acts as an updated version of the original’
general are all recurring themes of the film, and for good reason. Treacherous male-female relations have been a part of classic Gothic media throughout history. In Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, Victor’s adopted Cousin Elizabeth, is given very little agency in the narrative. She is essentially a completely submissive character, constantly yearning for Victor’s attention. It is difficult to see how these stories aren’t pressing reflections of the reality of the time. Shelley was clearly a socially conscious author with deep roots in feminist movements, her mother being the iconic feminist leader Mary Wollstonecraft.
Much is made of the relationship Ellen has with the Count, but I find her relationship with Thomas and Friedrich to be of note too. If ever there was a codependent relationship, almost entirely indicative of patriarchy, it would be this one. As mentioned, Ellen is desperate for Thomas to stay with her at home, already an interestingly domestic default option. It’s hard to see this as something other than standard procedure of the time, but it allows Thomas to fully indulge in his careerist fantasies without natural recourse. Furthermore, his own relationship with Friedrich confirms his desires as both righteous and just. Before he leaves, Friedrich congratulates him on his opportunity, before offering fleeting concern on Ellen’s behalf. Friedrich acts as somewhat of a bridge in the film between Ellen, Thomas and the Count and displays pressingly problematic attitudes to Ellen throughout. Perhaps most prominently seen in a pivotal scene in the third act whereby Ellen voices her concerns about the Count, only to be shouted down for her persistency in her voice and passion. Friedrich evokes Thomas’s honour in his lambasting, effectively saying that he hopes Ellen is less forthright for his sake –appealing to an age-old misogynist belief. It is certainly interesting to consider why Eggers chose to include such scenes. Eggers felt that staying true to the story meant showing all of it, warts and all. The balance struck between the internal social conflicts and the horror of the Count was inevitably going to be challenging, but overall, I think he succeeded in this area.
The new Nosferatu is clearly a very entertaining film and a welcome update to the story’s canon. It’s certainly interesting to think about how this version introduces new audiences to the story, and how Eggers brought his fashionable style of horror direction, one which is often delightfully transgressive, to this classic narrative. Whilst in some ways a clear departure from the rest of his filmography, this remake is still very much a Robert Eggers film. The extent to which we can use the story, and more so the original, as an anthropological tool remains to be seen. I have suggested here that there is some value to this story in this regard. The male-female relationships and dynamics are somewhat of a window into what gender roles and relations were like in the 1930s, even if the story is set earlier in history. Unfortunately, patriarchal themes within film have remained relevant throughout time – and so I think this version of the story will endure well into the future, much like its predecessor.
Fig. 2
Fig. 3
MOON LIGHT :
The Thirst for Human Connection
Written by Rian Paul
What happens when someone is raised in an environment that rejects them? Forcing an ultimatum, to either be one’s true self and dismissed or hide who you truly are and be able to survive. The effects of this are seen in Barry Jenkins’ 2016 film Moonlight. The story follows three chapters of Chiron’s (a black, homosexual man’s) life. The film can be considered one of the most impactful films of the 21st Century, being the first film with an all-black cast, and the first LGBTQ+ film to win the Best Picture Oscar. What really draws me to Moonlight is how, despite having scenes involving sex, the film never feels like it is about sex or sexualising these black queer characters. Instead, Barry Jenkins’ story focuses on the importance of human connection and influence in a person’s life, as throughout the film we see how Chiron becomes a product of the environment he is surrounded by, and the power that positive human connection has on him. This piece will analyse how Jenkins depicts Chiron’s need for connection. Looking at cinematography, Jenkins emphasises colder tones throughout many of the scenes, with blues and greys being specifically highlighted. The colour blue is a reoccurring motif throughout Moonlight, communicating opposing themes of peace and calmness versus coldness and depression. This is likely why we see this colour most dominant in the beach scenes; whether it is the freeing light blue of the ocean Juan teaches Chiron to swim in, or the deeper dark blue seen when Chiron reflects on the beach at night, this contrast reflects the uncertainty Chiron feels in his environment. Another point of cinematography is the shallow depth of field used throughout the film. In many scenes, Chiron dominates the focus, with his surroundings more blurred. This creative choice symbolises the disconnect Chiron feels from the world around him, and the isolation he feels in populated places like his school. However, this is not always the case, as many of the supporting characters in the film will break this solo focus. When characters like Chiron’s bully or Paula enter the frame, it feels more intrusive, as if they are forcing Chiron to focus on them, whereas with characters like Juan, Kevin, or Teresa, it feels like they are sharing the frame with Chiron, which reflects the positive impact they have in his life. This also highlights the difference between the shot-reverseshot and the wide frames used in many scenes. In moments with his mother, Chiron and Paula rarely share the frame, instead a shot-reverseshot is used which could communicate a sense of removal as Chiron does not share the frame with them. Compare this to scenes with Juan, where Chiron is framed alongside him, or in the foreground, like the scene where Juan talks to Chiron outside of his house. To share the frame with Juan is to tell the audience that Chiron trusts him and values his presence. This can be further proven as in the opening scene, where Chiron first meets Juan, Juan is shot through the shot-reverse-shot with Chiron. This is because Chiron does not know Juan yet and, on the surface, he appears as a threatening drug dealer, it is not until he feeds him that we see Chiron and Juan share the frame as Chiron begins to trust him.
The importance of Juan as a character cannot be overstated. Mahershala Ali’s Oscar winning performance of the drug dealer only has 20 minutes of screen time (all during the first chapter), however his impact can be felt throughout the film. The best scene which depicts Juan’s importance to Chiron is the swimming scene. Here, we see Juan be the father figure that Chiron has lacked in his life, through the fact that he is teaching him how to swim (something many parents will teach their children). The way the camera floats in and out of the water places us with Chiron, which allows the audience to sympathise with him. The sun and light blue water communicate a sense of freedom and beauty. After this scene Juan sits with Chiron and tells him about his life. He says he is from Cuba, and that “(imitating an old lady) In Moonlight, black boys look blue.” What can be read from this line is that Juan is telling Chiron that he is more than the colour of his skin. As mentioned previously the colour blue is used heavily throughout the film, and with its contrasting meanings, looking “blue” suggests that Chiron is not defined by the colour of his skin (or the stereotypes associated with it) but by what is inside him, and being blue connotes both the beauty and peacefulness as well as the sadness and depression we see the colour used for throughout the film.
Moreover, the hallway scene visualises Paula’s influence on a young Chiron. We see this scene twice, firstly in reverse, and then the second moving forward towards the end of the film. A young Chiron stands in the living room, with his head down and eyes looking up towards his mother. Naomi Harris stands there, angry and swaying before screaming at Chiron, then walking backwards (this is in reverse) to her room where a strong, pink glow comes from. A melancholy score dominates the sound in this scene, not revealing what Paula screamed at his child. This scene depicts Paula in a villainous, scary view, through her off centre framing, to her sudden burst of anger. Whereas Chiron is presented sympathetically, looking up at her mother, and being still and centre throughout the shot. Another indicator of their opposition to each other is the soft, blue light behind Chiron contrasting the harsh, pink light behind Paula. Pink connotes love and happiness; however, it is the spilled purple light on the reflected wall which can infer an undertone of cruelty and arrogance (connoted by purple).
Moonlight’s sex scenes are not about the sex, rather the physical connection for Chiron. This can be seen in chapter 2, where a teenage Chiron finds himself spending the night on the beach, where he is joined by Kevin. After some conversation, they engage in a sexual act. What is interesting about this scene is that we never see the sex, instead we see Chiron’s hand digging into the sand. It is the focus of this hand which suggests that this scene is about the power of the human touch. Throughout the film we see how isolated Chiron feels from the people around him at school, and this is a scene which shows a genuine connection to one of them. The hand Kevin places around Chiron’s face gets a subtle, yet powerful reaction from Chiron, as he stares teary eyed at Kevin, almost shocked that someone is touching him. This becomes especially apparent when compared to the similar touch on the face Chiron receives from his mother earlier on, where Paula tells him that they are the only people each other have. This moment with Kevin is therefore Chiron proving his mother wrong; that he can have someone else other than her to love him.
After Kevin is peer-pressured to beat Chiron up at school, he forgets the emotional moment he had with him and accepts that he may always be alone if he acts true to himself. We see this through the jarring introduction to an adult Chiron in chapter 3. In chapter 1 Juan tells Chiron: “At some point you gotta decide for yourself who you gonna be. Can’t let nobody make that decision for you,” but by the start of chapter 3, it seems as if Chiron let everyone else decide that for him. We discover that Chiron has become a tough drug dealer, blasting music out of his fancy car, collecting money from other dealers and wearing a golden grill. What we learn from this opening is that Chiron has allowed the world to create his character; deciding to fit in for security instead of being true to who he is.
This front is broken, however, when he meets Kevin again. The visualisation of this is seen when Juan takes his grills off in the restaurant. This is because when he sees Kevin again, he is brought back to the moment on the beach with him, where he felt like he could be vulnerable and himself. Therefore, when Kevin cooks Chiron food, a possible metaphor for Kevin allowing Chiron to be himself again, Kevin slowly accepts by removing his grills to eat. The lighting in these scenes contrast the rest of the film, with warmer yellows used instead of the complicated blues. This could represent the literal warmth Kevin’s presence brings to Chiron as he creates a welcoming environment for him, something Chiron does not experience often in this film. One shot which depicts Chiron as no different from the scared boy he used to be is the slow zoom in shot from behind as he waits for his food. It sinks the feeling of isolation into the audience, as well as links this shot to the one of Juan and a child Chiron after he first meets him. Again, Jenkins uses this moment to relate this unrecognisable Chiron to the child he once was, to tell the audience that inside not much has changed; he still alone and only has his mother (something explored in the retirement home scene). Kevin then brings Chiron to his house, on the drive there Kevin acknowledges that Chiron is not being true to himself: “Who are you man?” Chiron allows himself to be fully vulnerable with Kevin as they sit together on the bed, this scene is not sexual, nor about sex in any way, instead it is about the importance his relationship to Kevin is, as Chiron says: “You’re the only man that’s ever touched me.” Although this line could read as being about sex, I believe it refers to the emotion and meaning behind being touched by Kevin, how he no longer becomes isolated and how it defies what his mother told him about having no one else.
To conclude, Barry Jenkins crafts a narrative which emphasises the isolation and the power of human connection. Chiron is placed as a character constantly being forced to decide how he presents himself, as well as someone in need of positive influence. Meaningful colour theory, creative camera framing, and incredible performances from the cast all leads to an eye-opening experience.
A thirst for music: A conversation with up and rising band
‘The Dazed Minded’
We had a conversation with the band The Dazed Minded on what they had to say about their inspirations and views on the current musical landscape.
The band said that all the members brought something different with similar elements to the table. For example, Beth, the lead vocalist and guitarist, brought a more brit poppy angle to the band, while Hannah, the drummer, adds a sixties element and Alex, the lead guitarist, brings a more modern rock angle with influences like the Queens of the Stone Age, while Tamara glued the band together by having an interest in all their influences.
The band’s favourite gig had to be their opening performance at “[the] purple turtle, supporting the curls after playing the Queen’s [head] for the first time, going from that 45-minute slot to half an hour one after the other and we just felt like an actual band”.
When asked about what they see for the future of live music, they discussed how the scene is in the present with a “dip due to covid, causing people to lose interest and venues to get shut down” “and now after, well ‘after’ supposedly, no one’s moving or dancing cause they haven’t been in a live music space for ages”.
Within the scene now venues are having to work extra hard “they’re having to pull a boiler room approach where they put on actually talented guests like coach party, mystery jets and that’s the key”.
You’ve got to have passionate artists to give passionate music to passionate fans.
“Bands want to help venues and fortunately they’re starting to understand that and are asking for local supports” … “and with top bands asking for so much price wise, the local scene only gets better with only a fiver here to see a band that’s slept on and has that originality and passion still in them”.
“Grassroots is where it’s at, only way to keep it alive”
What about social media?
“Fucking hate it!”
“But you have to do it” “We heard someone say if we were a band in the 90’s, we’d have been so much bigger than we are now, but now it’s followers and if you’ve got it, you’re sorted with all the resources”
“If you’ve got the money, then you get the money, god forbid you’re anything other than rich”.
The lead vocalist Beth talked to us about how she had to quit her job as a teacher to keep up with social media, “music is my life, but I had to quit my job in order to keep it up as I couldn’t just do music, I have to do social media as well”.
“You have to be a brand rather than a band”
But when it comes to intimate gigs or bigger gigs, “we like smaller gigs, but not against bigger as they’re so different and being on that stage is a dream”
“They’ve both got their challenges” Smaller venues they said are “easier to pick up the energy and feel it with audience but it can also take you out of it as you can see the people who aren’t into it, and it causes you to feel insecure”
Meanwhile, bigger stages have that “blinding light and make you feel like a star, though you have that challenge of recognising that on stage you’re a character not a person in a crowd anymore”.
And talking of that crowd, who makes it up? “Well mostly old men right now, but if we’re looking at our reading audience our scene is slowly getting younger though it’s still mostly older people due to the glam rock vibes”
there is, an image that lingers.
in apichatpong weerasethakul’s tropical malady (2004), two men, tong and keng. their enamored encounters, adrift in the deep interior of thailand, echo within me like an erotic language where bodies remain clothed, lips never meet, desire never consummates. yet something stirs, something at play.
tong, returns to meet keng after relieving himself in the bushes by the roadside. keng passionately waits by the fever of anticipation, in a frame that lingers at a distance, measuring the weight of his gaze as it settles upon the other man’s body.
a retained luxury. a tension stretched thin in the imminence of their steps closing in. tong approaches, his body leaning slightly against the stillness of his parked motorcycle. the moment he arrives, keng seizes his hands, kissing them relentlessly, dissolving the marks of his sight into the dampness of his own saliva, into the charged proximity of the desired flesh — that still carried the trace of the man’s own touch upon himself. a device of thirst, devouring, parched, drawing in whatever untouched intimacy still trembles between them.
kissing is an apparatus of being, that sometimes writing or confessing to a loved one cannot encounter or inhabit. the kiss is a place where different histories touch or brush up against each other, creating a temporal havoc in the key of desire.1
then, tong takes keng’s hands firmly. he starts to lick his hands, making it a pathway in the surface of his skin. keng reacts with a certain hesitation, merged with a strange desire. to grasp the urgency of this thirst: what are we quenching in thirst when we quench queer bodies?
queer bodies – like water, such amorphous and formless matter.
a certain aspect becomes central to the philosopher timothy morton when discussing object-oriented ontology: the dislocation between things (and bodies) as either ready-tohand or present-at-hand. to grasp them not as fixed, ever-present entities, but as things more real precisely in their withdrawal, their elusiveness. things are kinky, kooky, out of place.2
to think of queer bodies as bodies of water is, in a way, to embrace an ambient openness, a strange distortion to which these bodies are always exposed. how does one grasp — or quench the thirst for — something inherently ungraspable? beauty, after all, is the feeling of having a thought without actually having one. are these bodies of water, through kissing, licking, loving, anything more than mouthfeel?
‘‘My first vision of earth was water veiled. I am of the race of men and women who see all things through this curtain of sea, and my eyes are the color of water.
I looked with chameleon eyes upon the changing face of the world, looked with anonymous vision upon my uncompleted self.
I remember my first birth in water. All round me a sulphurous transparency and my bones move as if made of rubber. I sway and float, stand on boneless toes listening for distant sounds, sounds beyond the reach of human ears, see things beyond the reach of human eyes. Born full of memories of the bells of the Atlantide.
Always listening for lost sounds and searching for lost colors, standing forever on the threshold like one troubled with memories, and walking with a swimming stride. I cut the air with wide-slicing fins, and swim through wall-less rooms.’’ 3
References:
1. Halberstam, Jack. Queer Time and Space. New York University Press, 2005.
2. Morton, Timothy. All Art is Ecological. Penguin Books, 2021.
3. Nin, Anaïs. House of Incest. Swallow Press, 1936, p. 4.
Enzo Caramori
by JACK FROGGATT-COOPER
We are met with a close up of William Lee’s face. We are directly in front of him, as if sitting opposite. He’s gazing at us, brow furrowed, trying to figure us out. Cut to the reverse shot. A young boy, indecipherable. Back to Lee. He throws his cigarette packet on the table and, abruptly breaking the pace of the scene, we get a few quick inserts of the bar table. It’s littered and dirty. The boy briefly leans on the table. We see it for a second. The scene continues, but the punctuation of those close ups, however short they were, glimpses into the brief intimacy that will pervade Queer. An intimacy wretched in pain and anguish, longing and desire.
I first watched Queer at London Film Festival. The film didn’t even have a poster at this point. My legs were cramping in the Royal Albert Hall seats for the last forty minutes, making Lee and Allerton’s journey to the Ecuadorian jungle excruciating and never ending. Even then, I still knew that I enjoyed it; and that I had to see it again. Weeks passed as I waited for the film’s wide release, and I found myself thinking about the film more and more. It seemed that the more I spent away from the film the more I wanted it. I couldn’t even put my finger on exactly what it was about Queer that had drawn me in, but it felt as if there was more to discover. When the film eventually
did release, I watched it twice more. Both times I wept.
The opening credits sequence features a series of bird’s eyes on items of Lee and Allerton’s set to Sinéad O’Connor’s cover of the Nirvana track ‘No Apologies’. All the items are placed on a bare mattress: glasses, cameras, guns, knives, passports, typewriters and notes. As simple as it is, there’s still a harbouring disconnect between what we’re seeing and how we feel. Why do we feel that the movie is over before it has even begun? The items separated from their characters feels ghostly, as if we’re touring through remnants. There’s an ashtray with a cigarette, still smoking. The bed sheets are unmade. Yet, the personal belongings huddled together on a bed is quietly affectionate; a delicate undertone to the writhing pain bubbling on the surface. Tragedy starts the film and ends it.
Luca Guadagnino released two films in 2024: Queer and Challengers. Both of which I have profound connections to, yet also give me wildly different feelings, despite being made by largely the same crew. Where Challengers is largely propulsive, injected with moments of tragic longing and delicacy, Queer feels the opposite. Its sick, murky surface is often shattered by moments of beauty, musicality and vibrance. ‘Come As You Are’ hits like a sucker punch as it blares over a slow-motion Daniel Craig, eyeing Drew Starkey for the first time. The camera
rises from its low angle as time seems to stand still for Lee. But I like how Allerton’s introduction is shot as if he has just accidentally stumbled into frame, like he is being reluctantly captured by the camera (and therefore Lee’s gaze). The two shots explain their relationship, and their incompatibility, remarkably. Lee wears his emotions on his dirty sleeves, whilst Allerton’s desires are hidden beneath his well-kept persona. External versus Internal. At the film’s most exciting crescendos, pain worms its way to the heart. It seeps into every facet of the film. You feel it in Lee’s apartment. You feel it in Mexico City. You feel it in Daniel Craig’s face. In the bars. In the drunkenness. When the sun goes down. You feel it in the score, which whirls and wails and disorients you and swells over the dialogue. What the conversation feels like for Lee is more important than what is actually being said. There’s a solemness to when they make love, or when Lee’s phantom hand reaches out for the boy next to him. It’s so vivid that it’s hard not to feel as Lee does: a mess. Because Allerton is as elusive for us as he is for our main character. We feel, physically, the distance between us and him. Yet Drew Starkey’s performance give us just enough to lull us, lean us in – always wanting to know a little more, and on repeat viewings his character becomes evergreen with intrigue. There’s a moment where, after their first encounter, Lee sees him walk past the bar he is
sat in. Allerton peers in and we cut to a slow motion shot as he glances around. Like the opening scene, it’s fleeting and it’s unnatural, as the slow motion is cut out as quickly as it starts. Yet it feels like our hearts stop with Lee. Brief intimacy again, incompatible to the flow of the film. Lee rushes outside to talk to him. Allerton looks like porcelain (deliberately – they put makeup on Drew Starkey to make him look even better), but it’s easy to miss him constantly fiddling with his jacket as he talks to Lee. He distracts himself more often than you would think. When they first get dinner together Allerton wolfs down his food whilst Lee describes his journey with homosexuality. Allerton does not say a word, he even smokes a cigarette whilst they eat, doing anything to distract himself from confronting his own feelings. This is ultimately what keeps them apart. Allerton is terrified of himself, and of Lee. He would rather drift, locked away, stunted, than feel the true extent of his feelings and be vulnerable. I found myself relating to Allerton, which shocked and moved me in ways I had not expected. I also can’t help but feel a pang of jealousy whenever he’s on screen – has a man ever looked this good on celluloid? Guadagnino’s free flowing and gaze-like camera only adds to his hypnotic quality.
The needle drops in Queer mostly end abruptly and without warning. Incomplete, like their relationship and the Burrough’s novel the movie is based on. This
incompleteness is used as a strength rather than a weakness, as often throughout the film love is cut at the stem before it can bloom. We never get to truly sit in happiness. Love scenes are followed by some sort of crack in their relationship, a centipede squirming between them. When the two finally do synchronise together, however, beauty shines like the sunset that filters through Lee’s apartment window. Any grit is washed away by the saliva and the semen and the smoke. The score dissolves into soaring strings.
But when they are apart, the film resurfaces to its moody exterior. Lee devolves into a man of the shadows. He becomes animalistic and predatory, with an insatiable thirst and a wandering eye. In the book, Lee constantly licks his lips when he finds suitable young prey. He becomes ‘disembodied’, as he says himself.
Although the film does honour Burroughs’ skeletal novella, it still departs from it in succinct ways. The book has a tumultuous history, remaining unfinished to this day after many excerpts were ripped out of Queer to pad out Burroughs’ first novel, Junky, and Burroughs lost interest in completing the story. This explains the loose structure of the film. Luca and screenwriter Justin Kuritzkes, however, went a step further, and opted to complete the story (as
best they could) themselves. What follows is an exciting departure, as the book ends with Lee and Allerton being denied Ayahuasca, whereas the movie explores what would happen if they found it. Rather than just seeing the door, we’re peering in before locking it for good. There remains the idea that there is more to be seen, but before we can see it, we are sent (quite literally) flying to the epilogue, set five years later. Again, we divert from the source material, as the movies surreal ending (which reminded me strongly of the ending of 2001: A Space Odyssey) defies the book and takes a look at Burroughs himself. This is not as meta as it seems, because the character of William Lee is more so a self-insert of Burroughs himself. He really did live in Mexico City (to evade prison detention). He really did fall in love with a young man, Lewis Marker, and he really was addicted to opiates. The fact that the book remained unpublished was not only due to its gutting, but also perhaps because it showed Burroughs in his most candid, despicable light. A light too intense to see to its end; the same reason Allerton and Eugene end their yage journey.
Luca knows that successful adaptations bring something new to the source material. Burroughs is known for his edge, but not his beauty. This is coaxed out slowly, as if
the film itself is being interfered with by Luca’s romantic gaze. He also creates fruitful collaborations with all departments, the most arresting of these being Daniel Craig’s performance. Only someone as iconic as Craig himself could play as iconic a character, and it’s done so fearlessly. My favourite scene comes when William Lee takes heroin. It’s just one shot, with a slow push in, as Lee prepares, injects and wallows, but it’s so powerful. We see physically the numbness Lee inflicts on himself to repress his fear of his love, all in one simple take as New Order plays softly in the back. It’s tantalising, beautiful and disgusting all in one. And it’s moments like this, when the collaborations between powerful acting and powerful direction combine, that make moments in the film so transcendental. Like when Lee, quite literally, turns into TV static in one of the first scenes, his face drooping and his mind wandering away, or when he sits on the bench under the purple flowers, and we see this stunning over the head push in (in slow motion), that perfectly encapsulates the crushing misery in the face of beauty that is omnipresent within him. There’s a well of powerful images that will glue to your synapses, like the surreal image of self-destructive snakes eating themselves for infinity, or bodies fusing together in a hypnotic dance. The feeling of wanting to be as close to the one you love as possible, literally wanting to crawl beneath their skin, presented so viscerally it leaps
off the screen and into my veins. Every department is operating as one, to where the films atmosphere is palpable. Burroughs’ Mexico City is paradoxically vacant and lively at the same time; its full of contradictions. It’s also full of dirt. It carries the dirtiness of feeling different. The dirtiness of feeling helplessly drawn to a ghost. The fantastical sets, miniatures and special effects not only represent the mind of the writer but also separate Lee from his surroundings and confirms his status as an outsider. This makes his wavering contact with Allerton all the more powerful, because finally he sees himself in someone. Like a mirror (a motif in the film), they reflect one another, but they cannot touch. Repression repels them.
How can something born from pain be so beautiful? Not many films display the double-edged sword of infatuation in the bitterly honest way Guadagnino does with this film. Being hypnotised by someone to the point of incapacity, to the point where even when you’re on your deathbed, old and bitter, you’ll long for their touch. Just a memory now. Doomed from the very beginning.
I still don’t know exactly why it strikes straight to my core. I guess that means I get the excuse to watch it again. One thing is for certain, however: Luca has crafted his most potent tragedy yet.
“No one is ever really alone. You are part of everything that is alive. The difficulty is to convince someone else he is really part of you.”
- WILLIAM
Illustrations by ALANA BAILEY
Madeleine Hucker-Brown
STUDENT SPOTLIGHT 01
AN INTERVIEW WITH RIAN PAUL
Text & Photos
FAITH WILLIAMS
FAITH So the theme of the issue is thirsty…
RIAN Thirsty? I’ve heard thirst, I haven’t heard thirsty.
FAITH Well it’s thirst, I picked it because I thought it’s broad, like you could be thinking about it like, I don’t know, lots of different ways. But I was gonna ask what does being thirsty mean to you?
RIAN Well there’s different ways it can be taken, for example you just picked up a bottle of water, there’s that aspect of thirst, but I think when I think of thirst, it’s similar to being hungry for something, wanting something. I’m not sure how to say it, but I guess we use hunger more than we use thirst, I’m more hungry for something than I am thirsty for it.
I wonder why that is? I guess being hungry is more painful than being thirsty, when I’m hungry my stomach hurts, when I’m thirsty my throat is more dry, maybe being thirsty is more uncomfortable. Whilst being hungry is more like painful. Maybe. That’s what it means to me.
FAITH Would you say that you’re thirsty? And if you are, what are you thirsty for?
RIAN When you said that I immediately thought of thirsty as like ‘oh bitch you thirsty’ like thirsty for some dick or something, wait what was the question?
Am I thirsty? Hm, these days I’m not thirsty, I think I’m hungry, I’m ambitious, I’m wanting stuff, but not thirsty in the sense that I’m not thirsty like you know, in that sort of way.
FAITH So you wouldn’t say that you would use thirsty, you would say that you use hungry for talking about your work?
RIAN Well, let’s deconstruct thirst a little bit, let me think about thirst… Again, I’m thinking about thirsty being something that is a bit more uncomfortable, like not having something makes me uncomfortable, in comparison to not having something making me feel in pain.
I feel like… I do feel thirsty quite a lot, I feel like the fact that whenever I’m not doing something I get really uncomfortable. This is going to sound really random, but; I’ll have something to do when I’m at home - for example, I don’t know, let’s say I want to read this chapter of a book? Ok, I’ll do it, but first I’m going to lay on my bed a little bit, and watch something on Netflix, and then I’ll be lying on my bed with the knowledge that I have to do that - being thirsty for that - and it will really stress me
out, like my leg will start shaking really hard.
Yeah, I think that’s what I’d say about ‘am I thirsty?’ these days, I think I become thirsty when it’s stuff I know I have to do, but I will purposefully put something in front of it to mix in so I have that work / life balance, which I don’t think I have.
FAITH No I don’t think you have either haha.
RIAN The thing is, I will work all day, then when I get home that’s my space, that’s my time, I don’t like to have anything to do when I get home, apart from eat and sleep. But I always will, and it’ll make me thirsty, I guess.
FAITH Linking back round to this publication being a student magazine, what about your course do you think you’re the most passionate about?
RIAN Within the course specifically, like at UCA, I think I’m really passionate about I feel like, you know, within the course I feel like it doesn’t give you enough film making opportunities, so about the course, I’m most passionate about the passionate lecturers and the passionate speakers, and the passionate people, the students.
I feel like passion is something, where passion makes me passionate, I love hearing - even if it’s something I don’t care about, or know much about - people talk about stuff they are interested in, because that makes me passionate, when it’s just a two hour lecture, where someone talks about something they are passionate about and they can really get into.
“Passion makes me passionate, I love hearing people talk about stuff they are interested in, because that makes me passionate.”
FAITH So what do you think is next for you in terms of uni work? Because I know you are constantly helping out and volunteering for loads of different projects, so you got anything coming up?
RIAN So, I’m currently working on ‘Without Words’, then starting this weekend I start ‘Hellcat’, and then I go onto ‘Nail Wound’, which is scary… It’s a scary schedule! I just got off working on another film, so it’s four in a row, I do have a few days of break in there somewhere… at some point.
But then I’ll find myself doing something else, because I crave the break then when I get it, I don’t want it. I want to do something else, because I’m in that mindset. Then I move onto the documentary unit, we are
working on something to do with a farm, which is not the original idea, but it’s more open ended - kind of like the topic of thirst - just like there is a lot you can do there. It’s quite scary because as a DP (Director of Photography) I like to have control - that doesn’t say anything about who I am as a person I promise! - I like the idea that I can control a light, or I can control where the camera is and stuff, but I think at the same time I’m quite excited because filming in an environment where I have to loosen the reigns a bit, it means I have to step out of that comfort zone. I have to be accepting of the fact that I can’t control it, and then also there’s a new live brief… which I don’t even want to get into, I don’t really understand.
That’s what I’ve got coming up, schedule wise, but in general I’m really trying to find my place right now, I feel like I’ve been doing a lot of observing - which might sound weird - of our course and the people, like who is here? Who is my competition? I love these people, but I’m feeling it out, I’m testing the landscape out, I need to see what my opportunities for third year are looking like. And I think what part of second year and working on grad films is about, is a way to show myself, this is who I am, this is who you’re going to want next year! Hopefully that’s what people think… maybe I’ll do the opposite. But that’s the widest picture in terms of what is coming up for me, in terms of the course, is just finding myself, understanding my role and it never feels like separate projects, it feels like a constant rising up. I can’t put things into stages, it’s just going up or down.
“I have to step out of that comfort zone. I have to be accepting of the fact that I can’t
control it.”
FAITH I chose you to be my first student to be spotlighted in the magazine, because I feel like you’re a very ideal student. You help out with a lot of stuff within the university and also you help run a society in the uni. Is there a reason why you’re so active in the university? What does it mean to you to be so active, within lots of different areas?
RIAN I love that question, I think I just wanted to take the bull by the horns here at university, I didn’t really know for sure what I was getting into and I think you know, especially within film, we are encouraged to go out and make opportunities for yourself, I do appreciate lecturers who push us to go out and do our own thing and not just rely on the on what the university has to give us. Because, respectfully, the uni doesn’t give us enough.
I think it also is, in sixth form I barely got the grades I needed to get into the university course, my D in EPQ is what got me enough UCAS points to get in, and after that I told myself two things… One, I’ll never do exams again, because I don’t think it’s a show of who I am, and two, I’ll take things seriously. I craved that consistency of knowing all the work I do adds up. Here, I feel like everything I’m doing adds something and I like that.
Also something I’m thinking about a lot and I begin to plan what my third year essay will be about, is generational trauma, especially something called ‘immigrant guilt’, which I didn’t know was a thing until recently, and it’s this idea that if your parents or even you are immigrants, you have this idea in the back of your mind that every decision you make, isn’t just for you, you have to think about the sacrifice the people before you made to get you here.
I’m the first generation to go to university within my family, I know you’re the same, so you might relate to this, but there’s more pressure on you, because it’s not just you that you effect if you decide not to do this properly.
FAITH I know what you mean in a sense that for me I feel like there is a big pressure for me to do well, and to do something really successful when I get my degree, because my family have survived great without them. Because you’re spending so much money on a degree, when you could get a job and be successful without one.
RIAN See that’s different for me because, where my family didn’t have the opportunity to go to university, the fact that I could go was like you should go and take it seriously, and they want me to take that opportunity.
FAITH I also think it’s scary picking an arts university.
RIAN I don’t think my parents fully understand what it is I am doing haha, like I remember in the summer, my mum was like ‘So what are you actually going to do when you finish university?’, I was like… don’t ask me this question right now! I’ll figure it out though.
FAITH How does it feel to be the first student that is being interviewed for GLUE?
RIAN I was honoured, I didn’t know you guys were actually going to do interviews, but I’m quite honoured, I think it’s cool, I don’t really do interviews. I was actually scared coming up here, because I was like God how am I gonna be on the spot?
But with you, it’s like we are conversing, I was expecting to come up here with lights and everything, no I think it’s great, I think it’s good to get the student perspective on stuff.
FAITH I think whilst it’s a student magazine and we will be interviewing a lot of different people, I thought it would be good to just have students but not only have them talk about uni work either, because I feel like you get that a lot.
What was it that inspired you to say yes to this photoshoot and interview? We haven’t done the photoshoot yet, whilst we are recording this interview.
RIAN What is it that inspired me to say yes? I feel like I say yes to a lot of things, any opportunity that comes up, I say yes. I mean you guys are my friends, so I was like fuck yeah, I’ll do that. The photoshoot was specifically because I lowkey just want to get my picture taken.
I think it’s a cool opportunity, I say I like stepping out of my comfort zone, but it’s hard to, but I feel like I can do it when I’m on the spot.
FAITH To begin to close the interview out, because I know you love music as well as film, to spin it back to the theme of the issue; What do you think is an album that encapsulates the idea of thirst the most?
RIAN Let me think, when I think of thirst, I think of this want for more, I’m going to open my music up, whilst you wait, can you tell me one that you think?
FAITH I don’t know, I should’ve thought about it, since I’m the one asking the questions. I think it depends how you’re looking at it, I feel like a lot of Fiona Apple, especially the album Fetch the Bolt Cutters, I feel like her songs have a thirst for a recognition of her experiences as a woman, she went through a lot of stuff in her life and it feels like especially that album is almost a thirst for people to understand her, or at least her romantic partners to understand her.
RIAN Okay, the first one is going to be SOS by SZA, obviously there’s the ocean on the album cover, I think that’s probably the album I listen to most, I tend to listen to it quite a lot. In terms of how it encapsulates thirst, I mean, when I look at the album, we have songs like Seek and Destroy, it’s almost this thirst to understand what is going on, which is what I see in a lot of her work, it’s this healing. She recently released Lana, which is more celebratory that she has overcome what she was going through, whereas this is the process of overcoming, it’s quite raw, a lot of the stuff she says is stuff that you would have passing thoughts about when you’re going through a breakup, but not necessarily something that is the cleanest.
I think it’s very much this thirst for understanding and getting over something, when you’re getting over something it can be less pain and more uncomfortable, more uncomfortable that you let yourself go through that, or that you were able to be a victim of something like that. From what I can tell from the album it seems like a breakup, just like accepting that you have been broken up with, especially looking at the last three tracks, we have I Hate You, which is like a final fuck you to this person, contrasting Good Day which is more reminiscent of the better times, as well as Forgiveness which is more the bargaining aspect of grief, positive and negative coming together.
The second album, which I only thought of because of what you were saying about Fiona Apple, is probably The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill by Lauryn Hill, it’s such a good album. And especially the songs that
end with what sounds like a class of children/teens talking, and there is one specific one that ends with a discussion about love and whether these young people can really love, there’s is like a thirst for knowledge and understanding. Also thinking about the title of the album Miseducation, makes me think about knowledge and a thirst for knowledge, this was her first solo album after her claimed falling out with the Fugees and it’s like especially Doo Wop (That Thing). Girls, you know you better watch out, some guys, some guys they’re only about, like again it’s like that thirst for knowledge, it’s about her understanding the world around her and talking to others about it, through experience. Those are what I would say in terms of thirst in albums.
FAITH My last question is going to be another one that might be hard to answer, what in your opinion is the thirstiest film?
RIAN The thirstiest film!? Ooooh let me get my phone out, the thirstiest film, let’s have a look, let’s have a look. Whilst I decide on my answer, do you have any ideas?
FAITH Again, I hadn’t thought of my answer even though I wrote all these questions out, from the top of my head, I would probably say Love Lies Bleeding. That’s a pretty thirsty film in a lot of different ways, there’s a thirst for violence, a thirst for escapism as well as being thirsty in a lustful way, there’s romance in it too.
RIAN I thought this would be a harder question than it is, there’s a lot of films on here that I’m looking at that I would say are thirsty. Which I think speaks volumes for the kinds of films I personally enjoy in terms of stories. I think I love stories like want, or accepting that you can’t have something, obviously I love films about immigration and such, and I think that comes from a thirst and a hunger for stuff.
If I can list of a few that would be great, I think Parasite comes up on top for me, because of that thirst for wealth and it might actually be more thirst than hunger, in terms of the comfortability of it all, it feels like they need it. Especially the scene where they come back home after the flood has happened, that’s an uncomfortable scene and that’s where it feels like switch from hunger to thirst in regard to wealth, it’s like you can survive without food if you drink water, but vice a versa it doesn’t work the same way.
A film that is always going to come up with me and one I will never shut up about is Moonlight. The thing about Moonlight for me and the thing that it really shows - and I’m not going to pretend I came up with this, I think a lot of people have discussed this - but it shows how lonely it can be to be gay, when you’re in a space where you don’t feel like you can be that openly. And I think when we look at in in terms of thirst, what the main character in the film has a thirst to be who they are, and that thirst not to be alone. It’s not a sexual film at all, it’s more of an emotional film, it’s a thirst for acknowledgement, it’s that thirst for acceptance, that thirst for being seen, to not be lonely, to have someone there which can be really difficult, especially when you’re in a space where you can’t be yourself.
One that I feel is quite different to that, is the film Perfect Days, that film changes you in a way, it teaches you to appreciate things that we can always be so hungry or thirsty for things, to the extent that we can’t
really appreciate when we’ve done something. I’m sure as a creative as well when you have these ambitions and projects, you’re thinking oh I’ll be happy satisfied when I’m done, but then you do the project and then you’re like okay now what? You’re thirsty for the next thing.
I feel like Perfect Days pushes against this, they are like listen here we have this Tokyo toilet cleaner, and all he is doing is appreciating the small things around him, being present. I don’t know about you but I am never present, I feel like I’m always somewhere else, and there’s a moment where there is this American tourist who is using the toilet in Japan for the first time, and it’s one of those ones where the glass dims when you close the door, stuff like that where when you’re experiencing something every day you don’t notice it, especially if you aren’t present.
Thinking about thirst in a negative space you could think about films like Wolf of Wallstreet or Scarface, that thirst for power, or money, and what that can do to someone.
My last one I want to talk about is Minari, that’s a film I’ll always come back to, there’s this thirst for the American Dream and success, when what is truly important is his children and his family. There’s this big clash of cultures in Minari, you have this Western idea of independence and being an individual, in comparison to this more Eastern ideal of being reliant on the people around you and community, the main character is trying to do his own thing and he is so tunnel visioned throughout the film. But then in the final scene which is major spoilers the farm goes up in flames when driving back from the hospital when they get there all the crops they have worked too hard to cultivate are being destroyed, so he runs out into the barn to go and save the crops and his wife comes with him. As the flames and fire begin to grow, he slowly turns his attention away from the crops to his wife instead and focuses on bringing his wife out of the burning building and not worrying about the crops.
I won’t give you any more films, I think those encapsulate thirst well.
FAITH Well, thank you, thank you and thank you for letting me interview you, I think that was everything for
“My family asked: So what are you
3-4 fish bar
Illustration PAU ORLIKOWSKA @kovvskii
5-8
A Thirst For Music: A conversation with up and rising band ‘emerson’
Design FAITH WILLIAMS
Photography ELAMAI MIAH-REK
Text ELAMAI MIAH-REK @elamaiscamera & FIN DARROLL-DAVIES @sh4rk_fin
9-10
WATER LEVELS: Why do they suck?
Design MADALYN WARDLE
Text SAM LODGE @LodgedDesigns
Illustrations PAU ORLIKOWSKA
11-12
The Patriarchal Paradox of Nosferatu
Design ALICE RICHARDS
Text MILES FARROW @milesssfarrow2
Photography Nosferatu (2024) Dir. Robert Eggers
13 Blood Drinking 101 (For Fledglings)
Illustration VICTORIA HUCKER-BROWN @vampeyerz
14 Desire
Illustration ALANA BAILEY @alanabea.art13
15-20 MOONLIGHT: The Thirst for Human Connection
Design MARIAM AHOUESSOU
Text RIAN PAUL
Photography Moonlight (2016) Dir. Barry Jenkins
21-22 DIRTY SPONGES
Design MADALYN WARDLE
Text MADALYN WARDLE
Photography MADALYN WARDLE @_designbymaddie_
23-26
A Thirst For Music: A conversation with up and rising band ‘The Dazed Minded’
Design FAITH WILLIAMS
Photography ELAMAI MIAH-REK
Text ELAMAI MIAH-REK @elamaiscamera & FIN
27-32
DARROLL-DAVIES @sh4rk_fin
Mouthfeel.
Design FAITH WILLIAMS & ENZO CARAMORI @ezcaramori
Text ENZO CARAMORI & Halberstam, Jack. Queer Time and Space. New York University Press, 2005. & Morton, Timothy. All Art is Ecological. Penguin Books, 2021 & Nin, Anaïs. House of Incest. Swallow Press, 1936, p. 4.
Photography ENZO CARAMORI & Tropical Malady (2004) Dir. Apichatpong Weerasethakul.
