Derin is a columnist at The Tufts Daily. She's a freshman majoring in Cognitive and Brain Science, Linguistics, and good times. Some of her accolades include: holding the world’s highest skill level in Wii Tennis, being the ghostwriter for Kid Cudi, and NOT having cried at the end of La La Land. You can reach her at [email protected]
It’s equally hilarious, terrifying and heartbreaking, which is a rare (and difficult) combo to achieve. And considering the fact that it’s about a hit man, it has some of the wildest cold opens that I’ve ever seen on TV. These cold opens do not only set the tone for how each episode will play out, but also point out the ridiculous nature of it all — that we’re essentially rooting for a hired killer to succeed, find love and be happy. The concept is ridiculous, but when it takes place in a world that's as ridiculous to the characters as it is to us, you find yourself in the unique position of relating to a hit man.
After being pressured to watch it for years, I finally caved in and started “Community” (2009–15). I must say: I now get why people like it so much. I mean, how could you not? You have these seven characters who couldn’t be more different from one another, trying to push their way through community college as a group. It’s basically an invitation for mayhem.
This is where "Once Upon a Time... in Hollywood" comes in. Was it the most critically acclaimed film of the year? No. A lot of people liked the film, but not as much as other nominees. But like I said, universal likeability doesn’t matter here because, at the end of the day, it’s Hollywood people who get to pick the winner — not average Joes. Considering that the title of this movie has “Hollywood” in it, I was pretty confident that it would take home the Oscar.
I revisited the show during my one-day spring break (thanks, Tufts!) by binging all four seasons of it on Hulu. Needless to say, I have a few questions, the biggest of which is: Who was the true protagonist of the show? And after many years of beating around the bush, I’ve come to decide that it’s Seth Cohen — contrary to popular belief.
In essence, this movie is not just an allegory for what happened to the Lost Generation. It’s about what happens to human beings, in general, when the world surrounding us seems hollow and meaningless. It’s about our inherent urge to create or experience art made by others to find comfort — comfort in knowing that we’re not alone.
I’m not going to talk more about the golden age of SNL. I wasn’t born until 2002, so it’s not my area of knowledge. What I can do is talk about SNL's "silver age," led by people like Bill Hader, Fred Armisen, Rachel Dratch, Kristen Wiig, Jason Sudeikis and Andy Samberg in the late 2000s and early 2010s.
What I enjoyed the most about this movie was that it explored these imaginary scenarios in a very light, yet existentialist manner. I honestly don’t know how I’d classify its genre. Rom-com? Maybe. Sci-fi? Definitely. Nihilistic and existentialist, forcing you to look at your own life differently? Hell yeah!
The film's story is universal. Remy represents a small part of us that strives to be something we’ve been told we can’t be. He represents a dream we’ve been longing for. Linguini represents our insecurities, the side of us holding us back. The two together create this power, this ability to create and do the impossible, to prove others wrong.
Malcolm and Marie feel like self-indulgent think pieces who scream at each other rather than three-dimensional characters who feel authentic.