Entertainment

Since the day their high-school soccer team unexpectedly landed in the Canadian wilderness, Yellowjackets has delved into how American society, often rigidly patriarchal and traditional, suppresses women’s desires, only to harshly judge them when these desires surface. Three seasons deep, this perspective remains insightful within the ’90s narrative, particularly when combined with eerie world-building and supernatural elements. The show maintains a sense of ambiguity, “Is it real or is it trauma?”, making the survivalist aspects more exciting as it explores how characters form relationships, eat, and manage their households. However, after season two veered off course with the grown-up versions of our favorite cannibals, season three seems to lean even further in that direction, abandoning present-day storylines as if acknowledging that the characters’ extreme teenage actions are more intriguing than their ambiguous adult lives. This is a recurring theme in the series, with Shauna’s bitterness over becoming a housewife and Misty’s closest companion being her pet parrot, but it should not dominate the narrative. Instead, season three appears to be erasing the adult storylines rather than resolving them from the corners they’ve been written into.

People might have valid reasons to fear dentists due to the various sharp tools used on soft, delicate areas of the mouth. On one hand, these instruments are crucial for maintaining oral health; on the other, they could potentially be misused. In the beginning of this episode, there’s an intriguing scene reminiscent of a Tarantino film – a staff member walks down a hallway humming “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald” by Gordon Lightfoot as he goes to fetch medical equipment. Although we don’t see his face, he interacts with Felicia and her colleague in O&D, collects his sharp tools, then rides the elevator.

In a casual, engaging manner: Angus Oliphant-Donnachaidh, a man with a strong civic spirit, often found strumming his mandolin and composing tunes while sipping copious amounts of coffee provided by Fiona. There’s a certain pair of coffee lovers in Manhattan who seem to frequent the same spot regularly, and Angus, along with Fiona, have developed a bit of an interest in these repeat visitors.

The story opens as Shep mistakenly shops for vacation attire alongside Molly, searching for Hawaiian shirts and shorts. However, he’s in the wrong store, attempting to win over a 26-year-old woman who isn’t particularly interested. His plan is to arrive in her homeland adorned with sunglasses, tan lines, a half-burn from the sun, and a pink flamingo-themed bathing suit set. That’s as cool as a surface scorched by multiple suns! But when Molly arrives in her stylish bikini, she looks absolutely stunning – I think this is called ‘drop dead gorgeous’. And here’s Shep, stuck on a girl who isn’t returning his calls? Really now.

Typically, these sequels introduce fresh characters (like Thor), novel settings (such as Wakanda), or innovative ideas (for example, Multiversal incursions). At least they serve as humor. However, the one at the end of Brave New World deviates from all of that. Instead, it centers around the film’s cunning antagonist, The Leader alias Samuel Sterns (Tim Blake Nelson, reprising his role from the Edward Norton-starring The Incredible Hulk). After he is subdued by the gamma radiation-enhanced genius, he is confined in a prison complex located in the middle of the ocean, called the Raft. This facility makes its reappearance for the first time since it was initially introduced in Captain America: Civil War. The new Captain America, Sam Wilson (Anthony Mackie), pays him an unexpected visit, but Sterns then hints at — cue the drumroll — the multiverse.

Spoilers to follow.

This summer saw a significant surge in popularity for the novel “All Fours,” causing quite a stir in book clubs and mother-daughter discussions for the past six months. The National Book Award finalist chronicles the life of a perimenopausal artist, whose affair with a younger man disrupts her life, marriage, and self-perception concerning her sexuality. In essence, it’s time to start brainstorming potential actors for the upcoming adaptation. While July, the lead character, seems an ideal choice, that doesn’t exclude the possibility that this role might be right up Kathryn Hahn’s alley. As for Davey, the attractive young dancer the protagonist falls for, are there any Gen-Z actors who can dance? Mike Faist is the name that immediately pops into mind; however, it’s likely that the executives at STARZ, a network catering to women, and July herself are already considering other options.

During the Kreese scenes this week, I pondered over his character development. While he hasn’t always been consistent throughout the six seasons, some of his parts and narratives seem overly dramatic, particularly in the numerous melancholic flashbacks to his younger days. However, it’s clear that Kreese has evolved into a more complex character than the one-dimensional ’80s antagonist he once was. Now, he’s genuinely trying to make amends with the students he let down: first Tory, whom he treated like a pawn in his own conflict, and then Johnny, who bore the brunt of his trauma and resentment for three and a half decades.

This topic is quite grim with significant future ramifications. (Consider the predicament when an entire generation, who for all practical purposes struggle to read, are assigned roles as our future healthcare providers, government officials, and educators.) However, as expected, Abbott approaches it sensitively, prompting viewers to ponder essential questions. Primarily, Abbott highlights the teacher’s perspective, underscoring their remarkable accomplishments despite minimal resources. Though their actions are heartwarming, pure kindness and hopeful optimism may not alter actual conditions – a reality that the show acknowledges keenly.

When delving into the funding issue from the district, Abbott manages to preserve its celebrated uplifting tone while guiding spectators to ask poignant questions such as: “Why are our teachers using their own money for supplies?” and “Why are our children sharing textbooks in a nation known for its wealth?” The show answers these questions subtly by emphasizing the absence of financial support from political figures.

In the ’90s, an electrifying subgenre captivated me, a sublime blend of sex and transgression, a melting pot that united the sophisticated tastes of film connoisseurs with the casual moviegoer. This genre was like the old Times Square cinema where everyone could lose themselves in something provocative and thrilling. As an individual on the asexual spectrum, I found myself drawn to this steamy section at the video store. Despite the concept of “guilty pleasures” being a misnomer – love what you love without apology – if there’s one category of films that often gets tucked away in a discreet corner, it’s this intoxicating subgenre of erotic thrillers.