Gilberto Gil : Electroacústico 

Bong Joon Ho’s masterpiece, Parasite (2019) became one of the few international films to break into the American mainstream.

The social issues The Half of it takes on are handled well, between the antagonization brought on to Ellie for her race and the conflict that arises from her being gay. Both aspects of her character are built up over the course of the film and don’t seem abrupt or rushed. The film shows racism towards Ellie and her and father in varying levels, from having her schoolmates specifically address her as "Chinese girl” to the fore mentioned way her Dad is treated due to language barriers. The same can be said about Ellie being a lesbian. While she never truly “comes out” in the narrative, that does not undermine her journey of self-discovery from being meaningful. These ideas aren’t thrust upon the viewer in a preachy manor, the scenarios that occur feel believable given the rural setting. The film presents watchers with problems whom those like Ellie may face, and leaves us to sit with them and reflect.

The height of subversive horror cinema is Jennifer’s Body. No, I will never budge on that. Yes, Cabin in The Woods is funny, Scream is very well made, and the Scary Movie franchise is …. there. But nothing is quite as satisfying as watching the teenage succubus that is Jennifer Check rip apart boys. In the post #metoo era where the industry is far from changed, watching revenge flicks like these is probably one of the most cathartic experiences due to the slow-moving progress being made.

Netflix’s new rom-com, Voicemails for Isabelle (dir. Leah McKendrick), isn’t just heartwarming, funny, and an achievement in female directing - it’s also an instant classic. Following 20-something aspiring baker Jill (Zoey Deutch), Voicemails for Isabelle tells a story of grief, self-discovery, and fateful connections. Ever since her beloved sister Izzy’s (Ciara Bravo) death, Jill has been leaving her hilarious, extremely TMI voicemails about her chaotic love life and miserable day job as a prep cook. Little does she know that a handsome and unsatisfied real estate agent in her hometown has inherited the number and practically fallen in love with her by listening to her stories. 

A film for the post-MeToo era that inverts the narrative with an ironic coda, Tár depicts the duality of a sensitive artist capable of great evil and vile manipulation.