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Nolan Miller April 21, 2014 | 5:38pm EST Opening with a creepily masked serial killer on a stage playing cards with a crying little girl, the orchestra and all the seats around them filled with the bloody dead bodies of men, women, and children, Nick Spencer, Riley Rossmo, and Frazer Irving’s Bedlam Volume 1 is immediately beyond disgusting. A grey, mechanized looking caped figure with a black space helmet on crashes through the skylight and lands center stage in front of the masked man and child. What happens between the grey figure’s dramatic entrance and the detainment of the serial killer is too horrific to describe here so I will simply pull from the serial killer’s speech before he is knocked out; “See, you have no concept of the bigger picture here. I mean, look around, what was it Stalin said? Kill one, it’s a tragedy, kill a thousand, it’s a statistic?” Ten years later a man named Fillmore wakes up to a recording of an extremely positive speech of redemption, hope, honesty, and thankfulness playing out of his alarm. He climbs out of bed and wearily treads to the bathroom where he looks in the mirror to see the masked serial killer of the previously described prologue looking back at him. A quick flashback reveals that after his detainment, the serial killer named Madder Red presumably blew his head off accidentally from a bomb he placed in the police department where he was being held. However, flashing again back from the Madder Red era in black, white, gray, and red to the present day with full color illustration, we see Fillmore standing in front of his sink staring at the image of Madder Red in the mirror. As he swallows a handful of ironically red and white colored pills he says “We are not who we were – we are who we are.” The story proceeds to explore this statement as well as the quote on the front cover asking “Is evil just something you are or something you do?” by cutting back and forth between Madder Red from ten years ago after his arrest and publically perceived death and Fillmore in the present day. The episodes of Madder Red depict him going through a horrific rehabilitation in an insane asylum involving both a lobotomy and an attempted suicide. His doctor seems to be a mad scientist type complete with ghoulish nurses whose mouths are sown shut, yet Madder Red’s improvement is oddly visible as the story progresses. In the present day, Fillmore has a benevolent epiphany that he wishes to help people now. A bizarre chain of events ensue as Fillmore is arrested after claiming responsibility for a string of murders he did not commit to get the attention of the Bedlam Police Department. The apparently now good Fillmore proceeds to assist a certain Detective Acevedo with her investigation of a string of murders, á la Silence of the Lambs. The murders end up being the work of a previously molested man who now does the bidding of his molester, an incarcerated church priest. What makes Bedlam so fascinating is the intensity of the character study. Over the course of the book we witness the final act of a serial killer at the height of his fame and depravity, the graphic lobotomy of an institutionalized psychopath and his near complete turn-around, and a man struggling with daily life after ten years in a psychiatric ward. It’s tough to convey just how unique Bedlam succeeds in being despite such a tired and basic plot. The only conclusion I can make is that the book questions the very nature of evil, and more importantly evil men, by terrifying in an absolutely enthralling way. Those with weak stomachs be warned though, Bedlam makes all horror films seem hilariously tame.

Tiffany Wong April 11, 2014 | 4:26pm EST In Part I of the Vimeo Spotlight, we watched animated videos together, but this week, we’re featuring three live action (yes, real people!) short films that manage to whittle down the magic of cinema in less than fifteen minutes and on your computer screen. Montages, murder, and marriage – we’ve got it all right here. Moments | link Created by a filmmaking collective called Everynone, “Moments” celebrates life by focusing on the B-roll of day-to-day life. The short ties all of these moments together, easily transitioning from a kite flying up in the air to a newspaper being thrown onto a porch. It’s a video of relatables – from the intense game of kickball to the race to catch the bus – that makes its audience realize that there are beautiful moments all around us that essentially make up the lives we live. Prospect | link “Prospect” is a science fiction short, a coming-of-age story, and a thriller wrapped up in a thirteen minute film. The piece focuses on a teenage girl and the specific circumstances that force her to grow up quickly and quietly. Set on a toxic alien planet, the girl and her father harvest precious materials that they hope to sell for millions back on their home planet. “Prospect” premiered at the 2014 SXSW Film Festival and it’s clear why the film was chosen for the festival – the cinematography is spectacular, the plot is strong, and the moss-filled, damp, forestral scenery is out of this world. Literally. I Fenicotteri (Flamingos) | link Directed by Francesca Coppola, you would think that “I Fenicotteri” is just another family gem in the Coppola dynasty. Although the Italian filmmaker is not related to Francis Ford or Sofia, her film has garnered attention in all the right places. Released in 2012, it premiered at the MoMA, as well as Lincoln Center as part of their New Directors/New Shorts Program. Set in 1989 Milan, the short is about the delicate nature of father-daughter relationships pre-divorce. An innocent trip to the park to see flamingoes reveals the wavering reliability of a father who seems a bit lost, and the confusion and fear a child feels when she’s taken along for the ride.

Kate Broadwell April 11, 2014 | 5:07pm EST Disjunctive shots of a sleeping Lucy Harmon, played by Liv Tyler, flicker across the screen as a stranger aboard her train secretly films her sleeping on a camcorder. So it seems that everyone views Lucy as an object of lust in Bernardo Bertolucci’s film, Stealing Beauty (1996). The film follows the story of Lucy, an American 19-year-old girl who goes to the golden Tuscan countryside to stay at the villa of several family friends and an eclectic group of other locals. Though she’s been sent there to have her portrait sculpted, Lucy in fact has other motives for her stay. Within a messy, scribbled journal that belonged to her mother who committed suicide, a poem speaks of a man who feeds her mother an olive leaf and beats a viper – referring to Lucy’s father. Knowing her mother spent her earlier years at the villa, she is certain that her father must be on the villa’s premises. Lucy also has other, less tangible desires. She hopes to reconcile with a former love interest, Niccolo (Roberto Zibetti), whom she met four years before during her last visit. In doing so, Lucy can fulfill her dream to lose her virginity in Italy. Anyone who has seen Bertolucci’s other pieces such as Last Tango in Paris and The Dreamers, is familiar with his slow, vibrant, often sexualized style in which characters seem to always be “searching” for something. Stealing Beauty is no different. Everything about the movie is undeniably beautiful; each frame works conjointly to paint a dream-like picture of the villa, from the golden Italian countryside, Lucy’s poetry, to the bohemian lifestyle of the villa’s residences. The villa almost seems to exist in suspended time. People come and go as Lucy quietly floats around with a clueless demeanor around the villa, occasionally exchanging dialogue with the residences or posing as a model for Ian (Donal McCann), the sculptor. As she writes in her journal, she is “as quiet as a cup.” Throughout the film, originally written songs like Cocteau Twin’s “Alice” make these scenes take on a sudden eerie feel, giving a sense of intrigue and mystery to Lucy’s presence. While many moviegoers are used to films being centered around the developed main character, Bertolluci instead seems to have created Lucy simply as a catalyst that makes each character asses his or her own story. One might argue that the film is not even centered on Lucy finding an elusive parent figure at all. As she romps around the courtyard sparking the sexual imagination of the men of the villa, she acts seemingly unperturbed by each man’s advances. As a result, any meaningful connection between her and the villa’s residents does not really exist. The only person she does form a close bond with is Alex (Jeremy Irons), a gay playwright dying of AIDS. By the end of the film, everything that has been built up expectantly happens. Lucy finds her father, her playwright friend assumingly dies after being rushed to the hospital, and she loses her virginity, all in the last twenty minutes of the film. After reading her mother’s poem once more, Lucy reaches a realization that draws her to connect the Ian the sculptor to her mother. When Lucy confronts the sculptor with questions about his relationship with her mother, Ian realizes Lucy is indeed his daughter and the two embrace. The now finished sculpture symbolizes the discovery of who Lucy truly is. The film quickly wraps up with Lucy losing her virginity that night, though not to Niccolo, who turns out to be just as creepy as the next, but rather his shyer friend Isvaldo (Ignazio Oliva). As the ending scene zooms out on Lucy happily walking back to the villa after her night with Isvaldo, the audience is left unsatisfied. Was that it? Nothing is ever explicitly explored deeply in the film, rather actions are forgotten just as fleetingly as they happen. Some criticize Bertolucci for trying too hard to make the film about actress Liv Tyler’s own life, who grew up believing her father was someone else, which doesn’t give Lucy much individuality. The film certainly makes for an interesting coming-of-age story but it is up the viewer to interpret the real motives that Bertolucci is trying to convey and decide if Lucy makes for a truly significant character.

Evan Mills April 7, 2014 | 5:19pm EST Politics and Prose is a well-established caffeine and literary landmark in the Chevy Chase neighborhood of Northwest Washington. Every once in a while I step in to browse the books and sip the coffee. But I was surprised one brisk Friday afternoon to stumble upon a gathering of folks not typical to what you expect in the District. Well, at least in the atmospheric heights of upper Northwest; where the urban bustle and eccentricity of the rest of the city seems so painfully far away. I wasn’t expecting what I found. In fact, I was even a little annoyed as I stepped over the backpacks, travelling sacks and assorted luggage items scattered along the walkway between tables. But as I trapezed along the cluttered aisle, I noticed that there was an unusually large amount of people accompanying these items, and that I was stepping over an unusually plentiful collection of musical equipment. So at this point I began to realize that I had found what I have been looking for in DC ever since I transferred to American University from New Orleans: an amateur folk and bluegrass open mic night. I know DC has a long and rich musical history and that there are many hole-in-the-wall music venues to be discovered throughout the city; but finding such a chilled out musical gathering can be hard. It turns out Politics and Prose holds open mic night every Friday evening in its coffee shop downstairs called Modern Times, and some of the performers I saw were very impressive and entertaining. There were the college cover artists, the slightly older bluegrass jammers, the lonely, soulful song crafters, and even a crazy old guy who played the banjo and managed to sneak his fingerpickin’ into everybody else’s set. Personally, I love singer-songwriters and acoustic jams. I was really impressed by the talent I saw at Politics and Prose. So next time you don’t feel like travelling all the way to U street NW or H street NE, or dropping $20 to get through the door of your typical Dupont club, check out open mic night at Politics and Prose. For more information, check out the page on Modern Times Coffeehouse’s website.

Mia Saidel March 31, 2014 | 2:44pm EST After entering the grand, marbled National Gallery of Art to escape the day’s drizzle and wind, cold and accompanied by a dripping umbrella, my eyes satisfyingly took in the seminal works of Giotto and Botticelli. Following a crowd of people, I came across one of the featured exhibits in the Founders Room of the West Building and was surprised at the humble, archival display. The display consists of a long, rectangular glass case containing war documents and memorabilia. Yet, as I took a closer look and observed several elderly gentlemen salute the case, I realized its contents spoke of reverence and artistic history. Monuments Men and the National Gallery of Art: The Inside Story inaugurates the first look at one of the world’s most comprehensive efforts in preserving monuments and priceless artwork during and after World War II. Men and women in the infantry as well as multinational art historians and museum curators were deployed to Allied-occupied countries to save these cultural artifacts from destruction and rescue them from hidden repositories created by the Nazis. Photographs, letters of correspondence, and telegrams donated by families of these “Monuments Men” attest to the stupendous efforts that these individuals took in defending historical sites and artifacts during wartime. Many of the officers had personal ties to Europe; some were Jewish refugees, others spoke the language. Together, with the shared desire to secure these cultural symbols and protect them from destruction, the Monuments Men ensured the return of an estimated 5 million artifacts to their countries of origin. The newly opened National Gallery became a pivotal institution in the lobbying efforts to President Roosevelt and Allied Forces to create the presidentially appointed Roberts Commission on June 23, 1943, named after the chairman Supreme Court Justice Owen Roberts. The commission lasted until 1946 and birthed the Monuments, Fine Arts and Archives program (MFAA), which was led by National Gallery director David Finley. 400 men and women were sent to approximately 1,000 troves in Europe to uncover crucial artwork. Among the sites was Neuschwanstein Castle in Germany, where over 6,000 pieces were recovered from the Reichsleiter Rosenberg Taskforce that was responsible for the “legalized” looting of the houses of persecuted Jews. The Altausee salt mine in the Austrian Alps was discovered in 1945 to possess 15th century European masterpieces such as Jan van Eyck’s “Adoration of the Lamb,” and the Tuscan villa of Montegufoni harbored most of the Florentine collections. Prior to the commission, no nationally organized army worked to protect monuments and relics in countries in which and with which it was at war. It is hard to fathom the truly insurmountable conditions that these men and women faced in order to preserve the cultural treasures. So often is freedom associated with national borders and ideology. However, we often forget that freedom is not limited to this; art represents liberty in the expression and autonomy it illustrates. The exhibition is a true testament to how certain soldiers and war personnel during World War II became more than just warriors; they proved to be cultural heroes. After gazing one last time at the photographs of the men and women, soot-faced and all, proudly holding up the prized artwork, I wrung my umbrella and walked outside. The rain and wind no longer seemed so formidable. Monuments Men and the National Gallery of Art: The Inside Story will be on display until September 1, 2014.

Pamela Huber March 31, 2014 | 8:04pm EST Take a quick peek in at an AmLit meeting and you might be shocked to learn how many artists and art appreciators are working quietly in the shadow of AU’s future politicians and humanitarians. These are the kids that make references to Sylvia Plath in your gender and politics class and crack satiric jokes. AmLit, AU’s student run literary arts magazine, is big, no way getting around it. Some 65 students make up the general staff of the magazine and votes on its content with a smaller pool of editors running the mechanics of the club. This past year saw a huge expansion in the editor pool, with editors-in-chief Sam Falewee and Michelle Merica creating many brand new assistant editor positions to help new staff members get involved in the inner workings of AmLit right away. Additionally, Sam and Michelle added film to the magazine’s four preexisting sections of photography, prose, art, and poetry, which all students can submit their work to for publication. Yet, despite AmLit’s size, the fact that it has been around since 1977, and the national acclaim it has received from organizations like the Associated Collegiate Press, a lot of people do not know much about it. And those who do don’t always understand our process or our aesthetic. AmLit is committed to showcasing AU’s best talent in the creative arts and holds itself to a high standard; the magazine has a 13 percent acceptance rate. With the average submissions drive raking in around 200 photographs and 100 poems without breaking a sweat as well as another 100 pieces in the other categories, the process can get highly selective. AmLit has one of the most democratically fair publication processes on campus. There are no requirements to join the general staff who vote on submissions. Additionally, the magazine accepts submissions on a completely blind basis, i.e. if your piece is up for review or you know who the author is, you cannot vote or speak about the piece in a review session. Favoritism is not possible. Since the editors-in-chief alone compile all of the submissions data, they are not allowed to speak about or vote on the submissions. In spite of the blind voting process of review sessions, a quick scan through different issues’ tables of contents does sometimes reveal many of the same names popping up again and again. This pattern arises in part because those whose pieces are admitted each semester not only have talent, but they submit a lot semester after semester. Also, attending review sessions allows people to hear constructive criticism of their work, edit it, and resubmit next semester. A love for the arts drives the AmLit staff each semester to dedicate weeks of their lives to reviewing hundreds of submissions. Rich discussions at review sessions provide the chance for everyone to voice their opinions, regardless of whether they study literature, economics, or biology. The result is more than just a published magazine – it’s a home for the expressive, the spirited, the dreamers.

Tiffany Wong March 30, 2014 | 6:11pm EST Everyone knows where they can watch videos of cats playing the piano or children on anesthesia highs, but where can we find high quality, high definition videos that are tastefully curated and bursting with creativity? Enter: Vimeo. As a beacon for budding filmmakers and artists, the website is a hub of visionary videos that have been picked up by SXSW, handpicked by the Vimeo staff, or just enjoyed by the online community. This article focuses on three films that spotlight the power of animation. To This Day | link Based on a spoken word poem by Shane Koyczan, “To This Day” is a film project that sheds light on the lasting effects of childhood bullying. With 84 animators and motion artists on board to volunteer their talents – whether it be in claymation, two-dimensional animation, cut-out animation, or other styles – the 8-minute film is the definition of art for a cause. Every line is brought to life with every clip and all of the 22 clips seamlessly transition from one to another. It’s a powerful film, one that not only gets its point across, but also showcases the extent of creativity in film, which is basically endless. I Met the Walrus | link “I Met the Walrus” was created by James Braithwaite and directed by Josh Raskin, and was nominated for an Academy Award in 2008, and won an Emmy in 2009. The film is centered on an interview recorded by a 14-year-old Beatles fan named Jerry Levitan in 1969. Determined to land an interview with John Lennon, he snuck into the rock star’s hotel room in Toronto and convinced the Beatle to participate in the interview, catching it all on a reel-to-reel recorder. Mixing original illustration with vintage photographs, Braithwaite brings animated life to Lennon’s words on revolution, peace, and the role of the youth at that time. The commitment to the original recording is also astounding and extremely humbling, especially when we can hear the room’s telephone ringing, Lennon have another conversation with someone else in the room, and for the late Beatle to exchange goodbyes by saying “Peace.” Swing of Change | link Created by a team of four graduate students, “Swing of Change” is a short film that explores the themes of racism and change through the power of music. Its main character, a barber, is stuck in the past, cutting the hair of only white customers and listening to military music despite the city’s burgeoning jazz scene. After getting into a scuffle with a black jazz musician outside of his shop, he snags the musician’s trumpet, which he discovers to have magical powers. The animation’s attention to detail is astounding – from the grit on the bottom of the barber’s shoe to the shine on the graphophone’s needle, “Swing of Change” is not to be taken lightly. The students’ ability to capture the camera technique of focusing in and out on certain objects and characters shows learned expertise. And with a strong plot and a three-dimensional main character, the short is as gold as the magical trumpet itself.

Sarah Shelton March 25, 2014 | 9:42pm EST A soulful voice effortless in nature, but beautiful in execution is rare in this day in age where artists have dollar signs in their names. Sam Smith is bringing honest talent back to the music scene with his freshman album and tour. The twenty-one year old who has achieved fame because of his stellar voice made his first stop in the District on his American tour this past Thursday (3/20). The U Street Music Hall housed the event and all audience members, as well as Sam Smith himself, feel right at home. The room where the concert was held was smaller than the 9:30 Club but larger than the Davenport Coffee Lounge. Everyone in the crowd could see Sam when he entered from stage right in his fitted blazer and custom gold Nikes. His charm and boyish smile pulled everyone into his spell before the set even began. Along with him were his five, seemingly flawless, band members. All dressed as if they were coming straight from a Nylon Magazine photo shoot, Sam Smith and his ensemble not only sounded like heaven, but looked like it, too. He played songs from his upcoming album In the Lonely Hour, which is to be released early this summer. Some of his most popular songs like “Nirvana” and “Money on My Mind” were crowd pleasers indeed. In addition to his own songs that have gained quite a lot of popularity, Smith also played a cover of the song “Do I Wanna Know?” by the Arctic Monkeys. Awesome visuals and choreographed dance numbers were nowhere in sight because the music and Sam Smith’s voice was, rightfully, center stage. The composition of the band mixed with Sam’s buttery, deep voice was the perfect combination to accomplish an excellent and unforgettable musical experience. Sam Smith’s tour continues in the United States until the end of April, and then he will continue to play across Europe and in his home country, the UK, for summer festivals.

Jessica Perry March 24, 2014 | 5:30pm EST Would you pay less than 12 Euro to travel through Dali’s head? In Figueres, Catalonia, you can. But be warned—no drugs are needed for this trip. He created the museum, Teatro-Museo Dali, by his own hand and head to house his artwork. It is the largest surrealist object in the world, crafted from a former theatre destroyed during the Spanish Civil War. It’s compartmentalized yet open; logical yet irrational; and predictably erratic. In Dali’s autobiography, The Secret Life of Salvador Dali, he confesses to not completing quotidian activities like telling time, tying his shoes, and looking before crossing the street. Considering his nature, he left a surprising worldwide legacy. The museum is part of it. It is discernable from simple surroundings because of its exterior, comprised of enormous egg sculptures and bread carved into the walls solely because he felt they were necessary ingredients for life. Or for a building. Located in his hometown, it is the area’s main attraction. The small town feels much too quiet and relaxed to hold something so strange. But it’s there anyway. Nothing about it makes sense, or maybe it makes all the more sense because of the lack of sense. It was Dali, after all. Inside the museum, each room is loosely thematic. The main area is a high-vaulted entrance with a view of walkable gardens in the building’s outdoor center. The circular outdoor center features snails carved into surrounding rock, a raining car contraption, and a nude woman on top pulling chains. The entrance’s ceiling is hand painted by Dali á la Sistine Chapel style- emotionally full of meaning and movement- accompanied by a spacious, bright interior. To the left is the “Jewels” exhibit, a cramped, barely ventilated box laced with red velvet. He considered it his jewelry box and put his most meaningful paintings there. Most of them pertain to his wife Gala, as if to preserve her. Not to mention the hedges outside form “G” shapes in her honor. Sarcastically, one might go so far as to say he was in love. Who knew. The next room, up winding stairs, leads to a dark space with objects that form a giant face. Or maybe it’s furniture if you look at it literally, with a couch for a mouth and curtains of hair. Actual hair. But you can only see the face if you walk up more stairs and view it from a specific angle under a microscope. It’s surrounded by a porthole where you can glimpse a green holographic world, absurd paintings of breast feeding, and contorted human sculptures (furnished with fabulous mustaches). The following rooms are less easily described. They are deepened with more alien-like holograms of men playing cards and a reflection of the viewer behind them, sunken displays of strange armor, spiral spoon sculptures descending from the ceiling, distorted mannequins: broken things, full things, simple things, complex things, nonsensical things. Everywhere. It’s a mesmerizing mania you can’t escape. Throughout the museum, though, there are moments of mental peace: a realistic depiction of a floating balloon, a plain coin designed by Dali, or a posed portrait of Gala. These moments, when you realize that the simple things aren’t so simple, are the museum’s true treasures. They are obscured by absurdity, but when you see something recognizable, logical, “normal”—you pause. Breathe. You question what is normal, who defines normal, who decides what is real and what isn’t and what could be. Dali’s remains lie in the museum’s basement, but his art’s talent of forcing interpretation, or simply acceptance, is alive in Figueres.

Kat Lukes March 15, 2014 | 2:56pm EST Annie Clark, better known by her nom de guerre St. Vincent, dragged the guerre to the stage this past Sunday, March 2nd for the second performance of a two-night stint at the 9:30 Club. Both shows sold out weeks in advance, and needless to say the venue was packed with fans eager to hear work off of her self-titled fourth album dropped just a week earlier. After the completely underwhelming warm-up artist Holly Herndon wrapped up a 30 minute set of organ-rattling bass lines and ambient moaning, St. Vincent and company finally strutted on stage. Opening with the first track off of her new album, “Rattlesnake,” the audience was immediately revved for an incredible set. Following with “Digital Witness,” “Cruel,” and later “A Mouth Full of Blood,” it was obvious that she’d be mixing up her set list and pulled from her entire discography (the complete set list can be found here). I’ll admit I rarely sit through an entire St. Vincent album, largely because the songs can get tedious. Her work is an incredibly precise interpretation of chaos, as if every musical knot and tangle were positioned with a magnifying glass and a pair of tweezers. While intricate, I usually find myself wishing for some basic foundation of musical meat that goes missing from her music in its sterile, pre-recorded form. Live, St. Vincent is a completely different story. Every song had a new sense of grounded urgency and anchored power, and the flexibility of each track allowed her to deviate from the recording without pissing off the fans. That’s not to say that St. Vincent was any less in control. In fact, Annie controlled her show like a storm cloud on a taught leash; her music had a seemingly delicate and tenuous entry, only to be followed by rolling, distorted power-riffs extracted from her guitar with confident dexterity. And even though she played her usual wide-eyed, broken doll gimmick, every once in awhile you could catch her breaking character with a satisfied half-smile, an expression that said, “This is what I do for a living and it’s fucking awesome.” These moments where the audience could see that she took herself seriously, but not too seriously helped the show walk St. Vincent’s signature fine line between music and performance art. Her avant-garde dress, robotic movements, and occasionally screechy singing were a little heavy-handed. Had she not subtly broken character or stopped to chat with the audience, the concert could have easily slipped into pretentious art-house territory. If anything, St. Vincent is a calculated storyteller. Maybe not in the traditional narrative sense, but her Sunday performance had a definitive arch and resolution. After closing the show with a powerhouse performance of the psycho dance party tune “Krokodil,” Annie Clark tiptoed back on stage for a heartbreakingly raw acoustic version of “Strange Mercy,” allowing the audience a moment of reflection. When the encore ended with “Your Lips Are Red,” you could tell the audience was reluctant to call it a night. For two hours, St. Vincent had expertly rattled through her repertoire, inviting her fans along for the ride. And even if you’re like me and don’t quite get her style, St. Vincent is certainly one not to miss.

Evan Mills March 15, 2014 | 2:52pm EST If you haven’t gone down to E Street Cinema in downtown Washington, D.C. you might want to displace your butt from that couch and replant it in one of their fine, reclining bucket-seats ASAP. Whether you’re taking your date out to an arm-clinching, smooch-fest like In Secret, or throwing plastic spoons at the screen during a drunken, midnight showing of The Room, this theater does it right. The crowd tends to be less of the mainstream herd of cattle you can typically find at a giant, corporate-type cinema. Most importantly there are far fewer children. But of course do be prepared to sit next to someone wearing flannel or trimming their moustache. Upon entering the theater you are likely to recognize the bored guy standing miserably behind the ticket counter. You may even think, “Damn, this is just another movie theater.” But it is the table of bootleg-style, cult classics directly behind him that caught my eye. There’s a plethora of great indie films such as Fruitvale Station and the anime classic My Neighbor Totoro. Once you purchase your student-discounted $9.50 ticket, you can either proceed conveniently down the escalator, or trot down the thrice-terraced staircase. At the bottom of the stairs you are presented with two options: Bathroom or full bar. Not like movie theaters that suck, E Street Cinema is awesome mostly because of the bar. In fact, you can purchase a film-themed mixed drink, a craft beer or a full blown bottle of wine. And as you struggle to hand the ticket guy your tickets without dropping your booze, you are glad to remember that the bathrooms are at the bottom of the thrice-terraced staircase and conveniently located next to the bar which you will likely visit again (and again [and again]). Midnights on weekends are also great at E Street Cinema. They feature different classics such as Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, and the original Batman. The seats are usually packed and sometimes it feels more like a party than a movie theater. They also show regular live performances of The Rocky Horror Picture Show. E Street Cinema also features films that are astonishingly terrible, and is a great place for Washingtonians to gather and marvel at the shit-cinema projected before them. Recently I saw The Room as mentioned above, and enjoyed the obscure, profane banter the audience shouted at the screen. As the commonly agreed upon shittiest movie of all time, a viewing of The Room is special in the absurdity of the plot and the audiences hilarious reactions to its shittyness. Before the screening of most movies, there is a real-life person that comes out and informs the audience of future screenings and, in true vaudevillian fashion, entertains the audience and prepares them for the featured performance. I say you haven’t experienced cinema unless you’ve been to E Street Cinema for a classic showing. Seeing movies like Nightmare on Elm Street or A Clockwork Orange is a totally different experience on the big screen. You will understand the bygone era of filmmaking when the theater was truly a part of the presentation. The easiest way to get to E Street Cinema is taking the Red line to Metro Center and walking south the couple blocks to E Street and the cinema is between 10th and 11th.

Mia Saidel March 15, 2014 | 2:49pm EST In 1920s Japan, people suffered life with the Great Depression, poverty, disease, and the Great Kanto Earthquake. Then, Japan plunged into war. How did Japan’s youth survive such a time? So begins one trailer to the pièce de résistance of Japanese animator Hayao Miyazaki’s career about a Japanese man with romantic dreams of building beautiful airplanes during a period rife with struggle and conflict. However, such a seemingly morose question is not answered with an equally dark response. True to Miyazaki’s masterful approach to his craft, his final film counters a historically dark time with dazzling visuals of the Japanese urban and rural landscape as well as narrations of profound relationships among people connected through a shared fight for optimism. The Wind Rises is a testament to the beauty that can be found during the bleakest of times. The film opens with a charming sequence of Japan’s countryside terrain free of dialogue. Instead, the combination of accordion, harmonica, mandolin, and violin make for an Italian-sounding melody that sets the tone. This is fitting, as a young Japanese boy is dreaming and meets the great Italian aeronautic engineer Gianni Caproni on his stunning aircraft. They walk side by side on the wings of the plane, and Caproni encourages him to challenge his expertise in a quest for building the most beautiful airplane the world has ever seen. The boy’s traditional Japanese trousers and shoes are in stark contrast with Caproni’s smart suit and hat. He wakes up, eager to start a life dedicated to the art of creating an innovative vehicle for aviation. This is how we are introduced to Jiro Horikoshi, the chief engineer of Japan’s legendary fighter planes during World War II, whom the film is based off of. Jiro’s story is one about spirit and determination during turbulent times. The rest of the film focuses on Jiro’s pursuit in building what would later become the world-famous Mitsubishi A6M Zero aircraft, created exclusively for the Imperial Japanese Navy during the war, during arguably the most turbulent period in the country’s history. What makes the film so special is hardship, while evidently present, is not aggressively forced into the spotlight; Jiro and his fellow engineers at the Mitsubishi headquarters eat the same variation of lunch every day, either a piece of meat or fish with rice; the trains that Jiro rides have nicer accommodations up front than they do in the back; several wooden incense sticks with the names of the deceased are seen propped up on the sea grass by the ocean. These respective scenes and images speak enough about food shortage, wealth disparities, and death that were indicative of the period without the presence of gore and battle cries. Miyazaki understands that subtlety is enough to create poignancy. The wind rises, we must try to live. “Le vent se lève. Il faut tenter de vivre.” Naoko recites the first line of the French poem by Paul Valery to Jiro, who then follows her words instinctively with the second when they meet each other on the train for the first time. Naoko is a girl with a unique passion for life, a worthy counterpart to Jiro’s ambitious nature. They both share an understanding of life’s unpredictability, as well as the same spirit to face it. Their meeting is significant in that it does not just represent the start of a lifelong love. Their exchange of words also represents what lies ahead. The earthquake hits Tokyo immediately after their encounter, famine and bank failure shatter their community, and Naoko is beset with tuberculosis when she and Jiro decide to marry. It seems as if life had taken a turn for the worst. The wind can carry turmoil and sadness, which are characteristic of life. However, Naoko and Jiro realize that it is up to the individual to bear whatever life brings and simply live. Time and time again Jiro meets with Caproni in his dreams to discuss how to improve his aircraft design. The curved fish bones that Jiro picks from his meager lunch translate into the design of his finished product. Despite the ongoing war that causes millions of families to be left hungry on the streets, Jiro’s dream has not died. He walks as a grown man with Caproni in his dream for the last time, this time on his own plane. The last dream represents his accomplishment of not only finishing the fighter plane, but also surviving a tumultuous era. It is appropriate that Miyazaki’s last film has a core theme of flight. Porco Rosso, Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind, and Kiki’s Delivery Service, to name a few, all include elements of aerodynamics. But this time, Miyazaki does not need elements of the fantastic or magical to show us that that we as humans are not bound to the ground. With his last masterpiece, Miyazaki bids us farewell with a final piece of advice: we can always develop the best of our abilities, whether the wind brings conditions good or bad. Our dreams are worth pursuing because we often have to go against the current to achieve them. According to Miyazaki, that is life. The Wind Rises is playing at West End Cinema located at 23rd and M north of Washington Circle. The closest available Metro Stop is Foggy Bottom on the Blue and Orange lines.