Articles

Castello Cavalcanti  (2013) is a seven-minute short film directed by Wes Anderson in production partnership with Prada. Jason Schwartzman stars as Jed Cavalcanti, a 1950s Formula One driver who is partaking in a race resulting in an implicitly fatal crash into a statue of Jesus in a small Italian village. What follows divides audiences and evokes questions about death, the afterlife, and fate. This short is a personal favourite of mine. I think it truly alters and encourages

Sat in eerie silence, the kind that suspends, borrowing grief from the future. Reaching through with sticky hands, to steal something I can call mine.   In the same way, a sweet friend took the floor with him when he left. A souvenir for his struggles - will the feeling ever fade? The need to hold something close. To fold your palms tight,   to write it all down, in a language you understand. Does the book ache to return to the tree? It can no longer lend its knowledge to me.

If you want to make a Gen Z crowd uncomfortable with a single question, ask them "What are your hobbies?" Upon being asked this question, one immediately thinks of those rare guitar lessons you had in secondary school, or the fact that you actually finished that film three weeks ago, or perhaps you get flashbacks to that intense HIIT gym class you endured when you still felt optimistic about your New Year’s resolutions. It goes without saying that time glued to our screens ha

On the 30th of January, 3 million pages of the Epstein files were released to the public. In them, thousands of accounts of sexual abuse, manipulation and heinous crimes spilled over each and every page. I scoured newspapers and social media searching for anything other than more scandalous photos of Prince Andrew. How about the President of the United States, who we know was a very close friend of Epstein? What about the countless millionaires, billionaires, politicians and

I am writing in my living room. My housemates criss-cross the floor, with coriander flopping from the crook of their elbows, shouting some important orders from the kitchen. Our house is full of vibrancy and laughter as we prepare the space for the incoming dinner party guests.   As I sit across from my friends, I am aware of how many dinners I substituted the golden glow of candles and homemade vegan tacos for a youtube video, propped up against a salt shaker. At this point

Ever since we were little, we’ve been taught to be kind to each other, to have empathy, to treat people the way you want to be treated . So why is it that when it comes to our younger selves, especially those awkward pre-teen and teenage years, we are so relentlessly cruel? We talk about them as if we’re our own school bullies. It is completely normalized to pull up younger photos of yourself with friends and laugh at your gap tooth, your scruffy haircut, your knobbly knees.

I think I can confidently say that the first thing I do every morning is check my phone. I scan for Snapchat notifications that I'll never respond to, skim through Outlook to see if my lecture has been cancelled, and space out as I look through Instagram stories of people I met once and never spoke to again. After that, the next thing I do is check the news. Reading the news is something I think everyone should do. But if someone right now told me they didn't want to listen t

I stand before you, farmers kin, my mother’s green thumbed girl. asking only, for a gentle kiss   to cheek. I’d fly to you– by wing or wind, simply for a glimpse.   I have nothing to offer but the dirt bedded under overgrown nails. And a vulgar honesty. Words by Bea Butterworth, she/they