On the aesthetics and sensuality of the Oscar-nominated director behind Call Me By Your Name.
David Byrne’s first solo album post-Talking Heads helped me come to terms with the languages I lost growing up as a mixed-race kid.
Jonathan Glazer’s lush, romantic take on the gangster movie, Sexy Beast, uses the simplest of moments to build its sense of dread: a warm day, a clear pool, a frosty beer.
On Gregory Crewdson’s photograph “Untitled (Beer Dream),” the cover art for Yo La Tengo’s And Then Nothing Turned Itself Inside-Out.
Before I read The View from Saturday, I saw anger as a luxury, a way to take up physical and emotional space that I didn’t think I deserved to occupy.
Sixty-five years after it was published, J.D. Salinger’s novel remains a definitive expression of adolescent trauma.
On Beyoncé’s “Hold Up.”
The photos on the author and New Yorker critic’s Instagram account can seem bouncily staged, as if he’d just held up his phone and made a suggestion, or a consolation, or a dig.
Mrs. Dalloway and the promise and problems of empathy.