An imagined image of Joyce Carol Vincent sitting in a peaceful meadow at sunset. She's surrounded by tall grass, and a pine tree is behind her. She hugs her knees and looks towards the viewer. The sky behind her is full of pink clouds.
Why Did Joyce Carol Vincent Die Alone?

I saw myself in the loneliness of her passing, and studied it for ways to avoid the same fate. 

The Loneliest Man in the World

Watching Irrfan Khan over the years.

Digitizing Maxi Cohen's Legacy

What does it take to preserve an independent filmmaker's oeuvre?

Who Do You Want to Be Tonight, Zola?

A calculated veneer of identity is our most valuable modern resource.

Desire Vessel

Matsuda Eiko's career illustrates the erasure that occurs when women's creative work is falsely reduced to autobiography.

The Many Acts of Susan Peters

Susan Peters was an Academy Award-nominated actress, a trainee pilot, a medical student. But it was a shooting incident in 1945 that would come to define her.

The Three-Headed Magic of Merchant Ivory

In their decades of collaboration, the company created films tethered in a new language for what it means to be a human of multiple descriptions.

Barbra Streisand's Singular Women

In her fifty years on screen, her palpable desperation to be liked has moved audiences or grated on them. But she projects something constant and knowable—the marker of a true star.

Under the Hollywood Gaslight

Rose McGowan suffered from the worst of the Hollywood machine and reclaimed her body and her narrative. But her all-for-one methods have alienated fellow activists.

I Always Wanted To Be Owen Wilson

As a nerdy kid who wanted to be a film critic, I saw myself in Wilson's unexpected comedy. But my favourite writer was destined to become a movie star.