OCTOBER 16, 2026
ILLUSTRATION BY LUCY JUNG/THE HOYA
INTRODUCTION
Storybooks to Silver Screens: The Mythical Perfect Adaptation Anandita Agarwal and Isabelle Cialone Senior Guide Editors
Literature seems to finally have gotten its big Hollywood break in 2026. From Colleen Hoover and Emily Henry to Jane Austen and Homer, the literary adaptation is a cornerstone of the modern film industry. And it is easy to see why: Blockbuster movies with household names give the source material more exposure, and a book’s existing reputation gives Hollywood an easily marketable story. With declining literacy rates and increasing interest in reboots or reinterpreted media, the explosion of the book-turned-movie allows both the entertainment and publishing industries to continue thriving. While adaptations draw large crowds, they also garner a vast variety of responses — “The
Odyssey,” for example, was both celebrated and reviled for its reimagining of Homer’s iconic myth to speak to modern themes. At the heart of this discourse is a tension between faithfulness and relevancy. Scriptwriters and directors must grapple with the shadow of the original source material, especially as the time separating the source and the adaptation widens. If a film reproduces a novel line-by-line, it is not necessarily “better.” At the same time, audiences often shun films that completely reduce a novel’s diction and form in favor of more contemporary messaging. Moreover, mainstream movie studios seem to emphasize stories with a clear hero, villain, character arcs and a solidified resolution — elements that complex, renowned novels often do not provide. The question of a “perfect” adaptation might be one with no clear answer, or it
might not even be the point of an adaptation. Instead, films should straddle faithfulness and relevancy by conveying respect for the source material and reviving the original story. Directors can create common throughlines between past stories and present realities — between the author’s and audience’s different and distant contexts. Literary adaptations gesture toward the timelessness of the art of storytelling. Stories are not contained to the year or even century they are created in — they become living, breathing documents that constantly change to reflect the world around them. Though cinematic adaptations certainly dominate the playing field, they are by no means a monopoly. The beauty of adapting stories is found in the ability for them to live on as all kinds of media— shows, albums, even video games. From sweeping epics mixing brutal bloodshed with heartwarming
homecomings to children’s stories rife with societal musings — from folkloric teenage love stories to gut-wrenching character studies spanning years or even decades — literary adaptations encompass every niche. This speaks not only to stories’ ability to surpass categories of form, but also categories of genre. What this wealth of genre reveals is that, regardless of the expansive stretches of time, distance or culture, there are some stories that we can all, on some fundamental level, see ourselves in. Adaptations, in other words, speak to the universality of human experiences. Maybe in revealing stories’ timelessness and aesthetic adaptability, literary adaptations are in and of themselves perfect, regardless of their faithfulness to the original or their relevancy to our world. Maybe the way to create perfect adaptations is understanding there is not one — there are only stories and all the ways they can be told.
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A ‘ nna Karenina’ Stages Human Truths in 19th Century Russia
Eliza Doty
Deputy Guide Editor
Beginning with one of the most iconic lines in literature — “Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way” — Leo Tolstoy’s “Anna Karenina” does not cease to cut through the differences that separate high society in 19th century Russia and the modern-day reader. Joe Wright’s film adaptation commences in its own awe-inspiring way. Setting Tolstoy’s Russia inside a theater, a curtain rises on a crumbling theater underneath Dario Marianelli’s incredible score. Taking place in 19th century Russia, the story follows Anna Karenina’s allconsuming and intoxicating love affair, detailing the lives of individuals spanning each sect of Russian society in the process. With nearly 1,000 pages and over a dozen characters to adapt, I could not help but have low expectations going into Wright’s adaptation. It was soon obvious, however, that the people behind the film had not only read the novel, but adored it. This adoration is evident in Wright’s decision to frame the film as if the novel was taking place on a stage. At first dizzying, you soon cannot help but be swept away by the transitions. This world of high society is a performance: everyone is watching, everyone has a role and nobody is permitted to go off script. Just as breathtaking is Jacqueline Durran’s costume design, which won an Academy Award. The screen is often full of lavender, pink and teal tulle; layered gowns that float through the air alongside furs, jewels and of course, Anna’s iconic black ball gown. All of these elements work together to truly bring the story to life. Central to the adaptation is Keira Knightley, who was frankly the only right choice for the story’s titular character.
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Tolstoy wrote Anna to be intensely magnetic and beautiful; Knightley embodies her poise perfectly. As Anna falls in love with the desirable Count Vronsky (Aaron TaylorJohnson) and society turns its back on her, Knightley allows her composure to crack. Through her hair alone, Anna’s slow descent into jealousy and paranoia is depicted as it evolves into dark unraveled curls sprawling over her increasingly pale body. Levin (Domhnall Gleeson), who Tolstoy based on himself, is my favorite character. Levin seems to be the only one in the story who is not performing. All around him, people find comfort in the costumes of society and the church, but Levin questions the shallow rituals of Moscow, the way landowners treat their peasants and, above all, his own faith. Gleeson captures this restlessness impressively, playing Levin as a man constantly at odds with the world around him and, more often, with himself. His tender, awkward courtship of Kitty (Alicia Vikander) is a place where he finds rare confidence and purity. Wright makes room for him to grapple with the deepest human questions and fears, all while sharing screen time with our central protagonist. Jude Law’s Alexei Alexandrovich Karenin is off-putting, a perfect encapsulation of the character. A husband to an unfaithful wife who leaves him to face the gossip of all of St. Petersburg, Tolstoy does not let him off the hook by writing him as simply pitiful. In fact, Karenin is insufferable in the smallest, most human ways: the cracking of his knuckles, the mocking tone he takes when he is uncomfortable and the rigid schedule that leaves not a minute of his day unplanned. Law plays him so precisely that you both pity and resent him. Though “Anna Karenina” is by definition a tragedy, the film’s greatest fault is the firmness with which it frames Anna’s ending as insanity. After revisiting the novel, I reject this
conclusion. Anna did not go mad. She was just a woman who ached to be loved and to give love absolutely. Certainly, in a society that could offer her no more space than a shallow role on a stage, her true self would be stifled. “Anna Karenina” is a reminder that a faithful adaptation does not need to include
every page of its source text; it just needs to love them as obsessively as Anna loved. Both the novel and the film are masterclasses in depicting every point between human suffering and absolute bliss. So, as daunting it seems to begin this tome, you will find it is just as difficult to say goodbye.
ILLUSTRATION BY SERENA LI/THE HOYA
Eliza Doty (CAS ’29) praises “Anna Karenina” for its dedication to Tolstoy’s original novel.
THEHOYA.COM | FRIDAY, OCTOBER 16, 2026
‘EL MAL QUERER’ Fuses Medieval Novel With Flamenco MUSIC
Eli Tuchinsky Hoya Staff Writer
Rosalía worked her way up quietly and then emerged seemingly out of nowhere. Performing as a flamenco singer while studying music in Barcelona, her 2018 album and senior thesis, “EL MAR QUERER” (The Bad Desire), quickly launched her into global superstardom. The project, loosely based on the anonymously written 13th-century Occitan novel “Flamenca,” fuses the medieval story of marital abuse with the singer’s personal experiences, supported by an innovative mix of flamenco, pop and R&B. Eight years later, the record remains one of the most important of the decade. Over 11 tracks, “El Mal Querer” follows the story of a young woman’s marriage and sudden imprisonment at the hands of her jealous husband, who suspects her potential infidelity. Each song, based on a chapter of the novel, explores a world of pain and betrayal from the perspective of both the victim and the perpetrator. The story and album culminate with our protagonist murdering her oppressor, freeing herself from the confines of abuse.
Rosalía opens the album with “MALAMENTE” (Badly), hinting at the sour end of the betrothal established in the second track, “QUE NO SALGA LA LUNA” (May the Moon Not Rise). The former is quite literally a warning of bad things to come, while the latter is particularly disconcerting as the groom repeatedly references the bride’s silence and her total, life-giving devotion to him. His possessive paranoia builds in “PIENSO EN TU MIRÁ” (I Think of Your Gaze), in which he worries that she will cheat on him solely by being in public. “MALAMENTE” and “PIENSO EN TU MIRÁ” became the record’s first singles, and are more pop-based compared to the rest of the album. The eighth track and third single, “DI MI NOMBRE” (Say My Name), is similarly poppy, recounting a sexual experience between the couple and playing with ideas of power and domination. Reducing “El Mal Querer” to the genre of “Spanish Pop,” however, would be ludicrous. The album’s standout feature is its culture-clashing production, combining Andalusian flamenco with modern elements of pop-R&B. “DE AQUÍ
NO SALES” (There Is No Escape From Here), told from the husband’s perspective as he imprisons his wife, amplifies Rosalía’s quiebro — the trembling vibrato in traditional flamenco — with abrasive motorcycle revving. Rather than remain within acoustic instrumentation, the LP does what all literary adaptations ought to do: transform a piece of art as it is remade in a new medium. The seventh track, “BAGDAD,” even samples Justin Timberlake’s “Cry Me a River” and references a Catalan strip club, all while comparing the protagonist’s hopelessness to liturgy. Rosalía’s vocal performance is also powerful and vital to the album, oscillating from upbeat flamenco in “QUE NO SALGA LA LUNA” to the haunting wails of “NANA,” which focuses on the somber realization that the protagonist is pregnant. The depth of her misery would not nearly be as easily felt if it were not for Rosalía’s incredible voice. The album’s sonic experimentation enhances its theme of toxic relationships and the horrors of the patriarchy. “El Mal Querer” is not a wordfor-word retelling of “Flamenca,” but instead a
hybrid of the novel and Rosalía’s personal experiences in the 21st century. The protagonist’s imprisonment at the hands of an abuser is not meant to be seen as solely a medieval fiction, but rather as a cyclical, ongoing phenomenon. Sexual violence has not ended as women have gained more public rights; it has merely adapted to the modern day. Released a year after the 2017 resurgence of the #MeToo movement, Rosalía contributes her own story of gender abuse, linking modern Spain’s status of women to the medieval region of Occitania, highlighting the endless repetition of toxic relationships and domestic violence. On the final track, “A NINGÚN HOMBRE” (To No Man), our protagonist, and perhaps Rosalía herself, asserts her autonomy, proclaiming that she will not defer her destiny to any man — that her obedience and fate are with God alone. Coming off the rest of “El Mal Querer,” we as listeners are left pondering the suffering of domestic violence, but more importantly, the power and bravery of its survivors, rendering this sophomore LP, in my view, one of the best albums of the past decade.
‘Train Dreams’ Embodies Pure American Essence FILM
Declan Donahue Special to The Hoya
When we talk about American culture and the American dream, images of LinkedIn, white collars, marriage, suburbia and social climbing populate the mind. Clint Bentley’s 2025 neo-western “Train Dreams” presents an American dream that is a sharp departure from this modern mold. By showing an American life that is still beautiful and complete even while failing traditional standards of success, the film contends that American fulfillment is not defined by attainment. “Train Dreams,” based on Denis Johnson’s 2011 novella of the same name, follows a shy man from Bonners Ferry, Idaho; Robert Grainer (Joel Edgerton). He falls in love with and marries Gladys Olding (Felicity Jones), building a cabin and having a daughter, Kate (Olive Steverding), soon after. While taking seasonal work as a logger, Grainer meets workers who leave a monumental impact on his life. Eventually, Grainer returns home, only to find tragedy, as the region is engulfed in wildfire, his cabin reduced to ash
and his family nowhere to be found. Grainer lives the next 40 years as a hermit in his rebuilt cabin, mourning, hallucinating and wandering the forest. “Train Dreams” was written as a testimony to the beauty of a single life, and the style perfectly magnifies these human themes. The film was shot completely on site in Washington for authenticity. Cinematographer Adolpho Veloso largely utilized wide-angle static shots and handheld Steadicam to highlight the beauty of the surroundings while maintaining a personal connection to the characters. Additionally, Veloso and Bentley chose to shoot in a 3:2 aspect ratio to mimic 1930s archival and land-surveying photographs. Their work ultimately earned them a handful of Oscar nominations, notably Best Picture and Best Cinematography. After Grainer’s peaceful death, the narrator (Will Patton) remarks that Grainer had never spoken into a telephone, never knew his parents and left this life as quietly as he had entered. However, during a short flight over a farm in Spokane, as he misplaced all sense of up and down, Grainer finally felt connected to it all. In
the end, Grainer had nothing to show for his life but still found fulfillment. The film is wholly absent of disappointing performances. Every character feels truly alive and important, even though most have limited screen time. Edgerton gives by far the best performance of his career and, to me, is one of the larger Academy Award snubs of the last decade. Jones is perfectly wise and calming in comparison to Edgerton’s worrying demeanor. Alfred Hsing, who plays a Chinese worker Grainer meets during his time as a logger, gives an incredible performance for a character who is quite literally a ghost (no, seriously, this guy has a soul-penetrating stare). William H. Macy, who plays another logger, is amazing as always, and brings his small character to life as an eccentric mentor who gives some of the most memorable lines. It’s difficult to paint a portrait of a life without first having exquisite performance from your lead actor and, second, having every supporting actor hit their strides as an effective ensemble; “Train Dreams” delivers this on both fronts.
Unfortunately, the film had its rights acquired by Netflix, and only had limited showings in theaters before releasing on streaming. It’s difficult to understand why the production team and interested parties didn’t push for a full release, especially after receiving rave reviews at the Sundance Film Festival. This is certainly a major blunder that hurt the film’s chances at greater public and award recognition. Bentley’s film and Johnson’s novella personify the truest essence of American life. Not a life of honor, power or legacy, but a quiet life of soul-stirring experience. A life where you work hard for someone you love. A life with no birth certificate or gravestone. Where you have it all, lose it all and are haunted in the most beautiful and human way. It is impossible to leave “Train Dreams” without a stamp on your soul and the quiet truth that the American dream isn’t found in an office building or behind a white picket fence, but is whistling in and out of an open window in a place where time just doesn’t move as quickly.
ferent facet of police corruption and smoky, dark cinematography that engrossed me completely. “L.A. Confidential” follows three key police officers: Ed Exley (Guy Pearce), a rule-following, ambitious detective; Bud White (Russell Crowe), a violent enforcer with a particular dislike for woman beaters; and Jack Vincennes (Kevin Spacey), a cynical, sleazy narcotics sergeant looking to find fame and money by leaking confidential information to tabloid reporter Sid Hudgens (Danny DeVito). After a grisly, yet open-and-shut mass murder at a local cafe, the Nite Owl, each of the three cops find themselves investigating different parts of a greater conspiracy that started with the killings but may reach the root of the department itself. When I first read that description, I was hooked. I am a sucker for these types of movies: the ones with the dark, smoky atmosphere and chiaroscuro lighting that is only pierced by the presence of the ever-sharp protagonist. “L.A. Con-
fidential” leans into the film’s broodiness and recognizes it as a wonderful tool. Like any good tool, it is used only when it suits the plot, and cinematographer Dante Spinotti knows when to instead bathe the City of Angels with glowing halos. I will avoid gushing over the story beats not for a lack of appreciation for the film’s writing (for which Brian Helgeland and Curits Hanson deservedly won the Academy Award for Best Adapted Screenplay), but because every twist and turn is unexpected in the most pleasing way possible. For every reveal I found myself asking, “How did I miss that?” The key to this magic, though, lies in the cast’s stellar performances. There is neither a single miscast character nor a dull moment, and with the sheer number of personalities in the film, the responsibility to do them justice is only elevated. Pearce’s Ed Exley is cool, composed and book smart, but every eye twitch communicates the underlying pressure he feels to solve the Nite Owl case. Bud
White’s bloody exterior hides an interior as delicate as glass, shaped by his childhood trauma. Jack Vincennes is a cynic through and through, but the potential brutal possibilities lying beneath the Nite Owl killings pokes holes in his slick demeanor. I have a certain appreciation for movies that I feel know exactly what they want to do and do everything in their power to do it. It is why “Baby Driver” is one of my favorite films, not necessarily because of its deep storytelling or groundbreaking technical approaches, but because it pulls no punches in executing its core vision of simply being a damn cool movie. The same applies to “L.A. Confidential.” Perhaps other neo-noir films have more impressive cinematography, or maybe they tell a more layered story, but none can achieve the raw feeling of Los Angeles in the 1950s like “L.A. Confidential” does. By balancing quiet, dark moments with its bombastic shootouts and explosive characters, “L.A. Confidential” delivers an unforgettable prestige movie experience.
‘L.A. Confidential’ Indulges in Sleazy, Smoky Suspense Juan Almanza Deputy Guide Editor
Neo-noir is a timeless genre. During its heyday, the category was constantly reinventing itself with the likes of “Chinatown,” “Blade Runner” and “Pulp Fiction,” but none struck that perfect balance between action, suspense and the sleaziness of the underworld quite like “L.A. Confidential.” Now, I have not read the book it was adapted from. Like any adaptation, however, it certainly slimmed down its source material to make it work in a film format. James Ellroy’s original “L.A. Confidential” is on my reading shortlist for its complex, delicately woven and decade-spanning story, but director Curtis Hanson expertly streamlined its sprawling themes, characters and main beats to create a slick neo-noir thriller. What results is a hallmark of the genre, with memorable characters that each represent a dif-
FRIDAY, OCTOBER 16, 2026 | THEHOYA.COM
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‘The Return’ Offers Small-Scale Take on World’s Greatest Epic
Caroline Woodward
Senior Audience Engagement Editor
From “Spider-Man: Brand New Day,” to “Toy Story 5,” to “Obsession,” the cinematic landscape is on quite the journey in 2026. In a year of such popular, well-acclaimed and commercially successful films, one still manages to stand out among the rest as a clear dominating force: Christopher Nolan’s “The Odyssey.” Whether you liked Nolan’s adaptation or vehemently hated it, you have most likely encountered the discourse surrounding the film. I am here to offer an alternative. Whether you are a classics snob, a historical purist or just someone who felt that Nolan’s version was just too dang loud to enjoy, I offer you “The Return.” “The Return” is a 2024 film directed by Uberto Pasolini, starring Ralph Fiennes as Odysseus and Juliette Binoche as Odysseus’ wife, Penelope. It adapts the last six books of “The Odyssey,” when Odysseus returns to his home, Ithaca, plots revenge against the suitors attempting to marry his wife and — spoiler alert for a 2,700-year-old epic — kills them.
This is a much smaller-scale production than Nolan’s “The Odyssey.” Instead of a huge cast of characters interacting with set pieces of almost infinite scale, “The Return” primarily focuses on Odysseus, Penelope, their son Telemachus (Charlie Plummer), some suitors and a few of Odysseus’ allies. It takes place not across the Mediterranean, but on the lone island of Ithaca, portrayed as rocky and dry, dotted with small houses and a single grand fortress. “The Return” is a quieter movie — soft sounds of nature fill the background of calmer scenes, and even in the most intense moments, such as Odysseus’ climactic encounter with the suitors, the soundtrack remains steady and grounded to provide interesting contrast to the violence on screen. Fiennes shines as Odysseus. This is meant both literally, as many scenes show him in torn-up rags and shining with sweat, and figuratively, as he is undoubtedly the movie’s center. Much like the movie in general, his Odysseus is quiet, constantly thinking through and assessing situations
before speaking or acting. This is a traumatized man, a soldier back from war after losing his entire crew. He is unsure of what to do and how to proceed, yet he reclaims his power fully, shown through Fiennes’ distinct change in body language and visual storytelling in the final act. Another standout is Binoche as Penelope. Her version of Penelope is more complicated than her literary counterpart, as she is afforded more lines and played with less emotional volatility than the constantly weeping literary figure. These changes made the figure more relatable, sympathetic and complicated, brought to life by Binoche’s commanding presence and expressive eyes. Still, this is not a perfect adaptation. If you are someone who took issue with Nolan’s lack of magic or inaccurate dialogue, “The Return” still may not be what you are looking for. This is a deeply human story, grounded in the reality of war and resulting violence. There is no mention of gods or the implication of magical forces. The dialogue
is not taken directly from the book; certain plot points are added or shifted around; and, more importantly, the Odysseus here is not the “perfect” Odysseus. Fiennes, despite his excellent acting, is playing a wise and contemplative version of the character, not the lying, scheming, more morally gray figure of the book. Yet, I maintain that this movie is an excellent and generally more faithful adaptation. The fact that it focuses on only a few sections of the story, instead of attempting to tackle the whole tale, means the dramatic moments can be given full weight and impact. The characters are more fleshed out, the audience understands more of Ithaca’s dire situation and the dialogue, while still different, is certainly better. If you were made curious about Greek epics by Nolan’s “The Odyssey,” I recommend this movie as an adaptation. If you hated Nolan’s “The Odyssey,” I recommend this as an alternative. If you simply want to see one of the greatest stories in human history come to life, I strongly recommend “The Return.”
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Though Unwieldy, ‘East of Eden’ Executes a Beautiful Vision
Grace Ko
Guide Columnist
Embarrassingly, when going into Netflix’s “East of Eden,” I thought the show was a remake of Elia Kazan’s 1955 film. I knew of John Steinbeck, a high school English staple, yet nothing about “East of Eden.” To say I was going in blind would be an understatement. However, it was truly impossible not to become enraptured by the tragedy and beauty of “East of Eden.” Adapted by Elia Kazan’s granddaughter, Zoe Kazan, “East of Eden” attempts to capture the 600page novel’s full depth. It is an ambition apparent from the first episode as a beaten and bruised Cathy Ames (Florence Pugh), covered head-to-toe in mud, crawls her way across the farmland to her neighbor’s house. Yet, even with that admirable ambition, the show is stuck in purgatory, always managing to stay just a little behind brilliance. In part an adaptation itself, “East of Eden” recounts the interwoven stories of two generations of the Trask and Hamilton families in the Salinas Valley, which includes the rise and fall of entrepreneurial ventures, generational trauma, the perpetual struggle between good and evil and a symbolic retelling of the Biblical story of Cain and Abel. Unlike the 1955 adaptation, which focuses on the last third of the novel, Zoe Kazan’s “East of Eden” covers the entirety of Steinbeck’s epic. Its first section covers the encounters between Ames and brothers Adam (Christopher Abbott) and Charles Trask (Mike Faist). The first episode covers the brothers’ early history and is one of the series’ best. Sweeping farmland, with muted browns that float in the wind, covers every inch of the screen. There is a wistfulness in the scenery as two brothers begin to experience the
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harshness of nature, pitted against each other by a father who barely understands them. Key to this first third is Laura Karpman’s absolutely gorgeous score. The strings almost uplift you, capturing the feeling of what it would be like to be alone in the midst of a massive field. It is a sound of hope and loneliness all in one, and it immediately pulls you into the show. The series’ second act focuses on the move to Salinas and the increasingly unhappy Ames. It becomes quickly clear that Pugh is an absolute powerhouse of a performer. Under Pugh, Ames is calculating, sad, manipulative and utterly so sweet. She brings the force necessary to embody one of literary history’s most famous antagonistic characters. Episode four, titled “Kate,” is a highlight because her performance comes alive as Ames slowly poisons her way to control a brothel. Prior to its release, one of the series’ more controversial moments was its focus on Ames. Zoe Kazan had introduced her Ames as a central figure to its story — sort of sympathetic, maybe an anti-heroine. In the series’ context, the choice is bold, yet overcomplicates Ames’ character. Yes, Ames is given a sympathetic backstory where her manipulative actions can be attributed to a childhood trauma that overhangs Ames’ life, even on her deathbed. At the same time, she remains as cold and calculating as ever, killing the same people she did in the novel. Ames may be working through past pain, but it is hard to feel sympathy when she immediately lashes out when anything goes wrong for her. After watching her choose evil after evil, it is hard to believe that she truly regrets anything in the end. “East of Eden” works best when it stays true to the original narrative. The series is apt in capturing the feel of a generational saga — of all the hurt, happiness and pain that the
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Grace Ko (CAS ’27) lauds “East of Eden” for sprawling ambition and faithfulness. Trask family have braved. In a moving final act — one that appears to stay the most true to the narrative — the Trasks fall into familiar patterns, but also break out of that cycle of pain when Adam forgives Cal (Joseph Zada). It may be a bold claim, but “East of Eden” does honor Steinbeck’s story. It may not
have the most interesting or fleshed-out ideas about the novel it is adapting, but it is certainly loyal. There is nothing wrong with realizing that you cannot beat the original source and it is only when the series gives into the beauty of Steinbeck’s story that it feels the most cohesive.
THEHOYA.COM | FRIDAY, OCTOBER 16, 2026
Beautiful Sisterhood Shines in ‘Sense and Sensibility’
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Eliana Kut
Deputy Guide Editor
One of the most anticipated Jane Austen adaptations in years, Georgia Oakley’s “Sense and Sensibility” does everything to make the wait worthwhile. Set mostly against a dusky, dreamy countryside, the film brings Austen’s beloved novel to life with stunning performances, gorgeous sets, captivating cinematography and a magical score. The story follows the Dashwood sisters — Elinor (Daisy Edgar-Jones), Marianne (Esmé Creed-Miles) and Margaret (Bodhi Rae Breathnach) — and their mother, Mrs. Dashwood (Caitríona Balfe), as they move to the countryside after the girls’ father’s death. Left with a paltry fortune, the Dashwoods must rely on the courtesy of a distant cousin, Mrs. Jennings (Fiona Shaw). While Elinor has become attached to Edward Ferrars (George MacKay), whose brother-in-law inherits the Dashwood estate, Marianne falls for the deceptive Mr. Willoughby (Frank Dillane). As more is discovered about the mysterious lives of Ferrars and Willoughby, the girls must rely on each other to bear the truth and find happiness. This is further complicated by the introduction of Dashwood’s new, staunch neighbor, Colonel Brandon (Herbet Nordrum), whose quiet kindness becomes important as the story progresses. The film is a refreshing, entertaining rendition of the novel; I was not bored for a minute. Diana Reid’s screenplay for “Sense and Sensibility” takes Austen’s sly banter and social commentary on economic dependence and develops it into something witty and intriguing for contemporary audiences. While
keeping much of the novel’s core dialogue, the film also weaves in original moments — such as Margaret’s remarks on her own prospects — that perfectly elevate the novel’s humor. Moreover, the film’s cinematography completely captivated me. The palette is beautifully breathtaking, with neutral pinks, oranges and browns becoming their own characters throughout the film. Close-up shots of fruit and animals are equally complemented by sweeping scenes of windy fields and still lakes. Austen’s characters truly come alive in surroundings as lush as the story itself. While Edgar-Jones’ and Creed-Miles’ performances are most definitely the standouts, not a single character falls flat due to casting. All around, “Sense and Sensibility” features a solid, even remarkable, ensemble. Elinor and Marianne’s characters are, as the title suggests, quite different from each other, and both are dynamic, complex people. EdgarJones and Creed-Miles bring out those nuances masterfully while portraying the complicated bond of sisterhood. Breathnach and Shaw’s performances carry much of the humor, however, and the film would feel amiss without them. The film’s score is as fantastic as the setting, and its delightful orchestration feels reminiscent of the sonic ambiance in films such as “Hamnet” and “Pride and Prejudice.” It fits beautifully with the film, and while it is not what stands out most, it complements the emotions and actions of the scenes. This adaptation of “Sense and Sensibility” definitely takes more creative liberties than
both its 1995 counterpart and the 2008 BBC miniseries. However, it does so no more than the 2005 “Pride and Prejudice” film does to its own Austen novel. The film takes what is already known and loved about the novel — mainly its characters, dialogue and setting — and makes it slightly less rigid and a little more fanciful.
There is little to dislike and lots to love about “Sense and Sensibility.” This adaptation takes the beautiful tale of familial strength and gives it new life, letting it live on for another generation. It is a film that both those who have never touched the source material and Austen fans will love, marking a successful Austen adaptation.
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The film adaptation elegantly elevates the timeless novel, writes Eliana Kut (CAS ’29).
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‘Forrest Gump’ Remains Nostalgic but Superficial Wesley Sreter Hoya Staff Writer
I have watched “Forrest Gump” more times than I can count, enough to be able to quote the “life is like a box of chocolates” monologue by heart. Even after my first rewatch in over five years, I still found myself appreciating the film’s originality, humor and emotional depth. However, I noticed some deeper implications within the film that completely flew over my head when I was younger. Many of these details occasionally cause the film’s positive point of view to be eclipsed by its simplicity. First, a moment of appreciation for Tom Hanks’ performance. His 1995 Academy Award for Best Actor remains one of the most deserved. Hanks perfectly embodies Forrest: a resilient character who charms the audience with his earnestness as he moves through war, heartbreak and loss. On my umpteenth rewatch, I noticed the sincerity of Hanks’ performance. Forrest is socially unaware and intellectually different; many other actors would have treated Forrest’s character as a caricature. Yet Hanks perfectly balances Forrest’s humor, reactions and expressions, playing Forrest without condescension. This, I realized during my rewatch, is an incredibly difficult distinction to maintain throughout a film with a runtime of over two hours. Hanks’ remarkable portrayal of Forrest shines brightest when he discovers he has a son. After reuniting with his long-lost love Jenny (Robin Wright), Hanks finds a way to perfectly embody
his naivety and misunderstanding of the world around him. When Jenny tells Forrest that her son’s name is Forrest, “just like his daddy,” Forrest innocently responds, “His daddy’s name is Forrest, too?” In other words, Forrest doesn’t immediately understand that Jenny is telling him he’s the father. What makes Hanks’ delivery so effective is how completely natural it feels — he delivers the line with genuine curiosity rather than overexaggerated confusion. Although Hanks’ performance is certainly a highlight, the film’s limitations beyond a surface look become clear. The most apparent examples are its attempts to make larger statements about society. Throughout the film, Forrest witnesses some of the most consequential moments in recent American history; yet, these events are rarely afforded the level of complexity they deserve. The Vietnam War and the consequent anti-war protests, as well as the Civil Rights Movement, are all reduced to backdrops for Forrest’s personal adventures rather than portrayed as defining moments of socio-political upheaval. While “Forrest Gump” never claims to be a historical documentary and its narrow perspective is largely intentional, reducing life’s complexities to mere adages like “life is like a box of chocolates” allows Forrest’s simplistic understanding of the world to become its own, which ignores the conflict and upheaval that defined the history it portrays. More troubling is the film’s treatment of Jenny. As Jenny embraces the counterculture movement of the 1960s, her life choices are then followed by a cycle of abuse, addiction and suffering. On the
FRIDAY, OCTOBER 16, 2026 | THEHOYA.COM
other hand, Forrest’s more traditional “American” lifestyle, including his patriotism and conformity, are rewarded with success. Though the contrast is not necessarily an explicit political statement, it suggests a simplistic interpretation of American history: those who challenge the status quo suffer, while those who accept it prosper. For a film so concerned with capturing the American experience, its reluctance to seriously explore different versions of that experience feels like a significant missed opportunity. More than 30 years after its release, “Forrest Gump” remains an extraordinary achievement
due to Hanks’ outstanding performance and an emotionally resonant story. Its unwavering optimism proves to be both its greatest strength and its most limiting weakness. At its best, it offers an inspiring reminder of the power of kindness and perseverance; at its worst, it becomes cloying and reduces complexities to cliches. Still, even when its rose-colored view of the world feels frustrating, Forrest’s incredible journey still moves you. Perhaps that is the film’s greatest accomplishment: its optimism may not always be convincing, but it remains undeniably affecting.
ILLUSTRATION BY ANISH RAJA/THE HOYA
While sweet, Wesley Sreter (CAS ’30) says “Forrest Gump” lacks political depth.
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FILM
15 Years Later, ‘Twilight’ Is Somehow Still Sucking Us In
Tanvi Gorripati Creative Director
More than 15 years after its release, a film featuring a vampire that sparkles in a sunlit meadow remains one of the most quoted, memed and fiercely defended movies of its generation. “Twilight” follows high-school student Bella Swan (Kristen Stewart) as she exchanges bright Arizona for the perpetually dark and damp Forks, Washington. There, she draws the attention of the reclusive and impossibly pale Edward Cullen (Robert Pattinson), who seems to have something mysterious simmering beneath the surface. As the two grow closer, Bella discovers what the audience has suspected: Edward is a vampire. It must be said that the writing is poor. The film is laughable, precisely when it is trying to be serious, which is perhaps why its dialogue has become such salient pop culture references. Consider Edward saying, “This is the skin of a killer, Bella,” as he glitters more brilliantly than a Swarovski crystal store in direct sunlight, or, “Hold on tight, spider-monkey,” as he jumps across treetops carrying Bella on his back. The film is obviously made for teenagers, yet that is very much part of its charm. The film’s cheesiness and melodrama closely parallel average teen experience, offering good-old entertainment that does not take itself too seriously. I would not call “Twilight” either Kristen Stewart’s or Robert Pattinson’s finest work, but that speaks more to their obvious talent in other works than the quality of their per-
formances in this film. Both do an admirable job with an absurd script and peculiar characters. Stewart plays Bella as awkward and reserved, while Pattinson portrays Edward as deeply troubled and seemingly in pain for the entire film (which is — in hindsight — exactly what Edward was going through). Where the film truly excels, however, is in its atmosphere. “Twilight” has such a distinctive color palette that aligns seamlessly with its themes and immediately draws the viewer into the story, and the result is simply masterful. While rewatching the film, I found myself constantly lamenting the lost art of color grading in the saga’s more recent adaptations. The soundtrack and score function in much the same way: a few notes and you are immediately sucked in (no pun intended). As a book adaptation, the film is largely faithful. It makes several changes but only improves upon the source material to better suit the brisker pace of a feature film. The most significant changes are to the scene in which Bella deduces Edward’s identity, and Edward’s climactic fight scene, which the novel merely relays to Bella after the fact without any real detail. Both revisions give the movie something to show rather than simply tell, meeting the demands of a film adaptation. Both the “Twilight” book and movie reshaped modern pop culture and young adult literature, paving the way for supernatural teen romances, such as “The Vampire Diaries” and “Teen Wolf.” It also altered the landscape of female-driven cinema, as the film was female-led, female-written and female-direct-
ed, a rarity for a major feature film release at the time. “Twilight” even inspired a flood of fanfiction, including the infamous “Fifty Shades” trilogy, a film franchise that grossed over $1 billion worldwide. Whatever one thinks of its quality, it is difficult to argue that “Twilight” did not change the industry. “Twilight” may not be a good film in the traditional sense: its script stumbles, the plot is thin and the supernatural romance
requires audiences to constantly suspend disbelief. Yet it knows exactly what it is, commits fully and possesses a cultural identity that most modern franchise films lack. Sometimes the most memorable films are those that take themselves a little too seriously. That earnestness is difficult to fake, and it explains why audiences still quote it, mock it and love it nearly two decades after its release.
ILLUSTRATION BY ARIA ZHU/THE HOYA
It is abundantly clear to Tanvi Gorripati (CAS ’27) why “Twilight” is an internet icon.
FILM
Fulfilling a Fangirl’s Fantasy: In Defense of the ‘After’ Series
Sophie Erlinger Hoya Staff Writer
Unfortunately, media made for and consumed by young girls is almost never taken seriously. From “I’m Just Ken” beating “What Was I Made For?” at the Critics Choice Awards to the never-ending hate from men directed at Taylor Swift, women are constantly criticized for creating art that speaks to the female experience. This is not to say I am suggesting that “After” by Anna Todd is art. However, I do think it is necessary to acknowledge the film series’ importance when analyzing the teen-fangirl cultural zeitgeist, which is a defining aspect of many women’s lives, including my own. If you’ve already heard of “After,” chances are that you have probably spent hours in middle school reading literary masterpieces by 14-year-old girls with “English as a second language.” For those who have not, “After” was originally a Harry Styles fan fiction written by imaginator1D (the username of author Anna Todd on the publishing platform Wattpad). From the story’s internet fame, Todd earned a publishing
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deal for a five-book series with a spin-off, graphic novels and a movie franchise grossing nearly 170 million dollars. The first film follows naive, rule-following, bookworm Tessa (Josephine Langford), who goes off to college and meets mysterious, British, tattooed bad-boy Harden (Hero Fiennes Tiffin). The two initially despise each other, but spark an unexpected and passionate romance that ultimately proves too good to be true. During the following four films, the pair is on-and-off, struggling with serious issues that hinder their relationship, such as childhood trauma, jealousy and familial drama. “After” is sloppy technically, featuring lackluster dialogue and exaggerated acting. With characters being portrayed by different actors throughout, the series also quickly becomes hard to follow. Even among its low-brow counterparts, “After” stands out as being of exceptionally poor quality. However, when you’re watching an adapted Harry Styles fan fiction, you cannot expect high-brow cinema. For what it is, I believe that “After” overdelivers. A film like this could be absolute garbage, but it surprisingly has some redeeming
qualities. However, I must first talk about the more questionable parts of the franchise. Within the films, there are so many moments that seem romantic and desirable, but would be embarrassing and horrific if they happened in real life. The pair fight loudly over “Pride and Prejudice” during a lecture discussion; shortly after meeting, Tessa gets in Harden’s car and he takes her to swim in a lake; they hide in the library after closing and run away unscathed from the cops when discovered. This need to suspend disbelief in the film is both its beauty and its flaw. Todd, in using classic, unrealistic tropes such as “enemies to lovers” and “forbidden romance,” addresses the delusional what-ifs that every fangirl has (embarrassingly) pondered. I — like millions of other teen girls around the world — am Tessa: inexperienced and forming my idea of love based on the stories I read and the rom-coms I consume. Thus, while “After” is absurdly far-fetched, its wish fulfillment is one of its most attractive features. Moreover, what later gives these “romantic” moments depth is the reveal that Harden was challenged to make Tessa fall in love
during an earlier game of truth or dare, calling the preceding romance into question. As a viewer, you realize the couple’s squabbles display Harden’s unnecessary and combative anger. The meeting at the lake shows how eager Harden was to make Tessa cheat on her high school boyfriend. The run-in with the cops at the library highlights Harden’s need for destruction and chaos. However, Harden is still able to redeem himself, at least in Tessa’s eyes if not the viewer’s. He writes an essay for their English class about how Tessa changed his perception of love and the teacher gives it to her. All is forgiven, which is a terrible lesson if you take it seriously. However, the film is so hard to take seriously, and so this moment does quite the opposite. Despite its faults, I will always defend “After.” The series is so uniquely made for a teenage fangirl. Though it manages to feed delusions and quench teenage fantasy, it also displays a relationship so unhealthy that it must inevitably teach an important lesson to young girls: it is better to be in no relationship than to be in one as toxic and destructive as Tessa and Harden’s.
THEHOYA.COM | FRIDAY, OCTOBER 16, 2026
FILM
‘Fantastic Mr. Fox’ Is Heartwarming for Parents, Kids Alike Cash Moore Hoya Staff Writer
“Fantastic Mr. Fox” should be the first movie you show your kids. Not much can be said about “Fantastic Mr. Fox” that has not already been said. I’ve never met someone who’s seen this movie and didn’t thoroughly enjoy it. Weirdly, about half of the people I talk to don’t know it’s an adaptation of Roald Dahl’s book of the same name. It’s the best adaptation out there because it builds on Dahl’s story with humor for every age, a rich, stop-motion style and a deeply flawed Mr. Fox, turning a simple children’s book into something with real heart anyone can enjoy. Dahl published “Fantastic Mr. Fox” in 1970, a short novel about a fox who keeps stealing from three nasty farmers until they try to dig him out of his hole for good. Wes Anderson, who read it as a kid, adapted it in 2009 for his first animated film, co-writing with Noah Baumbach and shooting
in stop motion. George Clooney voices Mr. Fox, a former chicken thief who quit the profession for his wife (Meryl Streep) but can’t resist one last job. Anderson keeps Dahl’s plot while adding plenty of his own, like Mr. Fox’s midlife crisis and his son Ash’s (Jason Schwartzman) rivalry with his cousin, Kristofferson (Eric Chase Anderson). This adaptation works so well because of the respect Anderson and Baumbach have for the viewer. Kids get funny, talking animals and a captivating heist plot, while adults get Mr. Fox and his lawyer quibbling over interest rates and real-estate financing. Plus, every swear word is swapped out for “cuss,” whether it’s a character calling something a “clustercuss” or graffiti in the background. The movie is also self-aware about the fact that it is an adaptation, opening with a shot of a hand holding a copy of Dahl’s book and the story being split into chapters like a book. Furthermore, Anderson’s signature style translates perfectly into stop motion. The meticulous framing of each object and
character in a scene makes each shot so aesthetically pleasing in an unnameable way. Each farmer gets his own introduction with a distinct backdrop, and the whole movie looks like a dollhouse someone spent years arranging. What is added to the book is probably the best part of the movie: Mr. Fox’s depth of character. In Dahl’s version, he’s simply the hero standing up to the villainous farmers. The film still makes it clear the farmers are the bad guys, but Anderson and Baumbach don’t hold back on digging into Mr. Fox’s flaws and ego. He’s torn between wanting success and the spotlight — which he passes off as his wild animal instincts — and the reality of having a family and raising a kid who doesn’t quite fit in. Indeed, the heart of the movie is a scene that isn’t in Dahl’s book at all. Near the end, Mr. Fox spots a black wolf on a ridge, the one animal he’s been terrified of his whole life. He calls out in English, Latin and French and gets nothing back. Then he raises a fist, and the wolf raises a paw in return.
Mr. Fox has spent the whole movie using “I’m a wild animal” as an excuse for his ego. The wolf is the real epitome of wildness, and it doesn’t need anyone to call it fantastic. Mr. Fox watches it go with a tear in his eye, finally okay with being a little less wild than he pretends to be. It’s quiet and strange, and I still get chills every time I watch it. My family has watched “Fantastic Mr. Fox” every Thanksgiving since I was five, and for years I thought Mr. Fox wanted to be “fantastic Mr. Fox.” I said it that way in class until a teacher corrected me during my senior year of high school: he’s not fantastic; he’s just calling himself by the title of this book. That joke only truly clicked for me when I rewatched the film a few years ago. The point of that embarrassing story is that I loved this movie long before I understood half of it. “Fantastic Mr. Fox” is one of those films that grows with you, so show it to your kids, and then keep watching it with them.
FILM
In Bleak Capitalist Hellscape, ‘Germinal’ Sows Seeds of Hope
Isabelle Cialone Senior Guide Editor
In a time that seems marked by social upheaval’s futility, it is easy to fall victim to overwhelming existential dread. Émile Zola’s 1885 masterpiece “Germinal” reminds us that, under capitalism, it has always been this way — but we must not lose hope. Claude Berri’s 1993 cinematic adaptation of the same name successfully captures Zola’s scathing naturalist indictment of industrial capitalism and retains the novel’s subdued optimism, albeit swathed in palpable grime. Given Zola’s status as the pioneer of literary naturalism, any adaptation of his novels would feel utterly inadequate without tangible realism woven into its every thread. Berri’s “Germinal” accomplishes exactly that. As former railroad mechanic Étienne (Renaud) first encounters miner Maheu (Gérard Depardieu), the audience can feel the gritty black dirt caked between Maheu’s wrinkles and smell the acrid blood, sweat and coal clinging to every pixel. From Étienne’s first descent into the shaft to the final catastrophic collapse that marks the complete failure of the miners’ strike, the tunnels close in on you and your eyes forget the brightness of light — much like Bataille, the white horse in the novel (though not the film) that works for his entire life in the mines to the point of blindness. Even without the horse to mirror the workers’ plight, the film delivers a heavy-handed condemnation of capitalist exploitation. Maheu and his wife (Miou-Miou) struggle to feed their seven children and Maheu’s father Bonnemort (Jean Carmet), whose rheumatism, silicosis and eventual dementiainduced psychosis represent the physical toll of exploitative labor. Meanwhile, the children
descend into the mines to contribute their paltry wages to the family, even as their death is spelled out in their elders’ illnesses. In stark contrast to the mines’ desultory conditions, the Montsou Mining Company’s shareholders live a disgustingly decadent lifestyle made evident through feasts complete with pheasants, towers of pastries, exotic fruits serving as decoration and satin pastel-colored gowns. Still, they insist on austerity, lowering the wages to punish the miners for a costly cave-in. As the miners realize their liberation lies in organized socialist uprising, the nearly threehour-long film unravels in a series of increasingly tempestuous conversations and rallies that compose the workers’ strike. While the build-up is engaging and understandable insofar as Berri is adhering quite faithfully to Zola’s “Germinal,” the movie drags on. However, Berri’s mimicry of Zola’s style is ultimately powerful, as he deftly interweaves sweeping, macro-level views of the mass’ collective struggle and intimate, almost voyeuristic close-ups of individual plight. In these close-ups, marital and familial tensions boil over as pressure builds. While the script is a little too on-the-nose at times, the film’s success is ultimately anchored in stellar performances. Depardieu’s Maheu subtly exudes exhaustion even as his tenacious hope grows. Moreover, as Miou-Miou’s Maheude undergoes an exorbitantly taxing, grief-stricken arc, she shoulders the film’s emotional weight and revolutionary spirit with a commanding, resilient presence. Playing Maheu’s oldest daughter Catherine, Judith Henry conveys the quiet perseverance of a girl at the mercy of society’s most evil whims, while also balancing a chemistry with Étienne that is communicated through furtive, stolen glances. Renaud’s Étienne similarly toes this line between repressed, fiery
FRIDAY, OCTOBER 16, 2026 | THEHOYA.COM
passion and intense, quiet fury that feels ready to erupt at any second. The tragedy of the failed strike hits as hard as it does because of the incredible performances and time spent building up to the final catastrophe. Beyond this, there is resoundingly beautiful hope in the thread that links the 19th-century novel to its 20th-century film adaptation and the 21st-century viewer’s world. This thread, with which the film and novel famously close, is
that of the people’s power slowly germinating in preparation for that day when “their germination would soon overturn the earth.” Perhaps that this rings as true today as it did in 1993 and in 1885 is cause for concern, but there is also some solace in this continuity. People will carry on the fight against systematic oppression with such resilience that even the abject failure of a single moment will not be enough to hinder their struggle.
ILLUSTRATION BY ANISH RAJA/THE HOYA
For Isabelle Cialone (CAS ’27), ‘Germinal’ masterfully captures the rage of Zola’s novel.
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CROSSWORD
By Luke Landegger
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32. Each 33. Zellweger of “Chicago” 35. Congressional campaign 39. Leaves in, editorially 41. Swimmers that may be electric 44. Perfumes 47. Kicking back 48. Warm welcomes 51. “Ooh-la-la!” 52. Pretend to be something you’re not, initially 53. Like some exams 54. Cover with asphalt
ACROSS
1. Like bananas that cost $0.06 more at Trader Joe’s 8. Big sister? 14. How your campus opp may live in your head 16. Spanish dish served in the same pan it is cooked in 17. Adaptation of Jane Austen’s “Emma” 18. Airborne postal worker 19. Baseball’s Slammin’ Sammy 20. Dupont Circle or Rosslyn Metro, in brief 22. Talks nonsense 23. “On the other hand…” 27. 2025 hit for Rosé and Bruno Mars 30. Adaptation of Philip K. Dick’s “Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?” 34. The Last Supper, for one 36. Toronto’s prov. 37. Hangover? 38. Spurs’ and Knicks’ starting five 40. French composer Yann whose name anagrams to “entries” 42. “Can I get an ___?” 43. UFO pilots 45. Caesar’s name, in Capri 46. Adaptation of Philip K. Dick’s “We Can Remember It For You Wholesale” 49. Soapmaking ingredient 50. Crass 52. Ruy ___ (chess opening) 55. ___-cone 56. It was designated as a classical language of India in 2014 60. One of the United Nations’ six official languages 62. Adaptation of John W. Campbell Jr.’s “Who Goes There?” 65. “Minecraft” terrain feature renamed to “canyon” in version 1.14 66. Woodworker’s support 67. Little sister? 68. Volleyball teams, e.g. 57. Like some straits 58. The “I” in MIT: Abbr. 59. Goes from 0 to 60, say 61. Chess opening? 63. Female sheep 64. “appreciate u”
THEHOYA.COM | FRIDAY, OCTOBER 16, 2026