Category: Essays

By Catherine Kenny

It is 9:00 on a Monday night, and after a day of three classes, work, and the ever-impending doom of finals on the horizon, all I can think about is what to have for dinner. I cautiously close the tabs on the old Apple computer that sits on my desk at work and go over my options. The most appealing choice, and also the least likely, is that I will order food to be delivered to my dorm in an effort to minimize the distance between myself and my bed. That idea quickly fades as I recall the delivery fees of last week’s Chicken Tikka Masala. Remembering the long list of to-dos for the evening, I decide to stop by Palladium, the dining hall closest to my dorm. I brush aside memories of headlines about food poisoning from sushi gone bad and head down Lafayette Street. It’s almost a straight shot from here, turning slightly onto Fourth Ave and again on East 14th St. 

Once I race through the revolving doors and tap my ID, I take the elevator to the third-floor dining hall. I use one meal swipe for spaghetti, bump into an old friend, and take a seat at an empty table. As I attempt to list the night’s tasks in my head, I take in the room around me – plastic tables with wooden chairs, dimly lit overhead sconces hanging from the ceiling, the quiet chatter of students, a mix of excitement, hope, and college-aged narcissism. I grab a notebook and go over notes from last week’s Writing New York lecture on Cosmopolitanism, and read, “Cosmopolitanism is defined by an additional element not essential to universalism itself: recognition, acceptance, and eager exploration of diversity. Cosmopolitanism urges each individual and collective unit to absorb as much varied experience as it can… for cosmopolitans, the diversity of humankind is a fact” (Hollinger). These qualities have been a part of my life since long before I knew how to categorize them. I recall my own working definition of Cosmopolitanism as the recognition of oneself as a “citizen of the world,” as part of a universal community. Bullet points in my notebook under “Characteristics of Cosmopolitanism” read, “self-consciousness, open conversation, representation, and an understanding of human fallibility”. Since I’m here, I recall the stories about Palladium that my great Uncle Chris, the first Cosmopolitan I knew, has told me. What is now a (mediocre at best) dining hall was once a different Palladium, a 1980s nightclub started by Steve Rubell and Ian Schrager, the creators of Studio 54. Suddenly, plastic turns to velvet, sconces turn into neon lights, and chatter turns into disco. I hear “Victim of Love,” Elton John’s voice wafting through a sea of jumpsuits, glitter, satin, and denim. My mind wanders. 

“When I got to New York, it was the height of gay and artistic culture. Bob and I would go to Palladium Nightclub on 14th and Brandy’s Piano Bar on the Upper East Side, but never Studio 54 (our friends who went called it “Studio”), which definitely had the It Crowd, but also a sea of socialite followers,” recalls Chris. When he tells me about his life in 80s New York, I can’t help but fight feelings of jealousy and nostalgia. Chris was born in New Jersey in 1950. Raised by his mother, Kathryn Collins, who owned a dance studio in Clifton, New Jersey, Chris was bitten by the performance bug. He taught at his mother’s studio until he became a member of Actor’s Equity. After that, it was New York or bust. For years, Chris commuted to the city, where he performed “lead, featured, and chorus roles in summer stock, dinner theater, touring companies, and Off-Broadway showcases” (Ascend The Stairs). He landed a job teaching professional Jazz classes at Luigi’s Jazz Center in New York, but after years of trying to break into showbiz, Chris decided to put away his tap shoes (professionally, at least) and express himself politically. While working as Chair of Manhattan Community 8, Chris met Robert Kulikowski, who worked at the Health Department, at a community meeting. After meeting again a week later at a gentlemen’s bar on East 58th Street, the two began a decades-long New York love story. The next few decades would be spent in a beautiful Chelsea apartment decorated with Don Quixote paintings and a button for each election they voted in an amalgamation of politics and arts in true cosmopolitan fashion. 

The mid to late 1900s were crucial to the history of Cosmopolitanism in New York and produced reflections of the philosophy in all genres: social, political, and artistic, to name a few. Chris grew up amid The Civil Rights Movement, The Vietnam War, Andy Warhol, and New York Yankee domination, all producing a society full of restless cosmopolitan thinkers. As Chris put it, “You had to be cosmopolitan if you wanted to make any change.” 

Back with my cold spaghetti in my wooden chair, I feel a woman tap my shoulder. “Dining hall’s closed, love. You gotta leave.” Embarrassed, I shovel a few more bites into my mouth and prepare to head to my dorm on 14th and 3rd. The chairs return, as do the sconces. There is neither chatter nor disco; the moment is over. I am brought back into the current moment and remind myself that I have to live in the present. The next morning, I wake up to the usual sounds of the city. I walk to my first class of the day, taking the route through Union Square, another hub of cosmopolitanism and my family’s history. There are vendors of all kinds set up along the park – weed, handmade jewelry, crystals, used books, you name it. A few days a week, the Union Square Market brings hundreds of buyers to the park. This particular morning, I take an extra minute to survey the large bronze portrait of George Washington centered on the South end. I can’t help but think about another prevalent character in my family’s story: my great, great, great grandfather, Matthew Maguire. 

My family’s first story of Cosmopolitanism was not my own, nor was it my Uncle Chris’. In June of 1850, my great, great, great, great grandparents Christopher and Mary Maguire arrived in New York Harbor from Ireland as a result of the Potato Famine, when “immigrants by the thousands continued to pour in” (3:45-3:49). While the ship was docked, Mary gave birth to my great, great, great grandfather, Matthew, giving him a life of citizenship and opportunity. Though, like most of my family, Matthew spent his childhood in New Jersey, specifically the Eighth Ward, he quickly began to call Brooklyn home. He moved to Brooklyn to enter the employ of the Columbia Iron Company, where he began to take part in labor agitation. Matthew took part in organizing the Central Labor Union of New York, which prioritized reforms for laborers with beginnings similar to his own, the “street car employees, brewery workers and bakers, the making of cigars in tenement houses, and the establishment of the bureau of labor statistics and factory inspection” (“Matt Maguire Passes Away”). 

The most widely known aspect of Matthew’s life, however, was his idea for setting aside a day for the “laboring man,” which would later be named Labor Day. In 1882, Matthew organized the first Labor Day parade to be held in New York City at Union Square, where he spoke about the strength and “esprit de corps” of labor organizations (“Matt Maguire Passes Away”). In 1881, he was a prominent figure in the struggle of Irish people against landlordism. He was made secretary of a demonstration held again in Union Square to support the Irish and their “no rent” strike. He turned towards a political career in 1894, was elected to the board of alderman from the Eighth Ward, and was nominated for vice president of the United States by the Socialist-Labor party. The Labor Movement was a rewarding and exclusive opportunity for Irish immigrant families like Matthew’s. Matthew and his cosmopolitan ideals were not easily accepted. Treated similarly to indentured servants, Matthew and his peers were given more privilege than people of color or women at the time but were also seen as lesser than in comparison to other communities within the movement. Repeatedly, Matthew and his peers would be turned away, scorned, or laughed at in response to their attempts at labor rights. Instead of giving up, Matthew used his unique background and cosmopolitan values to create change. 

Matthew and his successes can be described in many ways, but cosmopolitan graces are at the top of the list. Growing up during a rich cultural time in history, Matthew quickly learned the importance of a diverse community. The mid-1800s were synonymous with the growth of metropolis, specifically within New York (and, by extension, New Jersey). The lower/middle-class society to which the Maguires belonged at the time was not bound by the confines of any certain cultural demographic. This gave immigrants such as the Maguires a diverse lens through which to look at the city around them, “people were learning about each other’s cultures…and that’s what made the downtown cosmopolitanism” (4:22-4:41). Throughout his labor work and his eventual transfer to politics, he held onto the idea of being a citizen of the world. He also prioritized the cosmopolitan characteristic of constantly searching for the best way to solve problems for a diverse collection of questioned norms and responded with concrete and inclusive action.

As I leave Union Square Park, I grab my headphones and pull up my New York playlist, hearing Sinatra float into my ears. My heart swells as I pass through the ever-changing yet ever-present streets of the city. The pull towards the city I feel today is the same pull I felt years before New York was possible for me. “The settlers give it passion,” says White, and passion did I bring (White 26). Before I moved to the city, I spent hours reading coming-of-age New York novels, listening to Frank Sinatra’s “Theme From New York” on repeat, and doodling skylines during recess. This idealization of New York quickly evolved. It wasn’t until I physically came to the city that I could pursue the cosmopolitan characteristics that I’d always had – open conversation, feeling like a citizen of the world, an eagerness for diversity, and an acknowledgment of human fallibility. Through the challenges of COVID-19, Climate Change, The MeToo Movement, and The Black Lives Matter Movement headlining New York life, cosmopolitan conversation was needed, and it gave me the perfect introduction to the city and the worldview. When I moved to New York in August of 2020, I felt like I was simultaneously returning home and discovering an unknown place for the first time. Soon, my best friends were from India, Alabama, and everywhere in between. I sought to improve upon the limited history of New York, reading everything from Kushner’s Angels in America to Myles’ Chelsea Girls to Livingston’s Paris is Burning. Even more importantly, I could finally explore the physical pull of the city in addition to the ideological one. 

I quickly learned about the complexities of the city, specifically through the fact that each New Yorker is similar yet unique compared to another. I remember hearing E.B. White’s explanation of the three New Yorkers, “There are roughly three New Yorks. First, there is the New York of the man or woman born here, who takes the city for granted and accepts its size, and turbulence as natural and inevitable. Second, there is the New York of the commuter – the city that is devoured by locusts each day and spat out each night. Third, there is the New York of the person who was born somewhere else and came to New York in quest of something” (White 26). I knew right away that, though I agreed with White’s thoughts, there was more to the conversation. I knew that each New Yorker has a role to play in the city, “commuters give the city its tidal restlessness; natives give it solidity and continuity, the settlers give it passion,” but I had questions as to why New York has such a distinct pull, and what the throughline of each part is (White 26). Both answers start and end with the philosophy of Cosmopolitanism. 

So, here I stand on campus at New York University, about to enter the first class of the day. I’ve passed by hundreds of people on the quick walk. I’ve passed by new buildings and old buildings and buildings in between. I’ve passed by New Yorkers who were born here, commute here, dreamed of being here. I’ve walked by Palladium, the stomping grounds where my Uncle, the commuter from New Jersey, carefully balanced art and politics in a time of city-wide restlessness. I’ve walked through Union Square, where my great, great, great grandfather spoke on the first Labor Day, using cosmopolitan conversation to fight for a diverse universal community. I think about how much dedication and passion were needed to keep this city alive for me. 

Unfortunately, the history of New York is too palpable to ignore. New York is the crossroads of the past, present, and future. Author E.B. White writes, “No matter where you sit in New York, you feel the vibrations of great times and tall deeds, of queer people and events and undertakings… I am twenty-two blocks from where Rudolph Valentine lay in state, eight blocks from where Nathan Hale was executed, etc” (White 20). Present New York is constantly teetering between the past and the future – we mourn the city twenty years before us, and anticipate the improvements twenty years after us. When New Yorkers walk through any given neighborhood, they walk as themselves and as the culmination of every New Yorker before them. However, its ideological legacy of cosmopolitanism is as important as the city’s physicality. 

“By rights New York should have destroyed itself long ago”, White writes, “from panic or fire or rioting or failure of some vial supply line in its circulatory system or from some deep labyrinthine short circuit” (White 32). In 2020, White’s observation couldn’t have been more true; New York should have destroyed itself if not for a cosmopolitan outlook on the world. Each New Yorker, past or present, is given an opportunity to achieve Cosmopolitan values. Whether they are New York-born, a commuter, or a transplant, each person leaves behind the physical and ideological New York; an inheritance kept alive through Cosmopolitanism. White’s three New Yorkers keep the physical city alive, but cosmopolitan ideals keep the pull of the city alive. I have inherited this city (both the physical space and the ideology), and have no doubt that the greatest New York is one that strives to carry on its generational legacy through Cosmopolitanism and passion. 

 

Works Cited

Hollinger, David. “Postethnic America: Beyond Multiculturalism”. Accessed via “Writing NY Lecture Two: Cosmopolitanism and Whitman (January 25)” Post-Lecture Notes.

Ascend The Stairs, Katherine Collins Dance Studio, Inc. Informational Packet, 1960s.

Writing New York Video 2, “Contextualizing Edith Wharton.” Accessed via Brightspace.

https://brightspace.nyu.edu/d2l/le/lessons/264070/topics/8268497.

“Matt Maguire Passes Away,” Obituary Article from The Morning Gall, 1919.

White, E.B. Here is New York. The Little Bookroom, 1948. Accessed via Brightspace,

https://brightspace.nyu.edu/d2l/le/lessons/264070/topics/8247172.

 

By Zora Kings

In the world of Hollywood cinema, tropes are the unsung stars of the show. These recurring themes shape our favorite films and TV series, from lovable romances to chilling horrors. While some tropes are considered classics, such as the enemies-to-lovers romance trope and the cheesy “He’s right behind me, isn’t he?” phrase, others are criticized for perpetuating stereotypes amongst populations. 

One of Hollywood’s most scrutinized tropes is referred to as the “Minority Sidekick,” also known as the “POC (Person of Color) Best Friend.” An issue that has been around since the beginning of Hollywood until today. We see this in many films and TV, such as the eerie thriller Five Nights at Freddy’s (2023) and the corporate world of Succession (2018-2023). Characters like Jeremiah, a minor character portrayed by an African American actor in FNAF, and Stewy, an Iranian-American actor from Succession, remind us, BIPOC and LGBTQ+ communities, that although we are seeing a shift for more diversity in Hollywood, certain tropes persist. 

While iconic friendship duos like Cher and Dionne from Clueless (1995), Rory and Lane from Gilmore Girls (2000-2007), and Peter and Ned from the latest Spiderman movie series are classic pieces from our youths, they serve as perfect examples of the aliveness of the Minority Sidekick. If you are not yet aware of this trope, chances are you’ll be able to spot it in the next Hollywood film you watch. 

 

What is the Minority Sidekick trope in Hollywood?

The Minority Sidekick is a secondary character, who is a person of color or a part of a marginalized community whose main goal is to support and uplift the white main character(s). These characters are the best friends or sidekicks, offering a glimpse into Hollywood’s often problematic portrayal of diversity. 

These characters have three main characteristics:

1. They get substantially less screen time than the white protagonist(s)
2. They rarely have a storyline outside the main character. We often know very little about them, serving as a plot device with almost no agency. 
3. Their roles often perpetuate some type of stereotype, e.g., the smart Asian friend, the sassy Black girl, etc. 

Minority Sidekicks are seen as token characters for diversity. These sidekicks rarely engage in dialogue outside of the protagonist’s problems; they are there to assist the lead and simply move the plot forward while giving an illusion of racial inclusivity (NALIP). 

 

A White Hollywood

The American mainstream entertainment industry is infamous for being dominated by white talent. Diverse actors and directors rarely take part in large Hollywood movies. According to a study from 1995-2014, white directors made 89.3% of the 2,000 films that comprised the 100 top-grossing films (Kim, Brunn-Bevel, et al). The lack of diversity in movie directors is translating to a lack of diversity in casting and lead roles.

In the last 15 years, diversity in Hollywood has barely moved. Asian actors were the only ethnic group that showed a significant increase in representation, with speaking roles jumping from 3.4% to 15.9%. The rest stayed about the same. Black actors went from 13.0% to 13.4%, and Latino actors went from 3.3% to 5.2% (Dockterman). While Hollywood has made strides in diversity efforts, the industry still has a long way to go to be inclusive. 

Mainstream Hollywood fails to promote films and actors with individuals from marginalized groups. It utilizes the “Best Friend” or “Sidekick” archetype as a strategy for faking diversity while perpetuating the white status quo. In the words of Dana Polan, esteemed New York University cinema studies professor and author, “Hollywood’s seeming inclusiveness is often just a way of continuing to present whiteness as the center around which everyone else revolves… [which] allows Hollywood to have it both ways — be hip and liberal, and quite conservative and unchanging, at the same time.”

 

The Need for Diverse Representation

Diverse representation in the mainstream entertainment industry is crucial and should continue to be improved. The minority sidekick trope can leave a lasting negative impact on impressionable viewers. As an African-American woman who regularly enjoys going to the movies and binge-watching television shows, I was deeply impacted by the lack of representation in media narratives. For a long time, I believed I was destined to be a side character instead of the protagonist or the love interest. It was rare that I felt represented; I was unsure of what my story could be when my options were limited on-screen. This topic was common among my peers from diverse backgrounds. As I was one of the only Black people in my schools, I was deprived of representation. Because of this, I would turn to television and cinema. 

This harmful trope also affects talented actors who have been shunned from auditioning for specific roles. Highly gifted actress and EGOT winner Viola Davis addresses this in her brilliant memoir “Finding Me: A Memoir,” where she found herself usually auditioning for best friend roles as she was told as a Black woman that she was not a desirable lead. 

Everyone deserves to see themselves authentically on the big screen. People of color, members of the LGBTQ+ community, and other members of marginalized communities are more than a punch line or a sidekick designed to help their white peers. They are more than a side character reduced to a stereotype. Diverse populations deserve to be the main character and the love interest. They should be given the privilege to make their own mistakes, forge their journeys, and be offered the same room for growth and development as their white counterparts. 

Recognizing the importance of diverse representation in the mainstream entertainment industry and understanding its impact on shaping societal perceptions highlights the need for continued improvement of inclusivity in Hollywood. I urge readers to advocate for positive change by supporting diverse movies and shows authentically representing diverse voices and experiences, starting conversations that draw light to this issue, and advocating for initiatives to promote inclusive casting. 

Movies and television should serve as catalysts and offer a positive and empowering space for young individuals from marginalized communities and beyond. It’s time for Hollywood to break free of this tired trope and embrace narratives that accurately reflect the richness of the human experience (Kings).

By Lex Garcia

Of course the main problem with the nightclub was not the music, not the smell, not the pissy bouncer, all of which were annoyances; no, the main issue was the people. These were not the people one comes to Oxford to meet. They are, in fact, the same type of people one sees at the seedy nightclubs in American college towns. The men all have half beards. They are all between 5’7 and 6’0 but none of them are by any stretch of the imagination tall. They are not all unattractive, but not one is, in your estimation, attractive. They outnumber the girls, all of whom are dressed in the same Shein/Zara works; by about 2 to 1. The ceilings are too low, and the bars too crowded. When you go to get a drink, you stand at the end of the bar where it’s least crowded. You wait about 10 minutes for the British boy to stop harassing the bartender. He gets what he wants. You get a double vodka Red Bull, knowing it won’t improve your time there, but it’s enough to say you tried. They dance a bit better than the last nightclub you went to. At least they’re moving. The other place they were mostly just standing and swaying a bit. Still you feel the prevailing notion that everyone around you seems to just be pretending to have fun, participating in a mass role play of what they assume a fun night out to be. A poor facsimile of the ‘true’ nightclub experience, an experience you won’t be permitted to have until you’re older, wiser, richer, or get more attractive friends. No one will be pretending there. Or perhaps you just don’t like clubbing. That might be it. 

Four hours prior to this, you nurse a jungle juice at the student bar. A girl asks if you’re asexual. You say no. She says you give asexual vibes. Unfortunately that’s not the first time you’ve heard this. You say you’re not, you just have low self esteem. The people around you attempt to comfort you. “No, you’re cool.” “You have good hair.” You say thanks and get another drink, sufficiently uncomfortable. 

The concept of a student bar is alien to you. A fully functioning bar fourteen paces from your dormitory, inhabited and run solely by students. It’s a mirage, a window into a sort of collegiate world that has its shit together far better than the Americans. The students are gonna get shitfaced anyway, why not put bars in their dorms? Cut out the middleman. The drinks are ridiculously cheap as well; 4 pounds for a cocktail, 2 for shot, 1.30 for a pint. Unfortunately, as conceptually impressive as the bar is, you are still surrounded by students, students you seem to either dislike or think dislike you. 

The fantasy of visiting Oxford is one of acceptance into a higher, more sophisticated echelon of collegiate society, one American universities can only imitate. Part of you expected to be handed a cigar and a velvet smoking jacket and led to some secret subterranean student lounge with some future heads of state and descendants of royalty, trading witticisms with your fellow Mensa members in aged leather upholstery. Despite the campus’ intoxicating old world veneer, this induction into the academia illuminati does not happen to you. Instead, you smoke your third Marlboro Touch and make small talk with a string bean philosophy major: 

“Who’s your favorite philosopher?” 

“Plato” he says “he was the first philosopher pretty much.”

“I know about his shadow thing.”

“His what?”

“His shadow thing, what do you call it, the allegory of the cave?”

“Oh, yes.”

“I like that part.”

“Yeah.” 

“Do you like Kierkegaard?”

“Yeah, I haven’t read much of him, but he’s cool.” 

“Yeah I like his stuff. I don’t like Nietzsche, much too negative for me.”

“You’re telling me you’re a cigarette smoking film student from New York and you don’t like Nietzsche?”

“I am telling you that – I am not my stereotype. I’m my own person.”

He laughs politely. The conversation stalls and you both move on amicably to other partners. He goes back to his room around 10:30. Intellectual elites are a lot more boring in person. Still, he seems to be the sort of best case scenario here, the person you could most see yourself being. Of course you wouldn’t be him, even if you went here, you’d be you. But you can project onto him far easier than most of the other people here. 

You came here to meet Brits but so far you’ve been inundated with American accents. You’re visiting a friend who’s a visiting student at Oxford, and subsequently all her friends are other visiting students. Yale, Harvard, Princeton. You suppose it was naive of you to think people everywhere weren’t predisposed to sticking to their own kind. In the States, being around this many Ivy Leaguers would seem significant. You’d want to know SAT scores, essay topics, how similar it is to The Social Network. But here you don’t give a shit. Here, you’re all the same. American interlopers, the tourist class, bored of your own staleness. 

2 hours earlier, you attend a Friday night Shabbat service, partially to meet people but mostly for the free dinner. You’re not Jewish but you wear a kippah anyway; you can easily pass, you’ve been told. You meet a local Oxfordian who enjoys talking with you and John about films. You have a mutual affinity for Punch Drunk Love. He’s a sweet soul, a few years older than college age. A bit lonely maybe. Somewhat cringe but who isn’t? Is it a coincidence he’s the best person you’ve met here and he’s not a student? You duck behind the prayer barrier, as technology is not allowed, and exchange Instagrams. You follow his photography account. He offers to come down to London and see a movie sometime. You are almost certain this will never come to pass. He’s far too sincere for a place like this. 

The next day, you eat fish cakes in the harsh morning light of one of the more modest Oxford dining halls (only like, four 17th century oil paintings). Flavorless russet potatoes and broccoli are your sides. It wasn’t bad but it wasn’t good. Purely platonic food. You say goodbye to your friend and hug it out. She says there’s a ball coming up and she could find you a date if you wanted to go. You smile nervously and say you’ll think about it, knowing you won’t. You’ve had your Oxford experience, and as tempting as an ornate ball in the halls of the oldest university in the Western world sounds, it will undoubtedly still be a college party full of college students. Kids, really, role playing at what they might one day turn into, insecurely fitting their square pegs in the wrong shaped holes. Sometimes you feel like every single person in your generation is wearing the cut off skin of another person and waiting to be found out. It’s a bit uncomfortable, this skin suit of yours. That’s what you object to most. Even at Oxford, college is still college.

by Rosanna Herrera

The film industry was in a messy predicament this past year. Two major union strikes that lasted over a hundred days each halted production and press tours– disrupting box office expectations for 2023. 

Despite the majority of film industry creatives spending the summer demanding fair wages and practices be included in their renewed contracts, this past summer also saw one of the biggest cultural moments of the past five years: “Barbenheimer.” 

“Barbie” is auteur Greta Gerwig’s foray into big studio filmmaking, and when its release date fell on the same day as blockbuster-veteran director Christopher Nolan’s historical biopic “Oppenheimer,” the internet created the “Barbenheimer” double feature.

Movie-goers of all ages flocked to theaters– at AMC theaters alone, 20,000 tickets were sold in advance to see the two on the same day. “Barbie” has since grossed over $1 billion worldwide, with “Oppenheimer” close behind at around $950 million. Some went as far as saying that the phenomenon “revived cinema” in the post-pandemic age. 

The achievements of the entertainment industry– despite a rather tumultuous couple months– led to my contemplation of pop culture at large. What it looks like today and what it looked like in the yesterdays of the past. What values did we, as an always entertainment-obsessed society, want to see reflected in our favorite movies now versus, say, a hundred years ago?

Both summer 2023 mega-hit films confront existentialism (“Barbie” more overtly than “Oppenheimer”) and each can be read as critiques of today’s United States– the former, a feminist take on the country’s persisting gender inequalities, and the latter, an anti-war exegesis that chillingly reflects on the irreversible damage of the mid-century nuclear race. 

But politics and art are a pairing as common as peanut butter and jelly. Writer and director of 2017’s Academy Award Best Picture winner “Moonlight” Barry Jenkins suggested in his TIME Magazine profile that “art is inherently political.” 

I am interested in knowing if this has always been the case. And if so, how the dominant political perspectives in popular art have changed, and what they tell us about American culture and its values. 

With these contemplations in mind, I decided to go back a hundred years because a lot happens in a century. With box office numbers being a point of interest, a quick search for 1923’s highest grossing films led me to my subject of fascination.

 

Legendary Hollywood director Cecille B. DeMille’s silent epic “The Ten Commandments” was the year’s biggest box office draw, drawing in about $4 million in revenue. Adjusted for inflation, today that would be equal to around a $70 million profit. 

DeMille’s series of biblical epics concluded with his 1956 remake of the same film– but this time, it was made using VistaVision technology and Technicolor. Like its 1923 predecessor, 1956’s “Ten Commandments” became the highest grossing film of the year and one of the top ten highest grossing films of the decade. 

As it happens, the ‘56 Exodus epic was the second to last time that a film based on the Christian Bible was the top box-office film of the year. Ten years later, director John Huston’s 1966 “The Bible in the Beginning…” snagged the top spot. But after that, the only film to have broken the top 10 was 2004’s “The Passion of the Christ,” which remains the highest grossing R-rated film of all time. 

The numbers don’t lie– and they tell us that despite the early millennium “Passion” outlier, the popularity of biblical films has severely declined in the last century. Where is the Bible in the movies today? 

It’s not in the year-end highest grossing film lists, that’s for sure. 

Rather, the Bible can be found in the low budget, independent film scene. 

While the biblical adaptations of the 20th century were categorized as “epics,” the contemporary landscape of “Bible movies” are better categorized as “faith-based films.” 

The most popular faith-based films have been depictions of Protestant scripture, so I will specifically be using the histories of mostly Protestant Christians’ relationship with film to understand the contemporary landscape of faith-based films. 

Following the controversies surrounding the recent “Sound of Freedom”, it seems increasingly relevant to ponder the place that faith-based films hold in our contemporary society. The 2023 faith-based film is about a child trafficking ring and it struck a chord with major conservatives– over-performing at the box office. But more on “Sound of Freedom” later.  

In their 2011 book “Celluloid Sermons: The Emergence of the Christian Film Industry, 1930-1986,” film scholars Terry Lindvall and Andrew Quicke define five different categories of faith-based film. The first, and most familiar, is “Biblical films,” such as the epics of DeMille, and they are the most popular under the umbrella of religious films. The second category is of “missionary films” which are anthropological documentary films. These were usually made by missionaries, and very heavily leaned into the exoticism of non-western countries. They were produced with the intention to teach about the necessity of evangelizing around the world. 

Lindvall and Quicke combine the third and fourth categories, “historical” and “biographical” films, because they both involve documenting the real-life activities of churches. Most popular in the 1920s and 30s, today the recovered films are useful historical records.

And lastly, “dramatic films.” These are narrative motion pictures that focus on “life situations”– the happenings of living as a Christian. Dramatic films, as according to “Celluloid Sermons,” focus on anything from “personal, social, [to] even economic issues.” 

In my opinion, it is from the “dramatic film” category that the modern phenomenon of faith-based films has been born. However, the function of these films within the last century has changed. 

The most notable mid-twentieth century faith-based “drama films” were produced by and large by one studio: World Wide Pictures (WWP). WWP began in 1952 as the Billy Graham Evangelistic Film Ministry. Narrative films leaned into dramatizations of true-stories of Christian believers, and were the most produced by the studio. It was by “centering the sinners” in stories of redemption and salvation that Graham believed the transformative power of God would get across. The famous Reverend Graham, known for his broadcast evangelism and political influence, started the production house as a way to share the “Gospel of Jesus Christ.”  

While it’s true the films were primarily watched by religious audiences, the Graham-led studio was influential in its “four-walling” marketing techniques. WWP would buy out the rights to their films’ theatrical releases from the movie exhibitors, so that the films would play in those theaters regardless of attendance. WWP would then intensely market the films to churches as early as six months before its release, framing the viewing of the films as activities for church folk to engage in together. 

By Emily Sorkin

I had skipped my morning Prozac one December morning before college admissions came out. This was a different December for me, it was the last December I would fully spend at home before moving to university, wherever it would be. I applied to New York University for Early Decision I, knowing I could no longer stand small states and even smaller towns. I was set to find out if New York would be the city I called home for four years on December 15th. On December 12th, after eating three bowls of Gigi Hadid’s pasta and distracting myself from what would possibly, no, MOST LIKELY define the rest of my life, I began to crumble under the weight of my erratic expectations for myself and finally gave in and did the unthinkable– I made a “chance me.” 

For those who might have never experienced hair-pulling-school-related anxiety before, a “chance me” is something done during the darkest and deepest black holes of one’s adolescence by putting your sanity and self-esteem into the hands of strangers and incels online (a.k.a. people who are not on the board of admissions) who judge your grades, extracurriculars, demographics, and scores to determine if everything combined is good enough to get you into the college of your dreams. Though the concept is flawed and unrealistic, comfort comes from an unbiased voice of support who will write “Looks great! I think you are a shoo-in.” I had never dabbled in online forums before, my Mom didn’t even let me watch YouTube videos until I was 13, but I knew instinctively not go to Reddit where dreams go to die. Instead, after some digging, I found College Confidential, a safer and more pompous Reddit where overly anxious students went to comfort and judge other overly anxious 17 to 18-year-olds. 

College Confidential, whose tagline states “The Real Deal on Applying to College,” is composed of forums divided by university name. To my surprise, NYU’s forum amassed over 1,700 posts; most of which were written and replied to by the same 30 people. But between the point of my Mom confiscating my computer due to nearly breaking my thumbs refreshing the forum and me recalculating my freshman to senior year GPA, a brave College Confidential Confidante (a phrase I just coined) offered to create an Instagram groupchat for greater accessibility to new comrades. Despite having reservations about the dangers of Reddit, I had little hesitation in distributing my Instagram handle, must have been due to my somewhat underdeveloped frontal lobe (fingers crossed it fully develops soon!!). 

In this exclusive group chat, test scores were swapped, essays were read and friendships were formed… kinda. To say that the group chat in its entirety had become besties is a stretch. Still, there were four of us who began to talk outside of the digital walls and started to develop an internet friendship that only grew stronger after our combined acceptances. 

From December to our August move-in, we regularly stayed in touch, creating shared NYC-inspired Pinterest boards and FaceTiming into unholy hours of the night, careful not to wake our parents. The four of us even did something unheard of — we met IRL during freshman year “Welcome Week” and remained friends, I thought that only happened on TikTok! We bickered and fought and possibly drifted just a tiny bit as we tried to beat the homesickness and the harsh realities of college math classes but a gravitational pull kept us together until we couldn’t remember what it was like to live without each other. We survived exile, the death of loved ones, Phebe’s, first loves, heartbreak, Poco after we “matured” from Phebe’s, countless ER trips, and miraculously held each other close through a different lifeboat – an iMessage group chat titled “bro dw about me,” named after an unfortunate knee-skinning incident during a disastrous Poco run. 

We added a new member to our squad of four, now five, an honorary ex-College Confidential Confidante, but still proudly boast to strangers about how we came together almost four years ago, wearing it as a badge of honor while cautioning that our anxieties are under far more control than they were when we were wannabe angsty teenagers. 

As we enter our senior years as angsty 20-something-year-olds, I can’t help but wish there was a Post-Graduation Confidential where I could ask for a “chance us” for our fates after our four years of college inevitably come to an end. We have plans now that differ from the simple-minded ones we had four years ago; someone from the original Instagram group chat just got accepted into a Master’s program! I feel like that nervous eighteen-year-old all over again when I think about what will happen once we hang up our ugly purple graduation gowns and if we’ll lose each other to quarter-life crises and city changes. 

My friends regularly joke that I’m sappy and too sensitive (this can be proven through my writing an essay about our friendship) but I hope that just this once they can excuse it and let me take them to the ER once again for an eyeliner-related injury. In the words of Charlotte York, from one of my favorite shows “Sex and the City,” I hope they accept my proposition that “we could be each other’s soulmates”.

 

By Omar Ali and Mohamed Eleish

In the midst of New York City’s towering skyscrapers and bustling streets, it’s hard to imagine how this urban landscape could birth our love for the beautiful game of soccer – a game of wide, open fields and freedom. In a country dominated by three-pointers, touchdowns, and home runs, it’s hard for soccer fans and players like us to feel at home. Despite the presence of two MLS teams – New York City FC and the New York Red Bulls – it often feels as though soccer takes a backseat amidst the local sports culture. While iconic NYC teams such as the Nets, the Jets, the Mets, the Giants, the Knicks, the Yankees, and the Rangers enjoy widespread recognition, soccer’s representation remains overshadowed, leaving enthusiasts like us yearning for more prominence. 

Besides the lack of publicity and facilities for soccer, there’s also a lack of local events and games to get excited about. The World Cup happens just once every four years and then, it’s only for two short months. While it garners immense global attention, its presence in New York City often feels subdued compared to the annual extravaganzas of events like the Super Bowl, NBA Finals, and World Series. While its viewership rivals and sometimes even surpasses that of these annual events, the fervor for the World Cup within the city feels somewhat muted. While sports bars and fan clubs may host watch parties, the city as a whole doesn’t quite come alive with the same palpable energy and excitement that one might experience in soccer-loving regions like Europe or South America.

It’s therefore no surprise that finding fellow soccer fanatics has always been extremely difficult, especially since our high school days. Particularly as we’ve transitioned to university life at NYU, it’s been nearly impossible to find the time or energy to keep up with the sport. Besides the pricey leagues and clubs which tend to be time-consuming, there aren’t many opportunities for us to enjoy the game we grew up playing.

However, it’s not all doom and gloom for soccer lovers in the Concrete Jungle. In fact, we’ve discovered a vibrant community of New Yorkers, hailing from all walks of life, who share our deep, unwavering passion for the game. This community, known as the NYC Pickup Soccer group, has completely transformed our experience with soccer in New York City.

The NYC Pickup Soccer group is a group that organizes pickup games in various parks around the city. These games are open to anyone and everyone, regardless of skill level or experience. The group has over 11,000 members and is constantly growing, reflecting the demand for a community like this in the city.

Joining this group has allowed us to meet new people, form lasting friendships, and most importantly, play the sport that we love. It’s a diverse community, with players from all over the world, bringing a variety of styles and techniques to the games. It’s also a great way to stay fit and active in a city where fitness options can be expensive.

But what makes this community truly special is the sense of camaraderie and passion for the sport. Despite the differences in backgrounds and cultures, we all come together on the field for one common goal – to play and enjoy the game of soccer. Without a doubt, we believe that soccer breaks down individual differences. Each match is an expression of how we should behave as neighbors, friends, family members, and members of society. Every pass and every chant emphasizes teamwork and collaboration. You can’t make a ‘wave’ unless everyone in the stadium is on the same page.  We’ve also found that being a part of this community has opened up many opportunities to attend live soccer games in New York City. We’ve been to games at Yankee Stadium, Red Bull Arena, and even Madison Square Garden, when it’s been transformed into a soccer field for international matches. Being able to experience the excitement of a live game has only strengthened our love for the sport.

In a city that may not always prioritize soccer, the NYC Pickup Soccer group has become our haven. It has given us a sense of belonging and a platform to continue playing and enjoying the sport we grew up with. Through this community, we have found our own unique way of navigating the concrete jungle and indulging in our passion for soccer.

One of the most exciting developments for soccer fans in the US is the fact that the next World Cup will be hosted here in 2026. This is a huge opportunity for the sport to gain even more popularity and for  fans to experience the biggest tournament in the world firsthand. With the US, Canada, and Mexico co-hosting, it will be a truly unique and unforgettable experience. For the first time, soccer fans from across the world will be flocking to the United States to witness the thrilling games of the world cup. Perhaps this will encourage Americans to start looking into soccer and to start exploring this sport.  But it’s not just about the World Cup. More and more big-name players are making their way to Major League Soccer, bringing with them a level of talent and skill that was once thought impossible in the US. Players like Lionel Messi, Zlatan Ibrahimovic, Luis Suarez, Jordi Alba, Sergio Busquets, Wayne Rooney, and Carlos Vela have all made headlines with their moves to MLS teams, proving that the league is now a legitimate destination for top players.

The influx of these high profile players to Major League Soccer (MLS) has been largely facilitated by the designated player rule, also known as the “Beckham Rule.”  This rule allows MLS teams to sign up to three international players whose wages don’t count towards the team’s salary cap– allowing MLS clubs to attract internationally renowned talents. This rule, implemented in 2007, marked a significant turning point in the MLS, transforming it from a weak league into one that’s competitive and appealing even in the prime years of professional athletes’ careers. This transformative shift from relying on academy grown American players to relying on international star players from Europe’s most prestigious soccer leagues(e.g. Premier League, La Liga, Bundesliga, etc.) has proven to be substantial to the soccer scene here. Each star player adds not only skill but also experience from competing at some of  the world’s greatest soccer competitions (e.g. UEFA Champion’s league). Furthermore, these moves have significantly impacted MLS viewership numbers and stadium attendance rates (Rumsey). Each game featuring famous international soccer players sees spikes in fan attendance with fans hoping to witness historic plays or to admire the fact that a legend like Lionel Messi is playing in their local stadium. The arrival of players like Messi is starting to, slowly but surely, embed the MLS into the fabric of American culture.

And it’s not just about the players. The fan culture surrounding soccer in the US is also growing and becoming more passionate. American soccer fans who used to tune in to European leagues to watch their favorite players are now witnessing their favorite players in person. Additionally, the quality of play, better marketing, and significant investments in player development and infrastructure have started to attract a wider audience. Supporters’ groups are popping up all over the country, creating vibrant and lively atmospheres at games. And with the rise of social media, fans are more connected than ever, creating a sense of community and camaraderie among supporters.

But perhaps soccer isn’t as popular in the U.S. as it is in other countries because – let’s face it – comparatively, we just suck. Despite being the greatest squadron of talent within the U.S., the U.S. Men’s National Soccer Team (USMNT) has shown that it consistently falls short on the big stage. It’s no wonder why Americans don’t like soccer as much as other sports. In 2022, 2014, and 2010, the U.S. Men’s National Team was eliminated in the round of 16 – a very early dismissal. What’s more disappointing is that the USMNT couldn’t even qualify for the World Cup in 2018 – losing to Trinidad and Tobago in the qualifiers. Although you could argue that the USMNT has experienced more success domestically, within the CONCACAF region, nobody really cares. Who cares about the CONCACAF Gold Cup when most Americans are watching the World Cup? The most recent USMNT has been a team that’s been given all the resources it could possibly muster – modern facilities, top managers (e.g. Jesse Marsch, Julian Nagelsmann), and the greatest talents in the form of Christian Pulisic, Gio Reyna, and Weston McKennie. However, despite all these advantages, performances at critical moments have been underwhelming. This failure may have easily demotivated casual viewers or potential fans who were otherwise interested in following soccer more closely.  In contrast to sports like basketball or swimming where the U.S. often achieves international success and garners significant media attention, especially during events like the Olympics, the USMNT hasn’t achieved a similar level of success or garnered comparable attention from American audiences.

While there is still a long way to go in terms of catching up to other countries, the progress we have made is undeniable and we’re still optimistic about the future of soccer in the United States. With the next World Cup on the horizon and the continued growth of the MLS, we have no doubt that soccer will continue to thrive and capture the hearts of even more Americans.