Best of 2024 Film and Music

Yep, it's that time again to round up my favorite films and albums released in the past year. And if you're among the select few people who find their way to this obscure corner of the internet where I document my thoughts and creative musings on an old school Blogger site, then you probably have something in common with me, be it a shared love of film and music, compatible political views, or simply a similar obsession with creating lists and rankings to organize your thoughts. If so, then I thank you for indulging me, and I'd love to hear your own lists of 2024 favorites!

I will say that I did not have a single outstanding film that blew me away this year (though I'm still holding out for Sing Sing as a conventionally "great" movie). But though the entries on my list this year are not perfect, they each left a mark on me as films that told a compelling story in a starkly original way, enthralled me, or just made me feel something deeply. As for music, my favorite albums this year may not exactly be short n' sweet (no I still haven't listened to that album), but the selections I chose feel like some of the strongest, if not most downright iconic, releases I've heard in some time.

The following are my top five films and albums released in 2024, ranked:

Film

5. We Grown Now

This story of two young Black boys experiencing the joys and hardships of growing up in the Cabrini-Green housing complex in early 90s Chicago explores the contradiction between the attachment one feels to the community they're from and the ubiquitous American experience of always striving for better for oneself and their family. The conflict that results when one boy's family finds a way out, requiring him to both leave behind his old life and his best friend, sets the stage for a heartbreaking, bittersweet finale. There's a fair dose of heavy handed social commentary here, but it hardly seems to matter for a film with such a big heart and earnest emotional core.

4. Anora

Sean Baker's latest comes off at first glance as a modern day, adult Cinderella story about a sex worker from Brooklyn who falls in love with the son of a Russian oligarch. But that expectation suddenly disintegrates within one disastrous scene in which the titular character finds herself abandoned by her new husband and held captive by the cronies of her in-laws, who want to see the marriage annulled. What follows is an outrageous and maddening odyssey that pits a seemingly strong-willed character up against an impenetrable wall created by power and Anora's station in society. Like in Baker's previous works, the wild comedy and eccentric characters overlie more subtle, keen observations of the human condition. The crushing truth at the heart of the Anora is that sometimes even people with dreams and a fighting spirit find themselves lost and unable to break out of their current situation.

3. Kneecap

As a musical act, the Irish hip hop trio Kneecap have always towed a careful line between an earnest embrace of Irish Republicanism and parodying the more egregious and violent elements of that movement throughout its history of fighting for Irish independence from British rule. They have also found a balance between their values-driven narrative and simultaneous promotion of drug use and party culture. In short, you never really know how serious they're being, but somehow it works and you get it. In Kneecap, a semi-fictionalized narrative film about the group's origins in which the band members play themselves, they take it all on, including the politics, drug abuse, and wild escapades that characterize their story. Not only is it a thrilling adventure (think Trainspotting but with a heavy dose of Irish language political hip hop), but the film has been hailed as a rallying cry for the defense of native languages and cultures. Not bad for a few self-professed "low life scum" rappers whose music has been as controversial as it has been riveting.

2. Evil Does Not Exist

As Evil Does Not Exist opens, Takumi lives a slow life in peaceful coexistence with his surroundings in a Japanese mountain village. He chops wood, collects jugs of water from a forest stream, and teaches his young daughter how to live within the ecosystem they call home. It's only when plans for a luxury camping site to be built in the village gets introduced that things begin to change, as Takumi finds himself at the center of the controversy in the community over the proposal and the environmental impacts it will bring. The story continues to unfold at a measured pace until something snaps, like a wounded animal prodded one too many times, and the film's message is hammered home in one fell swoop. If you're not prepared for this conclusion (as I was not), this ending may leave you feeling unsettled and trying to pick up the pieces of what just happened. But Evil Does Not Exist doesn't aim to be easily digested, just as it doesn't offer easy answers to the moral questions it poses. Because, as the title suggests, there are no hard and fast morals in nature, especially when its balance has been thrown off and the peaceful existence of its inhabitants threatened.

1. I Saw the TV Glow

We all had those shows (or movies, or video games, or whatever) when we were younger that we would turn to out of boredom, a need to escape from whatever was going on in our lives, or to seek a sense of artificial connection when that connection didn't exist in the people around us. Sometimes we would spend so much time with these shows that the worlds within them felt just as real, if not more so, than our own world, and we felt as though our identity was somehow represented or intertwined within these worlds. For some people, like director Jane Schoenbrun, these shows were not just an escape into an alternate reality but a way to find resonance with their identity as a trans person when they knew that something was different about them but had not yet come to fully understand they were trans. This experience formed the basis for I Saw the TV Glow, about a teenager named Owen who becomes invested in a horror series called The Pink Opaque before it gets canceled and the girl he bonded with over the series mysteriously disappears, causing him to lose a grip on his sense of reality. Although the idea of being transgender is never directly referenced in the film, the story is an allegory about gender dysphoria and the sense of fear a trans person experiences confronting the notion of transitioning to the gender they identify with, leading some to never fully embrace their true identity. While this may sound like a straightforward idea to capture on film, it is anything but, and this is represented in the unconventional plot and tone of the film. The world inside I Saw the TV Glow, as experienced through Owen's point of view, feels surreal, like an uneasy dream where time moves unevenly and the people around you seem to be out of sync with your own movement through life. Although perhaps a strength of the film is that anybody who has ever felt like an outsider (and particularly those who have sought comfort in some form of media) can find resonance with the portrait of isolation it so vividly paints, the method is meant to be very specific to the trans experience. Schoenbrun has stated their desire to "build a genuine trans vocabulary" through film, because trans experiences have had such narrow representation in the film industry thus far. That vocabulary may at times be confounding to people who don't identify as trans, but that's precisely why movies like I Saw the TV Glow so desperately need to be made. Because media does have power in helping people find acceptance in their identity, and creating more films that are specific to the trans experience that can't be told by cis people is one way of broadening acceptance of all people of marginalized identities in our society.

Albums

5. What Now - Brittany Howard

The title of Brittany Howard's second solo album could be an exclamation of exasperation at life's ongoing string of misfortunes, a declaration of confident defiance, or a signal of creative restlessness, searching for the next musical idea to try out. Really, it's all three. On What Now, Howard boldly probes an array of frustrations and anxieties through an eclectic range of genres, seamlessly moving between soul, funk, rock, and electronic stylings. She may be "all out of rainbows," as she laments on the punchy closer "Every Color in Blue," but her artistry is more vibrant and colorful than ever before.

4. Loss of Life - MGMT

MGMT have long flirted with darkness and death in their lyrics, from imagining themselves succumbing to their party lifestyle by choking on their vomit in "Time to Pretend" to frankly and unsympathetically imagining someone's death in "When You Die." However, this macabre lyricism has usually been tongue and cheek and buoyed by the band's bizzarro psychedelic pop instrumentation. So as MGMT sing about death and the anxieties of daily life in a somewhat more restrained, serious fashion on Loss of Life, their first album in six years, some might feel a bit taken aback or even disappointed. But although the album may lack the pop hits and sonic exploration of their previous efforts, the more mature, soft-rock-leaning songs here hit a sweet spot for me. In particular, some of the more expansive and slow burning tracks, like the the epic Sisyphean lament of "Nothing Changes" and the gorgeously haunting closer "Loss of Life" about coming to terms with one's death, are some of the band's most emotive and moving works they've produced to date. It may be that with Loss of Life, MGMT have grown up and settled down a bit, but as they have proved across five distinctive albums, they are nothing if not true to themselves as purveyors of unique and captivating works of art.

3. Brat - Charli xcx

Okay, let's get this one out the way. We all loved it. We all had a brat girl summer. It was the perfectly pitched pop album that was infectious and cool enough to make it a viral internet sensation, was musically innovative enough and had enough lyrical depth to win over critics, and had smart enough marketing to make it a commercial hit and inspire aesthetic trends (anything lime green is now automatically "Brat"). And because apparently being a brat now evokes empowerment and living a happy, carefree live in spite of one's imperfections, here's to embracing brattiness again in 2025.

2. Cowboy Carter - Beyoncé

It's impossible to deny the cultural power of Beyoncé and this year she made major waves with her epic country-themed album Cowboy Carter. Conceived as a response to racist claims that she didn't belong in the genre after she performed at the Country Music Association Awards in 2016, the album imagines a reinvention of country music in America by paying homage to the overlooked contributions of Black artists throughout its history and putting her own spin on country and folk music through a diversity of tracks blending old and new influences. Like her 2022 album Renaissance, which paid tribute to the Black progenitors of dance music, Cowboy Carter is undeniably a landmark contribution to today's musical landscape. It's also a more personal album for Beyoncé, taking inspiration from her roots in Texas where country and western culture had a major impact on her upbringing. And while, at 78 minutes and 27 tracks long, the album feels a bit bloated and unwieldy compared with the more tightly focused Renaissance, even this feels like a statement, emphasizing the breadth of Black influences on country music and the many possibilities that a more diverse understanding of the genre could open up. With the album inspiring a wave of new interest in country music and widespread cultural conversations on diversity in the genre, that reinvention imagined in Cowboy Carter may well already be underway.

1. As It Ever Was, So It Will Be Again - The Decemberists

The Decemberists' ninth studio album plays out like both an overview of the band's career and a history of humanity itself. The first half of the double LP focuses on the folk-oriented sound and lyricism infused with historical themes from decades or centuries past that the band has built their repertoire on. Included here are songs about the ubiquity of labor in making society run ("The Reapers") and the ill fate of those who are deemed criminals and rounded up by the police ("The Black Maria"). The second half transitions into the more modern indie rock the band has explored in recent years, centered on the rousing track "America Made Me," where singer and songwriter Colin Meloy explores his complicated relationship with his home country. Finally, the album concludes on the 19 minute "Joan in the Garden," inspired by a book Meloy read on Joan of Arc but which imagines him attempting to place himself within the world of that 15th century French hero to write a song about her. Finally finding the divine inspiration he needs, he proclaims, "As it ever was, so it will be again," and the cycle is complete, from past to present and back to the past again. The strength of The Decemberists' music lies largely in this idea, that the struggles and dramas of the past remain relevant today because times change but human nature does not. In that sense, their sweeping new album is both timeless and contemporary, an epic for the ages.

The Undead of County Cork

One of my favorite things about traveling is being able to immerse myself in a new place and learn about its culture, history, and politics. When I found out I would be going to the south of Ireland, near the city of Cork, for a family vacation this year, I knew I wanted to write something about it, but I had never been to Ireland before and knew little about the area. During this time one of the biggest things on my mind was the war in Gaza. As we were preparing to leave in early May, the war had been stretching on for seven months with no end in sight, well over 30,000 Palestinians had been killed (many of which were women and children), and Israel was threatening a full-scale invasion of Rafah in southern Gaza, where many displaced Palestinians were sheltered. Meanwhile, in the US and other Western countries, months of escalating pro-Palestinian protests had entered a striking new phase with an explosion of encampments appearing on college campuses, with students demanding their institutions cut financial and other ties with Israel and do more to support Palestinians on campus. Doing a writing project at this time seemed like an unprecedented opportunity to document a major unfolding global event, so I decided to focus on the impacts of the war in Gaza on daily life in Ireland, something I genuinely didn’t know much about.

At first it seemed like Ireland and Palestine were quite disparate subjects to combine. But as I began to do some research in advance of the trip, I swiftly realized that not only was I wrong in this assumption, but that exploring this topic would necessitate I dive deep into Ireland’s complicated and tumultuous history. For Ireland is a country that is deeply familiar with war, struggle for freedom from colonial occupation, violent sectarian conflict, and famine; and the inescapable collective memory of these events goes hand-in-hand with the way the Irish perceive the conflict between Israel and Palestine.

The following eight vignettes encapsulate my findings from this project. I hope you'll enjoy learning about this topic in much the way that I did – through observations of my surroundings, inscriptions on signs, street art, and even music – and perhaps you will come to your own conclusions, separate from mine. Like my last observation project, Holiday, which explored leisure seeking on a trip through Norway and England, all the scenes here are based on actual locations I went to and things I witnessed but many of the details are modified for artistic purposes, particularly dialogue. Although the piece should be able to generally be understood on its own, I have provided some additional notes on background, context, and sources at the end.

As I prepare to post this, I am dismayed to find that the situation in the Middle East is somehow even worse than when I set out to do this project. The war has now shockingly passed the one year mark with still no clear end in sight, more than 44,000 Palestinians have been killed, and Israel has expanded its unhinged aggression into Lebanon, Iran, and Syria. The US under the Biden administration has been Israel's number one ally in its genocidal war, providing a consistent stream of military aid and diplomatic cover to carry out its atrocities. There are fears that under the incoming Trump administration Israel will enjoy even greater impunity in its actions. My hope is that, by presenting the case of a Western country that feels a sense of connection with the plight of the Palestinian people, this piece will shed some light on a more humane pathway forward that through generations of struggle may one day be realized.

County Cork, Ireland, May 2024

1.  West Cork Model Railway Village, Clonakilty

On the bustling village streets, townsfolk are going about their daily business. Pale-faced men and women roam about carrying large brown sacks, containers of milk, and baskets of fish. Some stand outside the storefronts of brightly colored buildings next to wooden carts holding market goods, endlessly watching the world go by. There are animals too – cows, sheep, pigs, horses, and donkeys – milling about as if just part of the crowd. Alive and yet frozen in time, they are all indelibly part of the landscape here.

Two giants appear, gazing over the scene. It is an elderly couple taking a stroll amongst the miniature replica of 1940s-era Clonakilty. After pausing briefly, they continue making their way along the stone pathway around the two-foot-high model buildings. Somewhere traditional Irish music is playing from a speaker, and droplets of rain flicker down from an overcast sky. 

Next they come across a model of a two-story stone building sitting on a slope just beyond the tracks of a working miniature train that chugs by every so often, encircling the outskirts of the village. A sign alongside the pathway with the heading “Michael Collins” provides context:

Michael Collins was born in 1890 at Woodfield just outside of Clonakilty. At the age of 16 he went to live in England, where he became involved in Irish Nationalist Organizations. He returned to Ireland to fight in the Easter Rising of 1916. Thereafter, he was deeply involved in Nationalist activities, supplying arms and ammunition to Volunteer forces fighting for Irish Independence. He was at the centre of an extensive intelligence network, which kept him informed of British plans. In 1921 he was a member of the delegation which negotiated the Anglo-Irish Treaty which established an Irish Free State. After the outbreak of the civil war between Pro and Anti- Treaty forces in June 1922, Collins was killed in an ambush at Beal Na Blath.

The model here depicts the Collins homestead at Woodfield. Though his father died when Michael was only six years old and his young mother only eleven years later, his hard working, energetic, and educated parents afforded him a happy childhood, nurturing both intellect and physical abilities. At his birth, his father predicted he would “achieve great things for Ireland” and he remains one of our national heroes today.

Standing just outside the front door of the model home is a crude Michael Collins figurine in full military dress. His skin is cold white and his posture unnatural, seeming to defy gravity as he tilts heavily to one side. Still, he watches stoically over the village from the elevated vantage point, undying in his commitment to and love for his homeland. 

As the elderly couple move along, two young men appear from inside a building next to the model village. One of them points out a broken light fixture that needs to be fixed. The daily work of maintaining the story of the village goes on.

2.  Kinsale

In a small square adjacent to a bright harbor filled with dozens of sailboats, a crowd of about twenty stand listening to a tour guide. An upper-middle-aged man wearing a tie and an Irish flat cap, he projects his voice over the crowd in an authoritative, yet friendly tone:

“Well in the fifteenth, sixteenth, seventeenth centuries, this harbor here, Kinsale, was the most important natural harbor in the whole coastline in Ireland – by far the most perfect in an age of sailing ships, and sails ruled the waves. Countries with great fleets were great powers in their own right, and the Spanish Empire was one of them. In 1601, the very last Spanish Armada ever to sail sailed into this harbor here, with the idea of linking up with the clans from the northern part of Ireland. The clans thought that by allying, they could drive the English out of Ireland and take liberty for themselves. The Spanish sailed in here 1601 and 5,000 camped within the town. The English surprised them with 10,000 forces on the high ground. Approximately 6,000 Irish clansmen come downstream to link with the Spanish – they can’t link up. The English have the high ground – they dominate the Spanish completely and send the clans fleeing. It’s a rout. Bad day for Ireland, dreadful. It led to the decline of the old Gaelic order in Ireland and the Flight of the Earls. No resistance in Ulster in the north, so the English could go ahead with what was called a Plantation of Ulster. Irish people driven off their lands; those lands planted then with settlers from England and from Scotland.

"That was a huge shock for the English. They suddenly realized the significance of this perfect harbor, Kinsale, on their doorstep. To rule the waves, they had to secure the harbor, and they invested in this enormous fort, Charles Fort, which you can visit today. Star shaped, state of the art, 17th Century, huge. For four centuries, this fort was one of the principal strongholds of Britain in controlling Ireland. A thousand troops were based here until 1922. It was then that Ireland had won its independence, with Northern Ireland being partitioned off and remaining part of Britain, and Britain finally gave the fort back to us. But when people ask me how can Northern Ireland be still part of Britain, I tell them, ‘1601, Kinsale.’”

Next to the spot where the group has gathered is a popular bookstore, and, at this point, a few curious patrons coming out of the store have joined the crowd to listen in. Despite being a small, hole-in-the-wall type business, the bookstore is a favorite among locals and tourists alike. Inside the shop windows sit a selection of books by Irish authors and a couple of slightly faded signs on printer paper. With the Palestinian flag serving as a background to the text, their messages read “10,000 CHILDREN KILLED IN 100 DAYS” and “FORCED STARVATION IS A WAR CRIME.”

“You see,” the tour guide continues, “as we see in other places around the world, the history of a place is often defined by those who conquer the land – or, sometimes, those who are able to successfully resist the would-be conquerors. Imagine for a moment if that battle here in Kinsale had gone a little differently and the Spanish were able to hold the harbor. Perhaps the English could’ve been driven out of Ireland for good. No more wars over the next four centuries, no subjugation of the Catholic nationalists, and no civil unrest during the Troubles in the late 20th Century between those who wanted Northern Ireland to stay part of Britain and those who wanted it to leave. Ireland may have had a much less tragic history. Or, maybe, Spain would have seized the opportunity to gain its own foothold in Ireland, and I would be speaking to you today in Spanish instead of English. Now how’s that for a history lesson?”

A few people in the crowd respond with a thoughtful nod. Others stare blankly back at the man. “Alright,” the tour guide says, “on to the next spot.”

3.  Cork Airport

A woman of about thirty years old paces slowly through the front lobby of an airport, allowing her eyes to wander towards whatever might capture her attention for a few minutes. After looking briefly at the front covers of a selection of magazines outside a small coffee shop, she checks the time on her phone then wanders on.

She comes to a photography exhibition set up on a series of makeshift walls in the middle of the lobby. Passing by the photos one by one, she finds that most are images of lighthouses and crashing waves. Apparently the photographer has a thing for seascapes – a little basic. The last two photos in the exhibition are a bit different. They offer views of a large metallic sculpture depicting a ring of feathers pointing upwards and arranged in a bowl-like shape. A little more interested, the woman pauses to skim the description:

“Kindred Spirits” is a large stainless steel outdoor sculpture in Bailick Park, Midleton, here in Cork. Commemorating the 1847 donation by the Native American Choctaw People to Irish famine relief during the Great Hunger, despite the Choctaw themselves living in hardship and poverty and having recently endured the “Trail of Tears.” When the Choctaws became aware of the famine, they gathered $170, the equivalent to $4,400 today, and sent it across the Atlantic Ocean to feed the starving nation of Ireland.

The twenty foot high sculpture was designed by Alex Pentek, who chose the empty shape of a bowl to symbolize the empty bowls of the 1 million who perished during the famine. It is made up of nine round tipped eagle feathers, modeled after those used in Choctaw ceremonial dress, to symbolize the fragility and strength of this act of compassion towards strangers, raising up against adversity. Pentek also said that it was important to him that the piece should be hand-tool finished to give a human element to his work, to show the humanity and dignity of the two nations’ combined histories.

The memorial was commissioned by Midleton Town Council, and was unveiled and dedicated in June 2017 by Chief of the Choctaw Nation Gary Batton…

“Enjoying the artwork, are we?” comes the voice of a young man of about the same age wearing a backpack and rolling a small suitcase behind him.

“Ah, there you are!” the woman replies and gives him a quick embrace. “How was the flight. Good?”

“Yeah, yeah, easy and gentle.”

“Did ya get me a souvenir?” the woman asks as the two make their way towards the lobby exit.

“Huh?” the man responds, slightly caught off guard.

“Traveled halfway across the world, surely you brought me something back,” the woman prods him teasingly.

The sliding lobby doors close gently behind as they exit into the crisp, cool air.

4.  Cork

Along a murky river weaving through the city, people pass in busy succession. A stream of cars goes by, punctuated by large double-decker buses. Pedestrians wait for a walk signal at a nearby crosswalk, and from there often cross over the river on a bridge to go towards the city center.

Against the backdrop of the dull gray sky and a drab beige building next to the river, a softly glowing baby blue mural sticks out to all who pass by. Colored like the sky on a clear day and framed on the top and bottom by wispy white clouds, it presents a simple message on bold text: “If I must die, you must live to tell my story…”. Below this, the words are translated into Arabic in smaller text. To some, this line may be instantly recognizable from the viral poem by Palestinian writer Refaat Alareer, which he posted to his social media mere days before his death from an Israeli airstrike in Gaza. To others, it may still resonate in its powerful, if slightly macabre, poignancy.

Few passersby acknowledge this mural with more than a brief glance. However, to locals at least, it is nothing far out of the ordinary. Not far down on the other side of the river is a well-known Palestinian restaurant, Izz Cafe, and the area is lined with a variety of other pro-Palestinian street art and graffiti. On one wall next to the restaurant are two posters featuring black and white images of figures in distress with red blood splattered across their faces. One image is of a boy of about ten years old with his eyes closed and head held back, crying; the other is of a woman wearing a hijab who is caressing a small child in her arms. Superimposed on each of the images is a gray mute symbol, and at the bottom of the poster of the boy are the words, “CAN YOU HEAR US?”

The world goes on: a man talking enthusiastically on his phone passes through the crosswalk, another man hurriedly follows after him before the walk sign goes off, a crowd of tourists passes by the mural, an Asian couple stops to take pictures along the river, a group of teenage boys in all-black athletic clothes sit out on some stairs leading down to the road, pigeons peck at the ground for scraps of food next to the bridge, and somewhere a child looks to the sky and sees a kite like an angel, bringing hope in dark times.

5.  Clonakilty

It’s Saturday and the sun is out. People fill the tables outside a café on a small square between two roads that merge into one. At the tip of this intersection is a large tree with blossoming white flowers, surrounded by a concrete border a few feet high. Here, a thin middle-aged man sits playing gentle tunes on a teal-colored electric guitar. 

In the center of the square is a limestone statue of an Irish soldier atop a large pedestal. Plaques around three sides of the statue give a dedication:

To the memory of

The men who fought and fell at

The Battle of the Big Cross

19^th June 1798

 

They rose in dark and evil days

To right their native land.

They kindled here a living blaze

That nothing shall withstand.

 

Then here’s their memory – may it be

For us a guiding light.

To cheer our strife for liberty

And teach us to unite –

The soldier atop the pedestal holds a long copper pike and looks off into the distance, perhaps scanning the horizon for his British foes. Though there is no life left in his stone-covered eyes, he has maintained this poised position for well over a century, as if possessed by some eternal supernatural force.

In just a few short hours this square will be filled with something other than midday coffee-goers. A small restaurant across the street displays a poster with the words “Clonakilty for Gaza Candlelit Vigil” and “Every Saturday at 5 pm.” In the center is an illustration of a candle with two flags streaming out from behind it, a Palestinian flag and one bearing the red and green colors sometimes associated with the town of Clonakilty. 

As the afternoon wears on, the guitarist continues to set the mood for patrons on the square, sliding now into a soft cover of Queen’s “We Are the Champions.”

6.  Inchydoney Beach

Taking a moment to catch up with the news of the day, Aisling scrolls through her Instagram feed. Her friend Steven sits by her side on the sandy beach tossing a small leather ball up in the air and catching it again. Finally, Jack arrives, panting as he makes his way down the stone steps leading from the road above. “Alright, here I am with the hurleys,” he says, indicating towards the three wooden sticks clutched between his left arm and his chest. He plops down on the sand to catch his breath. Steven gives him a dry, “Welcome,” less than enthused at his tardiness.

Aisling, still engrossed in her phone, looks up at the other two and remarks, “Did you hear they started an encampment at UCC?”

“Where?” Jack asks.

“On the Quad, where else?” Aisling responds, then follows determinedly with, “We should go.”

“And do what?” Steven questions indifferently. “We’ll just be sitting around for hours on end with the rest of them, as if something will change. When would it ever end?”

“That’s the point of an encampment, silly. You occupy a space in the middle of campus so the administration can’t ignore you, however long it takes, until they agree to cut ties with Israel.”

“Ah, they’ll just set the Garda on them,” Jack posits. “It’ll be gone by tomorrow.”

“That’s only in the States where they’ve been doing the raids and arresting students,” Aisling shoots back.

“Then it sounds a little dull to me,” Steven remarks facetiously.

“And what do you propose then?”

“Do it like they did during the Troubles – throw stones into windows, loot some stores in the city, set a few things on fire... Then they’ll listen, I guarantee you.”

“You’re an idiot,” Aisling responds, shaking her head. “Peace can’t be achieved through more violence. It’s a day-to-day process of changing hearts and minds.”

“Hey,” Steven says, raising his hands in the air, “just saying, sometimes you gotta get a little rough with people if you want them to listen. Make ‘em a little scared. Whatever it takes.”

“Just like I’ll do whatever it takes to put some sense in to ya,” Aishling says, grabbing one of the wooden hurleys and lifting it above her, as if preparing to swing it at Steven.

“Guys!” Jack interjects, “Are we gonna play some hurling or not? It’s getting late and the tide is coming in.” 

The crowd at the typically busy beach has indeed started to thin out a bit for the day, and a large party or surfers is now filtering in from the sea to change out of their wet suits and head home.

“We’ll go to the encampment tomorrow,” Aisling insists. 

Without responding, Steven grabs a hurley and jumps up, with Jack following suit. He places the leather ball on the flat end of the stick, ready to hurl it towards Jack. Aisling takes a moment to turn on some music on her phone. She opens her Spotify app and navigates to a playlist titled “songs to live/die by” then sets it to shuffle mode and starts the music.

As the three friends begin passing the ball back and forth, Dolores O'Riordan’s haunting wail reverberates through the craggy walls and sandy floors of the beach:

Another mother’s breakin’

Heart is taking over

When the violence causes silence

We must be mistaken

 

It’s the same old theme

Since nineteen-sixteen

In your head

In your head

They’re still fightin’

 

With their tanks

And their bombs

And their bombs

And their guns

In your head

In your head

They are dyin’

 

In your head

In your head

Zombie

Zombie

Zombie-ie-ie

7.  Between Courtmacsherry and Cork

Cutting through hilly green pastures and seaside villages, the taxi driver takes a standard early morning route for transporting vacationers from Courtmacsherry to Cork Airport. Val Murphy (as the name card on the dashboard reads), a square-faced man with a graying beard, has been driving such routes for a living for half of his life, and knows them well. But even the lush beauty of Ireland can get redundant at times, so he tries to occupy his mind however he can. His passengers today, a mother and adult son, are not too talkative – likely tired from the early rise – so he punches the radio on to catch the morning headlines. The voice of a female newscaster comes on.

“…Despite the emotional release of the eight rescued Guillemots, forty of the seabirds were found dead along the shore and a further thirty had to be euthanized due to the impacts of the oil. The source of the oil spill has yet to be determined, though investigators believe the pollution was discharged into the Irish Sea from an area well beyond the Irish coast.

“We go now to today’s top story. Ireland will formally recognize an independent state of Palestine, Taoiseach Simon Harris announced this morning. The announcement was made in tandem with the governments of Spain and Norway, who similarly declared their intention to recognize a Palestinian state. Ireland’s recognition of Palestinian statehood will come into effect next week on May 28th. In announcing the decision, Harris characterized Ireland’s recognition of Palestine as a step towards peace in the Middle East, and an affirmation of Palestinians’ right to self-determination, independent statehood, security, and dignity – at times drawing on Ireland’s own struggle for independence.”

The Prime Minister’s voice comes through over the radio broadcast: “This is an historic and important day for Ireland and for Palestine. From our own history we know what it means – recognition is an act of powerful political and symbolic value. Taking our place on the world stage and being recognized by others as having the right to be there was a matter of the highest importance for the founders of our state. Recognition of Palestine’s right to statehood is the first step towards the establishment of a two-state solution between Israel and Palestine, which we believe is the only way out of the generational cycles of violence, retribution, and resentment.”

The newscaster continues, “The announcement immediately drew the ire of Israel, who said the decision undermined the country’s sovereignty and security. Dana Erlich, Israel’s ambassador to Ireland, was recalled from Dublin by foreign minister Yisrael Katz, with similar action taken against Spain and Norway. The Biden Administration in the US also signaled its disagreement, saying that while each country can make its own decision on whether to recognize a Palestinian state, President Joe Biden thinks direct negotiations by the parties is the best approach. We’ll be back with further details and reaction to today’s momentous announcement after this short break.”

Val Murphy turns down the radio. They are starting to enter heavy traffic as they near the city. As he drives, he reflects on the words of Taoiseach Harris referencing Ireland’s long, tumultuous history. He wonders how many significant people – famous politicians, artists, freedom fighters – have taken the same roads he drives every day. Perhaps some of them rode in a taxi with a trusty driver like himself. For a fleeting moment, he feels truly part of history.

8.  Galley Head Lighthouse

A gleaming white lighthouse stands atop a cliff lined with striking, jagged rock formations. On the other side, fields of stunning green lead inland. Despite its antiquated look, when the lighthouse was built nearly 150 years ago, its state of the art technology made it one of the most powerful in the world. In clear conditions, its light could reach 16 nautical miles out to sea, providing a guiding light to sailors all along the nearby coast.

Presently, a bolt of lightning pierces the view from the lighthouse. There is a storm raging somewhere far off the coast. The people of this land have weathered many storms of their own. Like undead specters, the scars of these storms continue to haunt the land. Yet, there’s power in resilience, and each struggle overcome has led to greater wisdom and collective pride.

Now, as the rumble of thunder far beyond the shore grows ever more violent, the Irish hope to provide a powerful light in the darkness once again.

Notes

2.  Kinsale

• While in Kinsale we came across a tour guide speaking to a crowd, however I didn’t get to stick around long enough to pick out much of what they were saying. Instead, the speech here is adapted from the words of a tour guide named Don Herlihy (who may well have been the tour guide we saw) from an episode of Rick Steve’s Europe that features a segment on Kinsale. Here, Herlihy discusses Kinsale’s role in the colonization of Ireland by the British, which is similar to what I remember catching a snippet of in person. Although not discussed here, it’s worth noting that in addition to colonizing Ireland (and many other areas of the world), Britain played a major role in the development of the modern colonial occupation of the Palestinian region. In 1917, Britain issued the influential Balfour Declaration announcing its support for the establishment of a "national home for the Jewish people" in Palestine. In 1920, Mandatory Palestine was established, in which the British occupied and controlled Palestine until the establishment of Israel within the region in 1948. Ireland won its independence from Britain in 1921, just as the British were beginning their occupation of Palestine, and many of the same people and practices were involved in administering occupation of both regions around this time period.
• After just 100 days since the outbreak of the Israel-Hamas war on October 7th, 2023, the Palestinian Ministry of Health had reported that of nearly 24,000 people killed in Gaza, 10,000 were children under the age of 18, with many more presumed dead under the rubble. 

3.  Cork Airport

• The photos in the exhibition described and shown here are by County Cork based photographer Jayne Burke.

4.  Cork

• Apparently anticipating his own potential demise in Israel's assault on Gaza, Palestinian writer and professor Refaat Alareer shared his poem “If I Must Die” on social media in the weeks leading up to his death in an Israeli airstrike on December 6th, 2023. Although originally published in 2011, the poem took on added significance in the context of the present genocide in Gaza and Alareer's death, and it has since been shared widely and translated into numerous languages. In the poem, Alareer asks the reader to construct a kite upon his death so that a child in Gaza will see it flying and “thinks for a moment that an angel is there/bringing back love.” Kites are a symbol of Palestinian freedom and resistance. The mural in this scene (the Refaat Alareer Mural, created by local artists and activists) also features an image of a boy flying a kite with the colors of the Palestinian flag. Some of Alareer’s comments while under bombardment by Israel drew controversy, particularly in Western media, including describing the October 7th Hamas attacks on Israel as “legitimate and moral” during a BBC interview in the immediate aftermath of the attacks. However, he has been generally revered in the pro-Palestinian movement since his death due to his contributions as a Palestinian academic and the powerful resonance of his poem “If I Must Die.”
• The posters described and shown here with mute symbols superimposed over images of figures in distress are from the project Unmute Gaza, which has invited artists to create artworks based on images taken by photojournalists in Gaza since the outbreak of the current war there. Text under the image of the boy crying says, "Based on an image by photojournalist Belal Khaled, Gaza, November 8, 2023." Text under the image of the woman caressing the child says, "Based on an image by photojournalist Belal Khaled, Gaza, winter 2023-24."

5.  Clonakilty

• Despite the celebratory nature of the statue in this scene, The Battle of the Big Cross was a decisive defeat for Irish forces during the Irish Rebellion of 1798 against the British. The battle was fought approximately four miles outside of Clonakilty at a local crossroads known as the “Big Cross.” The Irish rebels, consisting mostly of local peasantry, were lightly armed and easily defeated by British forces here. The soldier depicted in the statue is the commander of the Irish in the battle, Tadhg an Astna O'Donovan, who was killed during the engagement.

6.  Inchydoney Beach

• This scene is almost entirely fictionalized, however, an encampment did start up at University College Cork (UCC) around the time we arrived in Ireland. The demands of the students included for UCC to take political action to support Palestinians, withdraw from partnerships with ties to Israel, divest from Israeli companies and companies profiting from the occupation of Palestine, and provide more support for Palestinians at the university. The students ended their encampment on June 26th after reaching an agreement with the university that included steps towards greater transparency and ethical standards in relation to the university's ties with the Israeli occupation of Palestine, though the campaign noted that their work was “far from over.” This relatively sanguine resolution stands in stark contrast to in the United States, where many peaceful student encampments were brutally raided by the police.
• The song “Zombie” by the Irish band the Cranberries was written in response to a bombing by the Provisional Irish Republican Army (IRA) in Warrington, England in 1993 that killed two children and injured 56 others. As part of the period of civil unrest in Northern Ireland from the late 1960s to 1998 known as the Troubles, IRA paramilitary forces carried out a bombing campaign in their efforts to end British rule in the region and reunite Northern Ireland with the Republic of Ireland. The IRA is sometimes seen in Ireland and the UK as a rough analogue to Hamas today due to the terrorist strategies they used and their political aims. The Cranberries meant “Zombie” to be a protest song against the IRA bombings, however they did not see it as a political song so much as an emotional response to the use of violence to achieve political aims and the senseless cruelty of war in general. Dolores O'Riordan, the lead singer and lyricist of the Cranberries, tragically died in 2018 after drowning in the bath due to alcohol intoxication.

7.  Between Courtmacsherry and Cork

• The words in the radio broadcast in this scene are constructed from an amalgamation of news reports from varying sources, which are listed below:
• The Irish Times: Guillemots affected by oil spill being released back to sea
  
• Irish Mirror: Nature minister 'emotional' as wildlife volunteers release 'oiled seabirds' back to wild after treatment
  
• Al Jazeera: Norway, Ireland, Spain to recognise Palestinian state
  
• BBC: 'Important step' as Ireland recognises Palestinian state
  
• Democracy Now!: Ireland, Norway & Spain Announce Recognition of Palestinian State
  
• The Irish Times: Harris says Ireland’s recognition of Palestine is an affirmation of Palestinian right to self-determination
  

Best of 2023 Film and Music

2023 held strong for me as a memorable and interesting year for film and music. No doubt it was a historic and turbulent year for Hollywood with the dual strikes of the Writers Guild of America and SAG-AFTRA interrupting and at times shutting down productions throughout much of the year. Yet, a number of great films still found their way to the big screen in the United States – and not just the unexpected phenomenon that was “Barbenheimer.” Meanwhile, while the Rolling Stones and the Beatles somehow made comebacks with their first original material released in decades, I found myself most captivated by albums released by female and nonbinary artists exploring their cultural identities. 

Read on for my top five films and albums released this year that I found to be the most moving, impactful, and well made.

Film

5. Oppenheimer

Only Christopher Nolan could make a biopic about a theoretical physicist into a film worthy of such hype as to be joined with Barbie in a double summer blockbuster sensation. In standard Nolan fashion, its dramatization of J. Robert Oppenheimer's role in leading the development of the first nuclear weapons during World War II is epic in the grandest way possible, psychologically intense, and visually stunning. It's also deeply flawed. Oppenheimer's hyper-focus on its titular character - from his political controversies to his internal apprehensions over the impacts of his work on humanity - prevents it from living up to the larger than life scope it seems to be aiming for. In doing so, it fails to acknowledge the true human cost of the United States' nuclear weapons testing program and dropping of atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Yet, Oppenheimer did something that no other major film on its subject has done, which is to shed some doubt on the narrative that has been embedded in the American psyche since the end of World War II that the mass murder of Japanese civilians during that first use of the bomb was somehow justified to provide a short cut for ending the war. In a world where nuclear war continues to linger as a threat to civilization with few satisfying safeguards, this makes Oppenheimer essential viewing.

4. Poor Things

Spinning a tale of a Victorian woman who is brought back from the dead by an eccentric scientist, Yorgos Lanthimos's triumphant latest work was the other film this year about a young woman who goes on a journey of self discovery in which she must reckon with the notion that she's a creation within a patriarchal society that wants to use her for its benefit. But Poor Things (buoyed a commanding lead performance by Emma Stone, who also served as a producer) replaces the materialistic excess and goofy humor of Barbie with a twisted adult sensibility that provides a more searing punch to its feminist motives. Even greater, the film is an delightfully entertaining exploration of human desires and our quest for meaning in a cruel world.

3. Monster

After a young school boy begins exhibiting disturbing behavior in a small Japanese town, answers are demanded for who is responsible. The truth is unraveled over three acts in which the story is told from the perspective of mother, teacher, and then boy. Masterfully woven by director Hirokazu Kore-eda and screenwriter Yuji Sakamoto, Monster is and once ominous and tender, devastating and compassionate. And in playing with the viewer's expectations, it begs us to think deeper than surface-level assumptions about who or what the monsters are that cause suffering in our society.

2. A Thousand and One

At it's core, A.V. Rockwell's debut feature film about a troubled woman who kidnaps a young boy from foster care and tries to raise him in a rapidly changing New York City is a simple story about the bond between a mother and child. But so much happens over the course of the decade-spanning narrative to complicate and destabilize their lives that the film becomes an emotional roller coaster that can only be processed after the credits roll. Seamlessly interweaving the personal and political as mother and son face the numerous challenges of being Black in 90s and 2000s New York City - from gentrification to poverty and police harassment - A Thousand and One is a a towering testament to the enduring power of love in the face of systemic inequalities.

1. How to Blow Up a Pipeline

Everyone who knows me knows I love this film. I first got a chance to see it at the Chicago International Film Festival in 2022, caught an early screening of it when it released in theaters in April of this year, then helped organize a community screening in Chicago to raise money for the legal defense of Stop Cop City activists. Inspired by the nonfiction book of the same name by Andreas Malm, How to Blow Up a Pipeline follows a loose group of young activists who carry out a daring attempt to sabotage an oil pipeline. By faming the plan as an act of self-defense by characters who find themselves facing a bleak future defined by ecological collapse, the film aims to present property destruction as not only a valid form of climate activism, but one that may become a logical necessity as the urgency of addressing the climate crisis becomes more and more dire. Not even many of the most progressive climate organizations would dare take this stance, but this film went there.

Yet Pipeline is no mere propaganda piece. Featuring tight editing and flashbacks employed at key moments of tension, it's one of the most edge-of-your-seat thrillers you're likely to find from this year. But its greatest strength lies in its memorable cast of co-conspirator characters and the film's ability to generate sympathy for them in the extreme collective action they take. Each of the activists have been impacted in some way by the extractive system they are opposing, and these motives are gradually revealed over the course of the film to build investment in the characters and understanding for them in the plight they are facing. 

By packaging its radical ideas in an engaging and emotionally impactful narrative, Pipeline provides an accessible vehicle for shifting the way people think about the climate crisis into a realm of greater urgency and possibilities for resistance. As it becomes increasingly clear that the incremental efforts of those in power are not going to save us, providing avenues for this type of discussion could not be more important at this moment.

Albums

5. Late Developers - Belle and Sebastian

With twelve albums under their belt and as consistent darlings of the indie music scene, Belle and Sebastian are anything but late developers as the title of their latest full-length effort suggests in a hint of self-deprecation. But despite their success and prolific output, the Scottish band prove on Late Developers that they have certainly not grown complacent. The group pushes itself in exciting musical directions throughout the album, moving through sonic landscapes of indie rock, chamber pop, and synth-pop, while maintaining their signature whimsical charm. Lyrically, it is a restless album as well, with songs about longing for true loves and to finding meaning in mundane life. But for Belle and Sebastian, life's ongoing pursuits are meant to be celebrated, as exhibited by the joyous quality of their music.

4. The Land Is Inhospitable and So Are We - Mitski

Having developed a career putting out arty indie rock music and releasing a commercially successful synth-pop album in 2022, it would have been easy for Mitski to focus on polishing her sound to continue her upward trajectory as a pop musician. It's a tribute to her integrity as an artist that instead she made a sharp turn and crafted a stripped-down country-tinged album with choir and orchestral flourishes. The result is one of the most quietly beautiful albums of the year with lush songs filled with evocative, naturalistic imagery exploring the eternally impactful nature of love. Perhaps unsurprisingly, The Land Is Inhospitable and So Are We resonated unanimously with fans and became one of her most successful records yet, in spite of its unconventional musical style.

3. Bless This Mess - U.S. Girls

Meg Remy's latest album under her U.S. Girls moniker features some of her catchiest music yet, utilizing dancey disco and funk grooves and glossy production. But it's her sharp skills as a lyricist that sets Remy apart from other purveyors of pop music. Leaning into her identities as a woman and a mother, her lyrics on Bless This Mess move through pandemic era social commentary, dating frustrations, and personal existential probings. The centerpiece of all this is the title track, a hushed ballad in which Remy shares a message from God to reassure us all in fraught times: "I bless this mess/Goddamn, you're doing your best." 

2. Black Rainbows - Corinne Bailey Rae

Corinne Bailey Rae was inspired to create the music for her first album in seven years by an exhibition on Black history by artist Theaster Gates at the Stony Island Arts Bank in Chicago. Moving between experimental jazz, futuristic R&B, and garage rock, Black Rainbows is a startling shift for an artist once known for her soothing pop-soul songs like "Put Your Records On." But what's most remarkable is how well the disparate genres and themes on the album work together to create a cohesive and captivating whole. The result is a moving and at times haunting tribute to the diversity of Black culture and experiences. Grounding the record in the suffering and resilience of her ancestors, Bailey Rae touches upon modern experiences of attempted cultural erasure and white-centered beauty standards, and nods towards future possibilities of liberation. Though the album remains short and abstract enough to prevent it from being all-inclusive in its exploration of Black history, it succeeds at being a multifaceted cultural snapshot by an artist tuned keenly into her heritage.

1. I Am the River, the River Is Me - Jen Cloher

I Am the River, the River Is Me is Jen Cloher's first album to incorporate te reo Māori language lyrics into its songs, and fittingly it is an album of deep self-discovery as a queer person of Māori descent on their mother's side of their family. Through 10 tightly-woven tracks of lush, emotive folk rock, Cloher takes the listener on this journey with them, singing of personal, social, and environmental struggles and how the wisdom of their rediscovered heritage provides a path forward. There is an undeniable political aspect to this, such as on "Being Human," a rousing anthem for Land Back for Indigenous Peoples. But Cloher ultimately seeks something deeper than taking a political stance, which anyone can do without understanding the context they exist in and have come from. Instead, Cloher digs deep to reassess themselves as a part of the interconnected natural environment (exemplified on the title track "I Am the River, the River Is Me") on lands that have been stolen from Peoples who have been oppressed but whose rich culture lives on. This journey of reflection builds towards towards the sweeping closer "I Am Coming Home," in which they sit in full recognition and appreciation for their Māori heritage they have reconnected with. This narrative arc is one of the most moving I have heard on any album and a powerful reminder that dealing with any problem, personal or political, must begin with an understanding of one's identity and positionality within the lands and society they exist in.

Holiday

        During the summer of 2022 my family took our first trip to Europe since before the pandemic. Due to the impacts on travel, it had been four years since we had all been over there together. We first visited Norway, traveling between Oslo and Bergen, a country we’ve always wanted to go to because both my parents have Norwegian ancestors. Then we traveled on to Southern England, where my dad’s side of the family resides. On the day we arrived in Norway, my sister tested positive for COVID, which meant we would spend much of the vacation taking extra precautions to not catch it from her. However, the trip went off mostly without a hitch otherwise and was by all accounts a lovely time.
        While we were traveling, I decided to casually conduct observations of events around me for 15 minutes or so at random times of the day. This method of exploring spaces and moments in time is similar to the one I used in my project Succession, in which I documented a year in my hometown of Carbondale, Illinois through short observations in public settings. The results of my observations from our trip to Europe are contained within the following vignettes. Though I have taken some artistic liberties in the details recounted, particularly in regard to dialogue, the vast majority of what is included is based on real occurrences and conversations that I observed.
        What stood out to me most from this vacation was how strangely idyllic it all felt. Coming off two and a half years in America where pandemic, racial justice protests, violent insurrection, and a recently begun war in Ukraine had dominated the headlines, I had forgotten what it was like to escape on a holiday, where your main goal is to enjoy yourself and explore incredible locations. In Norway, which in addition to its beautiful landscape is known for its great quality of life and universal healthcare system, hardly anyone was wearing masks and most people seemed fit and carefree. Even our family’s brush with COVID during the vacation felt like more of an annoying inconvenience than anything life threatening.

        In returning to these observations, I have found myself wrestling with the duality of the need to address the great problems of our time and the daily longing to escape to something (or somewhere) more happy. Just in the past several weeks, I have found myself listening to news reports each evening of the ongoing death and destruction from the recent eruption of war between Israel and Hamas, and then tuning out for the night to relieve my mind from the unfathomable horrors playing out. Yet, as I go to sleep in my comfortable bed, I can't help but wander if I should be doing more to speak out against the unfolding genocide against the Palestinian people in Gaza. At what point does self-care become apathy? And what is the role of escapism and pleasure seeking in a world in crisis? Somewhere there is a balance between the obligation of engagement and the need for healthy disconnection that I am still trying to find.

* * *

I. Chicago and the Atlantic Ocean

        Through the broad windows of an airport terminal, a sunny afternoon can be perceived. Large planes are in the foreground being prepared to take off high into the sky and travel to distant lands. Most near is an Etihad Airways plane that is connected to the terminal and currently being resupplied by several vehicles. Soon, an even bigger American Airlines plane appears behind it slowly rolling towards the terminal to make its exchange of humans and restock on necessary items before embarking on another voyage through the skies.

        Slowly the outside world begins to fade and is replaced by the inside world of the busy terminal. In the window are the silhouette reflections of people walking up and down the long corridor and the rows of seats. In one direction a man walks by with his phone held out in front of his face; in another a man passes by carrying a fountain drink with a long straw poking out. Somewhere else is the sound of a children’s television show being played on a portable device. With their creature comforts in hand, they are ready for the long journey ahead. 

        It’s a quiet moment in the cabin of the plane. The window shades are shut in every row and the lights are dimmed. Passengers sit idly scattered throughout, with not every seat filled. Nearest is a Southeast Asian man sleeping with his chair reclined. Between the two seats in front of him a screen is visible on the back of another chair showing an animated map of the plane’s location. Occasionally a passenger passes down one of the aisles on either side of the plane, making their way to or from the bathroom. But activity within the cabin is beginning to pick up. In unison, flight attendants begin to move up each aisle and stop at the partitions between seating sections where they pull out serving carts. Then they make their way back down handing out trays with light breakfast meals. One flight attendant begins to approach, a young white woman with brown hair in a braided ponytail. She smiles politely and makes brief conversation with the passengers as she gives them their meals with her white-gloved hands. A ray of light suddenly pierces the cabin as a man with blond hair sitting nearby lifts the shade on his window. Seeing the bright early morning sun, he closes the shade and settles back in to try and catch some rest before the plane starts its descent.

II. Oslo and the Scandinavian Mountains

A vibrant, sun-kissed afternoon is underway in the city harbor. Throngs of people move along a walkway lined with restaurants that seem to have more of their patrons sitting outside than in. Opposite the restaurants, dozens of sunbathers in full swimming attire lie out along the side of the harbor like on a wooden beach. Further down the walkway, the city forms a backdrop with its unique modern architecture. One particularly crooked building juts out in front of the rest with a segment towards the top of its gray structure veering suddenly to the left. Next to it is a gleaming white opera house with its roof sloping down to the ground, allowing pedestrians to walk directly to the top of it.

A commotion is growing on the harbor as a group of teenagers gather on a small bridge connecting two parts of the walkway. Two bikini-clad white girls, surrounded by a racially diverse set of young men, climb onto the railing of the bridge then jump into the water below. The guys cheer and laugh as they watch them, then begin to move along off the bridge. A few minutes pass and more people cross over the bridge, including a couple with a young boy who stop and look over the side at the girls in the water. Finally, the young women appear at the end of the bridge and collect with the guys. The girls joke along with the rest of the group teasingly, with one girl playfully hitting one of the guys with a towel. The teens continue down along the busy harbor with more sun and excitement ahead of them.

One look out the train car windows reveals the rich beauty of this land. Views of mountainous hills covered in aspen and evergreen trees surround on every side. A pixilated sign at the head of the car reading “Tog mot Bergen” reminds passengers of their destination, though few are in a rush to get there. One Asian couple with a toddler girl, sitting in two rows facing each other with a small pull-up table in the middle, are taking in the sights. The dad, a plump man wearing a yellow polo, stands up to retrieve a pamphlet from his bag stowed above them. Meanwhile, the mom grabs the girl from the seat next to the man and moves her to her own side, then starts snapping pictures of her daughter. The dad opens up the pamphlet to show a map and begins pointing out some locations to the interested child. The train goes through a tunnel and things briefly go dark. On the other side, the train is suddenly surrounded by an array of houses as it passes through a village. The dad has started using his phone to take pictures of his wife and daughter, who is now sitting on the mom’s lap. The girl begins to squirm around making it difficult to hold her, so the woman passes her back to her father. The mom now takes her turn taking photos of the other two, determined not to miss out on any chance to document the moment.

III. Bergen

It’s mid-afternoon and an American family is in transit on a bus to the next attraction in the city. The dad, white with brown hair and in preppy attire, sits in one row, while the mom and daughter of about 10 years old, both also white with brown hair, sit in the row in front of him. The dad peers out the window through his sunglasses. The bus is running along a beautiful harbor set within a fjord lined with tall green hills on each side. The man indicates towards a section near the water with an assortment of closed carnival attractions. 

“Evelyn,” he says to his wife, “did you see this Ferris wheel, how they’re taking it down?”  

“That probably means they’re taking the rest of the rides away too,” the woman responds, adding wistfully, “Too bad, that woulda been fun to check out.”

“Yeah,” the dad replies plainly. He’s now distracted trying to orient himself on the map on his phone. He pinpoints their location along the bus route as they come to a rest at a bus stop. “Okay we’re at Sandvikstorget,” he announces, doing his best to pronounce the Norwegian name.

“Yeah, so not this one but the next one,” the mom chimes in.

A minute passes as the bus lurches forward and continues along its route. The dad, gazing again out the window at the harbor, is drawn back to their previous conversation. “So what if that fair was just here for the weekend?” he asks.

“It’s a real shame,” the mom posits, “they could have it every day and make plenty of business out here.”

        Hearing the discussion, the young girl jumps in: “Mom, I wanna go on a Ferris wheel.”

        The dad, seeing the bus beginning to approach the next stop, motions toward the button for riders to indicate a desired stop. “Already did it,” the mom says, then adds quickly to her daughter, “I know, sweetie. We’ll find another Ferris wheel for you to ride.”

        The bus slows to a rest. “Okay,” the dad says, prompting his family to hastily exit the vehicle. 

        A highway overlooking the city is cast in rich, golden rays of light from the sun nearing the horizon. It’s nearly ten o’clock at night but it seems to never really get dark here. The highway has two lanes going in each direction with a concrete divider in the middle. On the east side are steep green hills, while on the west are residential buildings interspersed with lush green trees leading down to the bay. Cars stream by going in either direction. Now a bus passes heading into the city. There is a broad walkway on the west side of the highway separated from the road by a large concrete barrier. At this time of night it is mostly deserted and quiet except for the sounds of passing cars and birds chirping in the nearby trees. The relative calm is suddenly disrupted by two motorcyclists wearing black helmets and protective outfits zooming along the highway, revving their engines and weaving through traffic as they head out of the city. Then someone finally appears on the walkway, a white woman with blond hair out for a jog. She grows smaller in the distance as she heads north towards a curve in the road where two tall apartment buildings spring up. After a leisurely run to end the day, she’s headed back to her room with a view.

        It’s a cool, overcast day but a park in the center of the city is bustling with activity. A greenspace with a clean-cut lawn and well-manicured shrubs forms a central area where people pass to and fro, go for a stroll, or rest and converse with one another on park benches. A towering bronze statue of the Norwegian composer Edvard Grieg watches regally over the scene. Like notes in one of his great compositions, passersby on the stone-paved walkway surrounding the lawn form a symphony of life: an upper middle-aged couple walking side by side, a man in a bright yellow construction uniform, a tall Black man and a short white woman chatting and walking slowly, a blond woman talking on her phone, a Black woman wearing a romper and a baseball cap pushing a stroller and smiling at her baby, a South Asian man smoking a cigarette and carrying a black bag over his shoulder, a redhead woman with thick thighs, a young man and an old man passing in opposite directions, a middle-aged woman wearing a dress jacket, a man wearing all black with multiple piercings on his face, another sharply dressed middle-aged woman, a group of four teenagers chatting excitedly, two old ladies carrying bags from a day of shopping, the woman with the stroller passing by a second time…

IV. England: Seaford and Lewes

A middle-aged white couple sit out on a stony beach in the sun in perfect relaxation. Further along the shore are tall white chalk cliffs and a concrete pier that extends into the sea with a white lighthouse at the end. The man and woman have two long fishing rods set up in holders next to them with lines cast out into the water, but whether they catch anything is hardly the point. They have finished a light lunch and it is nearing time for them to pack up and head home. At last, the man, a tan fellow with white hair and a pot belly, closes up a small cooler and hands it to his wife, a blond woman. The woman leisurely begins to take the cooler back to their car, parked a few dozen meters away along the road at the edge of the beach. The man, in no rush to leave the idyllic spot, continues to sit and watch the gentle waves upon the sea before him.

        The elderly man’s face lights up as he looks across the table at his old friend, a woman of about the same age. The place they have chosen to reconnect is a new chain coffee shop, but the air of a quaint English village is still palpable from the view out the window they’re sitting next to – across the street is the side entrance of a centuries old church and a shop called The Tea Garden. The setting easily conjures up shared memories the two have from living in the area for many years.

“You know, I do think we were as naive back then as we are now,” the man says. “I remember bombing around the countryside on motorbikes, going down to Brighton on the weekends, you know, we didn’t have a care in the world. None of these thoughts about global warming or pandemics; we all thought we would be living in a colony on the moon by now and all our problems would be solved,” he concludes with a grin.

“As you say that, I just have a picture in my mind now of Liz, my sister, dressed up as a little girl in a spacesuit costume,” the woman adds. “She wanted to be the first woman on the moon, bless her heart.”

“I’ll keep on believing she would have been if she hadn’t run away with that priest from London and started popping out kids,” the man says, chuckling.

“Oh, heavens,” the woman responds, shaking her head. Then she adds, “Do you know what? When I go up there to visit them, I sometimes join them for a service—”

“At the church in Wendell Park?” the man interjects.

“Yes,” the woman continues. “They used to require masks, which I thought was quite good. But when I went to the Thanksgiving service nobody was wearing them. You know, I’m getting more relaxed about it myself. If I’m riding the train and someone sits next to me I’ll put one on, but otherwise I don’t bother. They say it’s more to protect others than yourself anyway…”

        “Well, old people are the most vulnerable, aren’t they? There’s the risk. Most everyone else will be okay, as long as they got the shot.”

        “You’ve survived thus far, haven’t you?” the woman responds shrewdly. 

        “I have. I think my back might not have, though. Too much time sitting hunched over the computer on those, what do you call them…Zoom video calls,” the man says, leaning back in his chair in an exaggerated stretch.

        The woman sits for a moment, staring thoughtfully into her teacup, then adds, “Well, you’ll be alright. We’ll just do as we’ve always done: keep moving about our lives with our heads in the clouds, pretending the world isn’t falling to pieces around us.”

        “It’s better than thinking about doom and gloom all the time, I always say,” the man retorts. 

        “Indeed…,” the woman responds.

        There’s a pause as the man takes a long sip, slurping down the rest of the coffee in his cup. He sets the cup back down on the plate in front of him and declares, “It was great to see you.”

        “Right,” the woman says, standing up from the table, “will I see you at the party at Arthur’s house next month? Or you said you’re going away in July?”

        “Yes,” the man confirms, now standing up from the table to leave as well, “I’ll be on holiday. July three through…well, I don’t remember the return date, but I’ll be away. Have fun. Say hello to the old chap for me…”

        The voices of the two old friends trail off as they exit the coffee shop and walk together down the narrow road, the warm midday sun shining high overhead.

V. The Atlantic Ocean (Up in the Clouds)

All is calm and steady aboard the British Airways flight, as passengers bide their time during the long daytime trip across the ocean. The cabin is brightly lit from the sunlight flooding through the windows and reflecting off the large wings of the plane. Nearby, a couple passengers are reading and a woman is engrossed in something playing through big Sony headphones on her ears. Meanwhile, there is an ongoing slow parade of people making their way to and from the bathroom at the front of the section of the plane. Presently, a South Asian man who has been waiting outside the bathroom door for several minutes gives up and heads back to his seat, looking slightly annoyed.

        Shortly after, one of the flight attendants, a middle-aged blond woman, pulls out a cart and begins moving down the aisle. She stops at each row and politely asks, “Rubbish?”, then says, “Thank you,” as passengers offer her their trash. Another flight attendant, a heavier brunette woman, appears making her way down the aisle. She is stopped by a middle-aged white American man sitting in a window seat who asks, “Excuse me, would it be possible for me to get another pillow?” The flight attendant responds, “Yes, just a minute.” She continues down the aisle and approaches the blond flight attendant from behind.

        “Will it be okay if I take my break now?” she asks.

        “Of course,” the blond one responds. “I’m almost finished here. Then it’ll be about two hours until the second meal.”

        “Right, thank you,” the brunette flight attendant says. She leans a little closer, placing her hand on the other one’s shoulder, and adds, “Good luck with this crowd,” before turning around and heading off. The blond flight attendant gives a wry smile then continues with her requests for passengers’ rubbish.

        The brunette flight attendant fetches a small pillow wrapped in plastic from a compartment near the bathroom then takes it back to the man who requested it, who thanks her. The man breaks off the wrap and shoves it into the pocket on the back of the chair in front of him. He then places the pillow against the wall of the cabin and settles the side of his head against it. Comfortable again, he gazes at the gleaming, white clouds out his window and allows his mind to wander. Like a child, he imagines himself leaping from one puffy structure to the next, never falling through to the ocean below, and slowly drifts off into a blissful sleep.