THX - 1138 (1971)
George Lucas made °Ő±áłÝ-1138Ěýright out of film school. It stars a very young Robert Duvall (who died just recently), and reflects on what it is like when tech and authoritarianism pervade our lives, from our values to our work to our sexuality and reproduction. The hero works on an assembly line making weapons of some kind, and goes home to a pod where he’s medicated and monitored and masturbated by a machine while staring at the TV. Religion is an AI Albrecht-Dűrer-as-Christ, speaking platitudes. Education has been reduced to injection by IV—the ultimate “learning outcome.” The feel of the film is discomfort, visceral unease. There is a malfunction on the assembly line and workers almost die, but they are too drugged up to be afraid; two psychiatric doctors watch on a video feed as they administer pain to a patient, and then get lost in conversation and don’t notice him writhing in agony. I don’t really think of this film as a fantastical work of fiction; I think of it as a concretizing of our current reality, and its affect of discomfort is key to its relevance and importance to where we are right now. We shouldn’t feel that “this”—how we are living on screens, tied down to email, to the endless scroll, to the coopting of the amygdala by the algorithm—is normal or acceptable. We shouldn’t accept remote wars or other forms of state violence and tyranny. We shouldn’t accept the reduction of values of all kinds to up-or-down thumbs or even the pithiest of tweets. (submitted by Professor Tiffany Beechy)Ěý
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Annotation of the comic The Eternaut 1969; originally serialized as El EternautoĚýin the Argentine magazine GenteĚýbetween May and September of 1969, it was first translated and released in English in 2020 by Fantagraphics as The Eternaut 1969.
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Written by HĂ©ctor Germán Oesterheld and illustrated by Alberto Breccia, The Eternaut 1969Ěýis an Argentine comic that is a retelling of Oesterheld’s 1957 EternautĚýcomic. Where the original was a relatively straightforward science fiction/post-apocalyptic narrative, 1969Ěýtransforms those same story beats into a politically charged response to contemporary Argentina that ripples forward to modern, international relevance. The comic depicts a “snow” falling over Buenos Aires that is quickly revealed to be a biological weapon that kills anything it comes into contact with, the first assault by an extraterrestrial force that subsequently forces survivors to create airtight hazard suits. This setup is the same in both versions of The EternautĚý— where 1969Ěýdiffers is the added detail that this invasion is only happening in South America, a result of the major world powers cutting a deal with the alien invaders to divide up the land and resources after the population has been killed. The comic highlights an imperialistic exploitation of Latin America that continues to today while critiquing the militaristic government that had taken control of Argentina three years prior. The overt political slant of the comic led to its cancellation the same year its serialization started while marking Oesterheld as an outspoken leftist; in 1977, he was kidnapped by Argentina’s last military dictatorship and never seen again. The Eternaut 1969Ěýserves as a potent reminder of the continued exploitation of Latin America by the Western world and the power of art in speaking out against the deterioration of democracy. (Submitted by MA student Christian Lopez-Morris)
This is a poem called "Made When I Was Not Well," and what amazes me (and often, my students) about it is the openness with which a seventeenth-century woman talks about not being okay. The author, Hester Pulter, wrote this poem when she was about fifty. She had lived through a terrible civil war, during which period she gave birth to and lost many children (including the "Pen" or Penelope) she mentions near the end. So part of what Pulter means by "not well" is probably depression or PTSD. But she also reckons with the difficulty of being an aging, no-longer-beautiful woman in a culture that elides womanhood with youth and desirability. The attractiveness and whiteness that once gave her power are now weaponized against her as her skin has changed color and texture over time and her body parts no longer fit templates of heterosexual longing. "Made When I Was Not Well" is, in many ways, a poem about not being sure how to keep going in a culture that leaves her feeling value-less. But she keeps going anyway. Pulter's original manuscript of poetry was only discovered a generation ago, and I'm glad we have access to her voice.
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Made When I Was Not Well
My soul, why dost thou such a mourning make,
This loathsome ruined prison to forsake?
Seest thou these eyes? (’Tis thou that gives them sight,
Or they would quickly set in endless night.)
WhatĚýsplendentĚýsprightliness in youth they had!
Now weeping makes them dim and dull and sad.
These locks did curl, and were a golden brown;
Now thin and lank like silver threads hang down.
My lovelyĚýcount’nanceĚýhad a pleasing grace;
Now,ĚýErra Pater’sĚýor aĚýsibyl’sĚýface.
My lips were cherries, rosy were my cheeks;
But those that now for blood or beauty seek
Will find them spoiled by Time and adverse Fate,
Whose cruelty doth give to all aĚýdate.
My skin was once as white as new fallen snow;
ThroughĚýazureĚýveinsĚývermillionĚýblood did flow.
Then were my swelling breasts the bed of love,
As smooth, as soft, as white as swan or dove;
As lilies fading shrink to shun the light,
So are my withered breasts shut out of sight;
Time’s tyranny they feel, and Sorrow’s spite.
MyĚýsportiveĚýwit and mirth is now laid by;
None is more moping now, and dull, than I.
My joys to heaven with my dearĚýPenĚýdid fly.
Then why, my soul, art thou so fond to stay,
Seeing all that’s lovely in me doth decay?
For shame! Pack up thy virtues, and away.
(submitted by Professor Dianne Mitchell)
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28 Years Later: The Bone Temple—AnnotationĚý
I’ve been a fan of the 28 Years Later franchise for years now; in many ways, it was the catalyst for my interest in the horror genre, so I went into watching The Bone Temple with high expectations. Even so, I could tell from the first few minutes of my theater-going experience that I was experiencing something special. It felt like I was seeing the world precisely as it was at that moment—on the screen, in the headlines on my phone, and outside the theater doors on 1/16/2026—through a gory, terrifying lens that didn’t just intensify it but clarified it too.
Alex Garland and Nia DaCosta's infected world is a profoundly dark and bloody one—and yet! Between moments of flinch-inducingly fierce action and strikingly real sorrow, the film shines with the hope that humanity can and will persevere in the face of even the most horrifying injustices, indignities, and indecencies that a violent authoritarian society could level against us. The Bone Temple, itself art, leverages the art of others through a delightfully unexpected soundtrack and a varied array of pop culture references—all of which serve to remind the watcher of the things that make us human, that make us strong enough to defend our neighbors from exploitation and harm. More than a reminder, it is also a call to action.
When posed the question of whether we are willing and able to stand up against evil and create the world we believe in, even when it risks our own comfort and safety, The Bone Temple insists (in the words of my favorite 28 Years Later character): “Of course.” (submitted by MFA student Andie Weber)
Art Spiegelman’s Maus, Volumes 1 & 2. Pantheon, 1986 & 1991.
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Every year I teach a module called “The 1986 Comics Trifecta”—the three major graphic novels of the Twentieth Century that appeared in 1986: Art Speigelman’s Maus, Frank Miller’s The Dark Knight Returns, and Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons Watchmen. The novels overlap in their interest in time and memory, psychology and trauma, and fascism and power. Each year they feel different to Ěýme. Some years I am struck by Alan Moore’s metaphysics and others by the seductive quality of Frank Miller’s depiction of vigilantism. This past year I was taken by the social mechanisms that allowed ĚýNazism to crawl across Poland in the late 1930s—systematic racism, the development of new police units, and the increasing monitoring and recording of various populations. Although Spiegelman represents his characters as animals, they are deeply human, oblivious to the slow boil of hatred as it engulfs one family member after another, until it is far too late.Ěý
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It’s a lesson in the rise of thuggery in civil society. (submitted by Professor William Kuskin)
