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100 WORD FILM REVIEWS / John Wick: Chapter 3 — Parabellum

100 WORD FILM REVIEWS / John Wick: Chapter 3 — Parabellum

John Wick really knows how to kill people. He can use anything as a weapon: katanas, guns, knives, horses, belts, his bare hands, the immortalized pencil. But that’s only half the battle. The latest entry in the series goes deeper and reminds us that honor and integrity are not synonymous with morality and friendship. John Wick: Chapter 3 — Parabellum delivers on the action, expands the mythology of the criminal underworld’s High Table, and introduces a character you’ll despise, the Adjudicator. Sorry, George Miller. John Wick unequivocally ousts Mad Max as the most consistent franchise in control of its original creators.

FILM / The Tale: What Fox’s Narrative Structure Can Teach Us About Writing True Stories / Laura Valeri

In one of the most brilliant and revealing moments in this exquisite use of the technique, the 13-year-old Jennifer tries to persuade her 48 years-old self that she was in control of that relationship the entire time. The 13-year old claims that breaking up with Billy, who continued to write her for years afterwards, proves that she was not a victim. She casts herself as master of her own fate.

ONE PERFECT EPISODE / Master of None: "Buona Notte" / Kaylee Craig

Love doesn’t always save you, sometimes it makes you feel worse. In the case of Dev and Francesca, love can prove to actually be an escape from reality. There is no doubt that love is present between these two, but by the end of this episode we see it in a whole new light when it is placed out of its fantasy and given the ultimate test in reality.

FICTION / Redwood / Joseph Thwaites

As he stared out the window absent-mindedly taking in the scene, a single red balloon rose and ascended out of view. Then, a few seconds later, several more passed, this time of yellow, blue, and green. Robert stood, but his movement was interpreted as an effort to leave, and as he rose, so too did several of his family members, ready to amicably prolong his departure. He made a move for the window, but his mother was quick to obstruct the path. 

POETRY / In Which I Compare a Salesman to the Roads I Did Not Travel / Beth Gordon

he met me at a clam bake, barefoot and howling at the moon on the gulf coast 
in the summer of ‘82 and has never forgotten my hand on the bottle of raspberry  

wine or the way I disguised my lust with tragedy, my tears sparkling like beacons
every time I walked into the bay, and I told him that his ice was melting