Johnny Depp is not a pirate. A simple fact, but he seems to forget that at times. To Depp fans’ delight (and four-year-old Captain Jack fans’ chagrin), his work in The Rum Diary returns the actor to the world of author Hunter S. Thompson, whom Depp craftily portrayed in the cult favorite Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. The Rum Diary, an adaptation of Thompson’s novel of the same name, is a fitting tribute to Thompson’s work, but its sluggish plot progression and burdensome editing stretch what should be a concise adventure-comedy into a vapid two-hour feature.
Last spring, a group of 16 students took part in the first semester of the Georgetown’s Film and Media Studies Program. While Georgetown has a history of alumni involvement in the entertainment industry, the film and media studies minor has set the foundation for students and teachers to focus on media history, criticism, and production with the proper resources and facilities to do so.
Brooklyn-based Real Estate is due for some attention. After a pristine debut album, the group has made a smooth transition into its sophomore release, Days, solidifying Real Estate as one of the chillest, melodically pleasing bands around. Although it’s not a significant improvement from the first LP, Days’s fresh material possesses a lackadaisical charm that splits the difference between ‘60s surf-pop and modern indie.
Politics is a dirty world. Just ask George Clooney, who co-wrote, directed, and starred in the new political drama The Ides of March. With a title referencing the betrayal of Julius Caesar and one of the most impressive casts you’ll see this fall, The Ides of March is a time bomb waiting to erupt into a meaningful, edge-of-your-seat political thriller. The problem is, before this film has time to give its plot a life of its own, the credits have already started rolling. In the end, the film only makes a point that could have been illustrated just as well by watching an hour of CNN—politicians are bad, bad people.
Americans are proud of their beer. We name baseball stadiums and theme parks after beer companies, our children know what Budweiser is before they learn how to write their names, and we have made a tradition of cracking open a beer while watching—well, while watching anything. But while Americans are guzzling Bud Light and watching NFL games this Sunday, they’ll be missing out on the greatest beer tradition this world has to offer: Oktoberfest.
Leo J. O’Donovan Dining Hall has turned a new page. While complaining about Leo’s is a Georgetown pastime, the cafeteria has finally struck a change that will last. And no, we’re not talking about vegetable-infused water. We’re talking about the Coca-Cola Freestyle, the high-tech soda-bot next to the ice cream station. Overnight (or at least over the summer), Leo’s has entered the space age.
If anyone in the music industry is on top of their game right now, it’s Chris Taylor. Best known as the bassist and backup vocalist for Grizzly Bear, Taylor has also done behind the scenes work on other well-regarded projects, producing records for Twin Shadow and the Morning Benders. Dreams Come True, the debut album from Taylor’s new solo project CANT, is predictably well-produced, but few of its songs display the songwriting ability that made Grizzly Bear’s Veckatimest an indie classic.
This summer, NASA’s announcement that it was ending its space shuttle program prompted reactions of nostalgia and sadness from many Americans. The idea of American astronauts having to use Russian space transports to reach the International Space Station seems like a retreat from victories won during the Cold War. But for those wishing to relive the heyday of America’s space program, the Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum recently opened NASA: 50 Years of Exploration, an eclectic gallery featuring artistic interpretations of NASA in its prime.
Lincoln. Often hailed as the greatest American, the name carries connotations of freedom, perseverance, liberation, and food. Wait, food? Some might assume that Honest Abe’s slim figure was the result of his relentless dedication to performing the duties of leadership leaving little time for peripheral activities such as eating. But that’s where they’re wrong.
Most football players, once they’ve reached a certain age and reputation, decide that despite offers to keep playing, they should end their careers and settle into their spots in NFL history. Then there’s Brett Favre. Past his prime, and even after a self-proclaimed retirement—no, make that two—he insisted on continuing his career after catching the scent of a hefty paycheck. Hollywood has a nasty tendency of embracing spent characters too, because even as movie series go into their third and fourth installments, they continue to profit from their predecessors’ success