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Where Are The Girls? - Jemima Kirke on women in art

Above is Jemima Kirke, otherwise known as Jessa in HBO’S Girls. With the consistently funny, heartbreaking, accurate and, at times, shocking performance, it’s hard to believe that acting isn’t even her first gig! Her first and foremost love is fine art, and you can watch her in action in this super cool “unlock art” video about sexism in the art world.

-Issey Goold 


gemmalosesherjelly said:

5, 10, 15, 20, 25, 30, 35, 40, 45, 50, 55, 60, 65, 70, 75, 80, 85, 90, 95, 100 :)

5) Is there someone mad because you’re dating/talking to the person you are?

Well I am not dating anyone. And talking to? I mean… what even is that? lol There is someone in family who hates that I have a certain friend in my life but they have no say in anything

10) Do you think your life will change dramatically before 2013?

This was obviously made a few years ago, and I shall change it to 2015 haha

It kind of already has. I’m happy more than I’m not, and things keep getting better. 

15) Do you care if people talk badly about you?

Unfortunately, yes… I do.

20) Is there a boy who you would do absolutely everything for?

Why yes. Yes there is ( hey yo coltt-45 I’m looking at you :] )

25) Does anyone regularly (other than family) tell you they love you?

Uhm… I guess now that I think of it not really… Colt does. I don’t know, with my best friends, we don’t really say it because we both already know!

30) Does anyone hate you?

I hope not, but you never know

35) Did you have a dream last night?

No, but I did the night before! Something about a train station and I had to go a different way than everyone else… that’s all I remember haha

40) Did you have a good day yesterday?

Yes I did! My days have actually been pretty great lately!

45) Do you have any pictures on your Facebook?

Yeahhhhhh lots! I like pictures haha

50) What are you supposed to be doing right now?

Ha… ABEC studying…

55) Are you good at hiding your feelings?

Yes I am. Sometimes too good. Sometimes not good enough though.

60) Do you hate anyone?

No. Hate is a strong word. Strongly dislike? Yes.

65) Are your toenails painted pink?

Nope! They are not painted at all haha

70) How do you look right now?

In my opinion, I look pretty cute!

75) Did you wake up cranky?

Yupp. I had to go to the dentist’s this morning. Gross.

80) Name something you have to do tomorrow?

I have to go to the zoo for my ABEC lab! From 10-2! I’m excited!!

85) Are you over your past?

Some parts yes. Some parts no. I think it’s like that for a lot of people.

90) Have you ever liked someone who your friends hated?

Uhmmmmm… No I don’t think so..

95) Were you happy with the person you liked in March?

Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahah nope

100) Who’s in your profile picture with you?

Me, myself, and I! In my twitter picture, however, it’s me and Captain America!!!!!! :D

For the latest installment of the “Coltt Classics” series, Nadia Hourihan revisits David Lynch’s debut “Eraserhead”

Share with me your nightmares. Blurred. Brutal. Beautiful? Eraserhead satisfies on each account. Filmed over five years punctuated by catastrophe (Two years in, cinematographer Herbert Cardwell, 35, died in his sleep), David Lynch’s debut is achingly, stubbornly perfect. He is dizzyingly, dazzlingly drunk on the elixir of diseased fantasies. The shackles binding him to reality are long rusted; reduced to dust.

   The story is sparse; Henry Spencer, dystopian-industrial-backdrop-ed, is coerced into marriage and fatherhood. Their monstrous offspring repels the mother, and Henry is sacrificed to solitude. It’s a barely-there narrative; but that doesn’t permit unimportance. Already Lynch’s gospel has germinated; through dark (and darkly funny) episodes his bleak parable will bloom.

Thematically, Eraserhead will ensnare horror enthusiasts (Stanley Kubrick made the cast of The Shining watch this film to get into a suitably unsettled mood) and philosophy PHD students alike (Eraseread is both a case study in solipsism and an autopsy on nihilism). The non-musicality of the score (Minor chords are absent) nurtures this horror: Dread manifest. Composed by Lynch and Bandalamenti, the chugging of machinery, grating of metal and paranoid fatalism are rooted in the organic ambience of the setting. 

   Visually, Eraserhead will sate the desires of “obscure-mongers”. The low contrast black and white functions on a plenitude of levels; it drains Henry’s life of vibrancy all the while providing a grim medium for images fated to haunt the dusky peripheries of your subconscious. Dust. Planets. Grannies. Radiators. Mutants.  Enigmatic orifices. Perverted nature.  Lynch’s stew of the utterly absurd and ineffably beautiful simmers at different heats in every mind. No two could arrive at the same interpretation. And therein lays the richness.

For me, (Personal interpretation alert) Eraserhead encases the viewer in an utterly consumptive lust for creation; a lust which refuses to subside; a lust that sweats disgust; a lust that treads too close to death. Essential viewing.

Nadia Hourihan

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Coltt Sunday Playlist - 29/06/2014

New Releases:

  • Jamie xx // All Under One Roof Raving
  • The Circles // Gonna Get To You
  • Bleached // For the Feel
  • Hoenyblood // Super Rat
  • Diamond Youth // Red Water

From the Vault:

  • Miss Li // I Can’t Get My Mind Off You
  • How to Dress Well // & it was u
  • Harlem // Cloud Pleaser
  • Nelly Furtado // Say it Right
  • The Pixies // River Euphrates

Song of the Week:

  • fka twigs // Two Weeks



Z is the debut label-release of SZA (Solana Rowe), who has been hailed as the future of R&B and a female counterpart to Frank Ocean following the last year’s See.SZA.Run mixtape. But this album is so sun-drenched, so effortless, no one would ever guess it was made with any sense of anticipation or pressure.

            The whole thing is driven by incredible production, with spiraling, addictive synths and beats, ranging from true dancefloor pop to something altogether more sinister, from jazz –like melodies to sparing melancholy. However, the quality and enthralling atmosphere are consistent, and you never once feel in any way detached.

            She opens with the slow, easy distortion of ‘Ur’, before skipping on through the chilled perfection of ‘Child’s Play’ (with a guest verse from Chance the Rapper) and ‘Julia’, her most glittery pop track. This leads into ‘Warm Winds’, arguably the defining track of the album, if only because of its variety, going from heavy thrums of synth into a gentle wind down, showing off both her vocal and lyrical prowess, as she coos “we were all 13 once, long live tramp stamps and Pepper Ann”.

            She follows through with the trill of ‘Hiijack’, the dark echo and sinister lyrics of ‘Green Mile’, and the haunting ‘Babylon’, with Kendrick Lamar. The album finishes on a run of the clever, jazzy ‘Sweet november’, sparing and achingly beautiful ‘Shattered Ring’ and ‘Omega’, filled with a wistful intensity as she asks you to ‘keep your feet firmly planted in the sky’.

            But despite these changes in tone, her vocals pervade every track like incense smoke, distinctive and bittersweet, making it all unmistakably hers. These are paired with often extremely dark lyrics, like a repeated cry of “crucify me”, or the image of a massacre with “bodies arriving every day”, which gives it all a sharp, sinister edge.  The whole thing sounds like an overheated summer, in all its captivating dramatics.




Iseult Deane


Coltt Classics 

Harry Hennessy revisits the “greatest independent film of all time”, Reservoir Dogs

Lauded by many as the greatest independent film of all time (and in this humble reviewers opinion one of the best of all time, period) “Reservoir Dogs” catapulted Tarantino to fame, introducing the genius to the greater public (we are immensely grateful) and giving us the first glimpse of his distinct and flawless style of film making. The psychological-crime thriller follows the events succeeding a jewelry heist gone wrong, beautifully framing the four surviving criminals and their bosses descent into tragedy through suspicion, fear and violence.

The ideas of trust and moral conscience recur constantly, and are vividly portrayed in the film: the robbers are unified and torn apart by their bonds of loyalty, respect, and mutual distrust of others, with a foundation of lies and manipulation leading to their inevitable downfall. Mr. White (portrayed by Harvey Keitel) impressively sums up the role of “old school” mafia man, heavily influenced by his almost Sicilian principles of honour among thieves and trusting nature ironically contrasted against his immoral actions and the last pull of his trigger finger (if that doesn’t intrigue you, I don’t know what will). Michael Madsen as the enigmatic and psychopathic Mr. Blonde is everything we are told as scared children about the world of crime (evil men doing evil things just to watch the world burn), and in most films would have stolen the show with his twisted and haunting nonchalance, if not for Tim Roth, a revelation as Mr. Orange.

By far the most striking motif in the movie is the criminal morality. Throughout the film, Tarantino creates a blatant disregard for basic social norms and a compliance with intrinsically wrong acts accepted as the norm itself. The comparatively naive high moral standards of Mr. Orange accentuate the complacent horrors of this world, and the confusion and torture those of pure mind endure when faced with these realities. His inner turmoil and shock at those around him is masterfully portrayed, and his outer turmoil and shock is beyond perfection - indeed, Roth’s transformation and, ultimately, portrayal of the angst and regret every man experiences before death is legendary (if the film hadn’t been independent he’d have an Oscar right now, but that’s a rant for another day).

In what soon became his trademark, Tarantino exposes violence bluntly and honestly in a brazen act of harsh reality rarely welcome in cinema, but which perfectly suits this gripping underworld tale. His stunning dialogue paired with his cunning non-linear storytelling slowly develops the piece and each intricate character - and besides, the dialogue is, quite frankly, cool - above and beyond what any other screenwriter can do. This harrowing tale stresses the love any man can feel irregardless of disposition and morality, and shows us how in our bleak and violent world, good always succumbs to evil, all in the classic Tarantino style. If you haven’t seen it yet, get your act together post-haste.

Harry Hennessy

At six years old I put my limited drawing skills to use and began designing my dream wedding dress; a frothy, ten-foot-train, tulle topped disaster. It never occurred to me that that dress would only be required on a day for celebrating my unabashed love for someone. All I wanted to do was play dress up. And if I’m honest, that’s all I still do.

At age ten, I watched my cousin walk down the aisle in a gorgeous white washed town on a tiny Maltese island to classical music strummed quietly on a harp, and knew it wasn’t for me. Not the extravagance or the expense, but the marriage itself. It put me on edge to think that someone would declare their love and commitment in front of everyone, both the people they loved and the people they were forced to invite.

And now at the ripe old age of sweet sixteen it’s becoming clear that I want no part of the murky world of relationships. My mother insists that it’s only because I’ve never had a relationship. Maybe she’s right; I mean I’ve never been kissed, never held someone’s hand, never gone on a date. But on the last day of my last year of ‘nerd camp’ this summer a boy told me of his feeling towards me and asked if he could kiss me. I had no feelings for this boy and the mere question sent shivers down my spine and not the good kind, so maybe I’m right.

Before moving to a new school, I asked the friends I would be leaving behind what they thought of the infamous ‘first kiss.’ They all said it was awkward, usually a tangle of braces and most of them happened at discos in the local GAA club, the five girls I asked are all in long term relationships ranging from five months to almost three years, so I knew they knew what they were talking about. We had talked about it extensively over the years and I always lied and said I had kissed someone. I provided very sketchy details but no one copped it until I told them in June that I had lied. I hated lying, but I hated feeling left out even more.

An English teacher once explained the difference between love and lust: love- ‘to have feeling of affection towards someone’ and lust- ‘to have a great desire for something or someone’. It was then, in my last English class before we broke for Christmas, that I had my eureka moment. The penny dropped. It was obvious that all the boys I said I loved to make myself feel normal was in fact a case of lust and not love, in much the same way I lusted after this season’s hand painted Burberry tote to be swinging jauntily from my arm. I love my family (most of the time) but I have never loved a boy. There were rumours that maybe, just maybe, I hadn’t come out of the closet yet. And while I do spend most of my free time in the closet, it’s picking out clothes and rummaging through stacks of material to make my own version of Hedi Slimane’s boxy blazer without selling my kidney, and not waiting to be outed by two friends that made a wager guessing which girl would be my first kiss.

My therapist once asked me if the idea of waking up next to the person I loved made me happy. When I said no, he stared at me for a few very long minutes looking incredibly perplexed and utterly befuddled. I got the same reaction when I vocalised my aversion to matrimony. After clearing his throat he wondered why I didn’t want a relationship like my parents. I said I didn’t know because, truly, I didn’t. I was told to describe my parent’s relationship. They’ve been married for eighteen years. Every anniversary is blatantly ignored and slips by like an ordinary day. There are no flowers, no dinners for two, nothing. I saw my parents kiss once- a blink and you’ve missed it kind of kiss from my father onto my mother’s cheek. Pet names, holding hands and any form of affection are foreign concepts to my parents. In sixteen years I have never ever heard my parents say they love each other. They very rarely fight and when they do it only last a few minutes and is quickly forgotten. There is no romance. I know they both love and like each other but I just don’t know if they’re in love with each other or if they ever were. It’s like they settled. People say you learn by example so maybe I have a warped sense of relationships on account of my parents, maybe I’m just cynical, but I know for certain that any relationship, certainly one like my parents would be my idea of hell. He informed me that I needed to experience it for myself and that every relationship is different and that I shouldn’t make decisions that would affect my entire life based on one example.

I’ve been thinking recently about whether I should kiss someone, anyone who was willing, just to get it over and done with. But even without putting feelings behind the action I felt paralyzed. On the very rare occasion I talk to people about this particular aspect of my life I always end up using adjectives that would usually describe nerves or uneasiness, which nine times out of ten leads people to the conclusion that I’m just nervous and that it’ll happen when I’m ready. I pride myself on having a rather extensive vocabulary, but for all the words I do have I don’t have the right ones to express how I feel. Then my friend gave me a word: asexual.

I like how it sounded, how it was concise and how it expressed all the things I didn’t have the right words to say. But not everyone liked it. Whenever I described myself as asexual people got angry, angry that I would chose to remain single for the rest of my life, that I would ignore any advances made towards me. They were angry that I would be alone. I soon found out that no one like the idea of people being alone. But most people didn’t know the difference between alone and lonely. They promised to help me find someone. Some even promised to make sure he fit my father’s strict criteria- good family, intelligent, play sport, earning capabilities of over eighty thousand a year. No one wanted to hear that I didn’t mind being alone especially being only sixteen.

Maybe my mother is right, it could be that my therapist is right, or maybe I’m right. I don’t mind being left alone. And I know for certain that I did not chose these feeling or lack thereof but I refuse to feel guilty for not providing my father the opportunity to walk me down the aisle. I may never get married but that doesn’t mean I can’t dress up in vintage wedding dresses, now does it?


Orlaith Cullen

Sunday Playlist-3/8/14

New Releases:

Heavy Metal & Reflective // Azaelia Banks

How Can You Really // Foxygen

Bare Wood Aisles // Neon Waltz

Rapt // Karen O

New Dorp, New York // SBTRKT feat. Ezra Koenig

From the Vault:

Afro Blue // Robert Glasper Experiment feat. Eryka Badu

Dilemma // Nelly feat. Kelly Rowland

La La Love You // Pixies

Pennies from Heaven // Billie Holiday

Wasting My Young Years // London Grammar

Song of the Week:

Real // Kali Uchis


Paris is Burning

When one sits down to watch a documentary about drag queens in late 80s New York, one expects at most a bit of whimsy or wit to brighten up the daily grind. So, I found myself shocked to be more profoundly affected by Paris Is Burning than any other film I’d ever seen.

It swayed far from a fantastical ode to glamour, instead presenting, with a chilling indifference, the gritty reality of life for people who dared to be themselves within this setting. Dozens of drag queens from young to old are filmed speaking on everything from their styles and philosophies to their personal challenges, which were often almost too heartbreaking to think about.

On top of the standard issues faced by people of colour growing up in mid  20th century America, they face homophobia and transphobia at every stage, often even from their loved ones. The full picture is built from a series of collected moments; one queen speaking of an instance where his mother burned his prized fur coat with the same nonchalance as if he had been talking about the weather, or another older queen discussed how as a child he thought he’d wanted to be Marilyn Monroe but only realised later that he wanted to be Lena Horne. The true poignancy is found in the resigned indifference with which the queens talk about these challenges. They feel little passion or anger about it all; they have accepted the hatred they receive like they once had to accept that the grass is green.

Yet do not despair, as I have yet to mention what makes this film so inspiring. Despite having resigned themselves to their fate, they create a most glorious and beautiful culture and community, so pure and joyous that for a time it casts the shadows away. They thrive on acceptance and love, and treat one another like family. They ignore the mere trivialities of survival and focus on beauty, glamour and dance. Their lives and their records in this film show that no amount of hatred can ever kill what is truly beautiful.

Seán Ceroni

Are you tired of being an average kid? Do you envy the wild and individual cool kids in the city? Fear not! After reading Rowan Crerar’s guide to being “cool” you will be the grooviest kid in all the land! Step 1 - Social media Spice up your instaG, and by that I mean up the brightness, down the contrast and making it as boring as possible. All I want to see is solemn selfies, pictures of grimes and swim deep, and a lot of plants. Make sure your captions paint you as being really mysterious and miserable or nobody will pay any attention to you! Post pictures of the sky, get a pair of docs and take pictures of them too! You’re almost social media savvy! Next, add a few X’s to your Instagram name. For example, I would change my @ from @rowancrerarr to @rxwxancrxrxrr so everyone knows that I don’t need vowels to be me. They make me seem really edgy, I’d highly recommend them. Never post on Facebook. Facebook is for inbreds, and it’s sooo 2011. All you need is tumblr and Instagram for keeping in touch with your cool friends!

Step 2 - Appearance Obviously to be cool you have to look cool. So therefore you have to look like all the other cool kids because that’ll make you really unique and chic. Wear a lot of black clothing and black eye makeup (regardless of gender, let’s pretend it’s the 80s). This will make you seem gothic and lifeless, that will make people want to be you, you just can’t be bothered to look alive and that ‘cba’ chic is totally vogue right now. Take selfies so they make you look like you have super prominent cheekbones so that everyone thinks you’re a model and really hot.

Step 3 - Watch movies You just cannot be cool unless you watch films, and by films I don’t mean standard everyday films you and your chums watch, I mean obscure films filmed in odd lighting and in different languages. The more of these indie films you watch the more indie points you get, and the more respected by the world wide indie web community you become. There are far too many to list, but I’ll give you a helping hand.

  • Moonrise Kingdom
  • Virgin Suicides
  • Amelie
  • The Breakfast Club
  • Pretty in Pink

Step 4 - Music

This part is crucial. You must only listen to music that nobody else except fellow cool kids know of. Obscure and under the radar bands like Arctic Monkeys, Swim Deep, Grimes, The Smiths and Peace. These bands are really unknown. This is good because people will think you are individual and unique, further adding to your mysterious vibe.

Things a cool kid never listens to
- Rihanna
- Drake
- Rita Ora

One Direction are acceptable. In fact, keep your one direction merchandise because it’s actually really cool to love bands ironically. One Direction are the best for this, but other good choices are JLS and Take That.

Step 5 - Ignore all the crap I’ve just told you
Sorry kids, I lied. There is no guide to being cool. What’s popular on the internet isn’t what you should hold yourself to. If you want to post hundreds of pictures of white walls and plants then do it, if that makes you happy do it! If you want to follow internet trends then do it, just know that it won’t make you cooler or better than other people like I suggested.

The thing that makes people cool is when they are themselves. When I see someone who doesn’t give a hoot about what anyone thinks about them I think they’re pretty cool. If you wanna wear triple sole creepers out and you do you rock, you’re badass and insanely cool. If you wanna listen to German folk and wear knitted jumpers you rock, you’re cool.

So what I’m trying to say is this summer instead of trying to change yourself to be popular on twitter or Instagram just be yourself, be cool and embrace yourself.

Rowan Crerar

Ultraviolence by Lana Del Rey


Ultraviolence is the intoxicating, heat-filled second album of Lana Del Rey, made all the sweeter for the fact that it seemed for a long time like it would never be made. Following her 2012 debut, Born to Die, she was nearly suffocated out of the industry amid accusations of fakeness and insincerity, which led to questions about her actual talent. But she’s returned, 12 million album sales later, with another work likely to wildly defy the expectations of her detractors.

            The themes of Del Rey’s music have never been exactly subtle, and they haven’t developed all that much here. We still have Del Rey, either as herself or as a character, in a world of controlling gun-owning boyfriends and pretty girls crying with smudged lipstick and torn red dresses. But the repetitiveness isn’t at all grating, since each song itself has such musical prowess and emotional intensity. The lyrics deal with a world, which, for most of her audience at least, is something from an old movie, a fantasy: they’re escapist. So, they manage to capture both the sense of uncertain nostalgia and extreme immediacy that make being a teenager so wildly intense.

            She has often been accused of glamourizing sadness or violence by making it feel like the by-product of a shimmering golden lifestyle, and this is taken to an extreme here with lyrics like “he hit me and it felt like a kiss”. But, although they appear at first to be dangerous and may still be ill-advised, they should not be taken at face value. They’re taken from The Crystals’ “He Hit Me (And It Felt Like a Kiss)”, so she’s making a reference to the tradition of the setting she sings about. They become a commentary, not an endorsement. Besides that, an insight into the mindset of an abusive relationship is a legitimate and important expression, and if it is glamourized that’s an issue separate to the expression itself.

            There’s a new toned-down maturity to the music, perhaps partly due to new producer Dan Auerbach. The pace is consistent and less given to the wild crescendo sweeps of Born to Die. She seems to have gained confidence in the power of her own voice to carry the emotional punch of the songs. It can occasionally edge on ridiculousness in its blatant appeal to tug at heartstrings, but there’s something satisfying about that direct appeal: it fills you up unashamedly.

               There are few recent albums about which the opinion of critics matters less than Ultraviolence. Just like on her debut, she has a near-unique ability to make every little youthful happening feel as monumental as you always wanted it to. It can swell the significance of something small, one sleepover when you watch the sun rise through the window over your friend’s head, one train journey away from someone you won’t see for a while, the walk home after your last exam, and bestow them with a new sense of glamour and an awareness of nostalgia for something that’s still happening. Despite its “apparent flaws” that make it easy fodder for a middle-aged critic keen to dismiss her, it has a guttural hit that reaches beyond any sense of reasoning.




Iseult Deane


LP 1-FKA Twigs 

FKA Twigs’ debut album LP 1 is a strange, ethereal work of silvery, delicate R&B-synth-pop, driven at all times by a sense of immediacy or urgent lust. It focuses mainly on the spark contained in individual moments, but still handles them with depth and sensitivity.

            FKA Twigs started her career as Tahliah Barnett, moving to London to become a dancer. This element of physicality is never absent from her work, reflected both in the image of her face on the album artwork, exaggerated beyond fully identifiable emotion, and the accompanying videos. She’s totally in control and fully present in every aspect of her art.

            This presence is felt in her voice too, as she ranges from gaspy rushes of whispers to celestial tremblings, conveying everything from the resigned anger of ‘Video Girl’ to the frizzy crossover of upset and frustration on ‘Numbers’ to the immediate heat of ‘Two Weeks’.

            LP 1 is a menace-tinged Grimes-meets-Aaliyah-meets-the xx album, indicating an artist both appreciative of the context of her work and willing to push its boundaries. If she continues as she’s begun, she could well go on to define a genre or atmosphere entirely of her own creation.


Iseult Deane


Feeling the vocational tug of cinephelia?

Blank at the precipice of the cyber-abyss? 

Drowning in an excess of time (It’s SUMMERRRRR) ?

Get off that Empire magazine blog post-haste. Let Coltt help.

Some of our writers have each submitted their favourite five films for you to enjoy. 

Watch. Be humbled. Be utterly indebted to cinema. It’s that simple.

Nadia Hourihan 

1) La Dolce Vita 

2) Persona 

3) 8 ½ 

4) 2001: A Space Odyssey 

5) Eraserhead


Harry Hennessy

1) Bride Wars

2) Nymphomaniac

3) Resrvior Doges

4) BBC Wuthering Heights (The one from the 70s)

5) [Three way tie between] Frozen/ Water for Elephants/ Dear John

Shane Morgan 

1) The Godfather 

2) Amour 

3) Heathers

4) Bande á Part

5) Gentlemen Prefer Blondes 

Iseult Deane

1) Before Sunrise

2) Donnie Darko

3) Girl, Interrupted

4) We Are the Best!

5) Amélie

Seán Ceroni

1) La Dolce Vita

2) Lift to the Scaffold

3) In the Mood For Love

4) Shanghai Express

5) Once Upon a Time in the West

Issey Goold

1) Rear Window

2) Fargo

3) Thelma and Louise

4) The Graduate 

5) Manhattan

Berry Murphy

1) Mysterious Skin 

2) The Art of Getting By 

3) The Place Beyond the Pines 

4) Igby Goes Down 

5) Stand By Me

Daniel Hanlon

1) Akira

2) Pulp Fiction

3) Breakfast at Tiffany’s

4) Sleeping Beauty

5) The Third Man

Nevan Jio

1) Manhattan

2) The Graduate

3) Mulholland Drive

4) Seventh Seal

5) 8 ½

Rowan Crerar

1) Kill Bill vol. II

2) Valentin

3) La vie en rose

4) The Grand Budapest hotel

5) Women without men

Aisling Keating

1) A Clockwork Orange

2) Donnie Darko

3) Boy A

4) Requiem For A Dream

5) Citizen Kane

Amy Campbell

1) Tangled 

2) Les Miserables

3) Perks Of Being A Wallflower 

4) Man On A Ledge 

5) Cemetery Junction 

Aoibhín Crowley

1) Mr. Nobody

2) The Skin I Live In

3) The Breakfast Club

4) Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

5) Moonrise Kingdom

Amy Campbell writes on her fear of things getting better

You know what freaks me out? The idea of things getting better. It’s like, if I look back on what I remember to be the happiest times of my life and compare them to how I feel today, I realise how much happier I am now. And that scares me.

 I’ve had a lot of best friends, people I’ve been impossibly close to, people who were my whole world, who gave definition to the last f in bff. I’m still friends with most of them, on very good terms, although in some cases it’s taken us a couple of years to get there. But there’s things there that weren’t there before. Awkward silences that make you wonder how you once talked to this person all day every day and can you really have changed so much that all you can think of now to say is “I hope the sun comes back before the holidays”.

 Fourth Year in school was a great year for me. No pressure to study and do homework or even go to class, I immersed myself in extra curricular events and entered competitions and joined every club an overly enthusiastic teacher told us about. And I had this best friend. We were inseparable, arm-linking, sentence-finishing, borrowing-each-others-stuff-so-often-that-they-just-became-“ours” sort of people. Everyone used to run our names together into one, we used to start singing the same song at the same time in two part harmony. But now, not so much. The idea of having another best friend one day used to worry me; I was so completely content with her.

 Fifth Year has had a lot more lows, a lot more tears and hiding in bathroom cubicles than the year before. My best friend and I became less two-part harmony and more cancelled plans and Facebook messages “seen at 16:34”. But the good parts have been really, really good.

 It turns out I in fact am the type of girl who’s sister gets mad at her for laughing at her laptop when she’s talking to her best friend, the type of girl who breaks out in mile wide grins at work when she remembers a conversation from six months ago. It got so much better than what I thought was the best.

So then, why am I afraid? I think because I don’t want this time in my life to someday seem less important. I don’t want the things that make me happy to change, I don’t want find people who make me happier than these ones. I am so, so happy with who I am right now and I don’t want to see a day when I’m not the short girl with too much glitter eyeliner and an accent you can’t quite place who loves gay boys and glee and blue bon bons. I don’t want to lose the bffs who taught me less about “forever” and more about “friends”. And gosh, I really don’t want to forget.

These are the sort of fears that make me Facebook message “does the idea of things getting better scare you” out of the blue to a friend that I don’t usually message with meaningful questions. It lead to an amazing conversation though, but unfortunately that just added to my list of things I’m worried won’t mean as much to me when I’m 31 and married (to a secretly closeted man with possibly children and definitely a pomeranian called Kurt) as they do now.

I think I’m worried that one day I’ll look back while cooking tagliatelle and remark on how long it’s been since I’ve thought of my seventeenth year of life and I’ll struggle to remember the last name of the boy who perfectly summed up how I feel with the sentence ” I see all the people I love and I don’t want things to change, even if it makes my situation better”. I’m scared that while I’m draining the pasta into the sink and calling down my possible children for dinner, that I’ll smile fondly at the memories, but conclude that I wasn’t really happy at all.

Amy Campbell

Amy Campbell writes about the struggle and heartbreak of repeatedly falling in love with gay boys 

I spent the first fifteen years of my life not having an answer to the repititive question that seems to be an essential part of preteen and early teenage culture: “who do you like?” Living in a small town in West Cork, my reply was always “nobody”,  and it was true; no one ever seemed quite my type. I spent years turning my nose up at tracksuit wearing, red bull drinking, GAA playing “lads”. And finally, during rehearsals for a musical an hour away from my hometown, I met a dancer with blonde highlights and an actual fashion sense and declared myself in love. I ignored my friends specualtions about what his fringe and his dance abilities and his interest in msuical theatre might mean, but in the end, the sterotypes were right and I was left with an all new problem - getting over a gay guy. 

Ever since, the situation has repeated itself more times than could be a coincidence. It’s strange, there aren’t that many gay guys around, especially in West Cork, but I have a knack for tracking them down, falling in love with them, and facing inevitable heartbreak. Not even just guys I know in real life either, I have oftentimes been known to declare a celebrity to be my future husband, google him and discover that he has a long term boyfriend. My friends laugh at me regularly, and the jokes are almost as repetitive as the questions I get asked every time it happens. “How did you not know he was gay?” Naivety, dellusion, mainly just hope. I have a habbit of trying to tell myself that sterotypes are often wrong, or attempting to convince myself that the fact that he owns three pairs of runners is a sure sign of his straightness.The second question I get asked is “how can you still love him now that you’ve found out that he’s gay?” Craziness, inability to control my emotions. I was never able to simply switch my feeligs off or move them onto someone who could possibly return my feelings one day. I had to complete the slow, torturous proccess of slowly letting my feelings fade while they go on, blissfully unaware. I also get “how do you cope?” a lot. The answer for that is somewhere between “it doesn’t really bother me, it’s kinda funny” and “it’s slowly tearing me apart from within until even breathing is painful”. 

The hardest question to answer has always been “why is it always gays?” I’ve been trying unsuccesfully to answer that since my first, dancer-with-highlights-and-an-actual-fashion-sense heartbreak. I’ve heard several theories from friends: it’s self sabotage - some inner part of my mind is punishing me by repeatedly choosing guys I know will never love me back. It’s self protection - deep down I don’t really want love, I’m scared of the idea of a relationship so I convince myself that the only boys I’m interested in are those who are impossible to pursue a relationship with. I’m afraid of boys, and choose nicer, more feminine ones because I feel safer around them. Unfortunately, these nicer, more feminine boys rarely play for my team. I’m rebelling against the social norm as much as possible by falling for guys who are as different as possible to the guys from my West Cork farming town. Realistically though, I think it’s a lot less deep rooted. I like boys who take care of their appearance, who dress well and have some kind of fashionable hairstyle. I like it when I share interests with guys, and unfortunately my interests are Disney movies and pop queens and musicals and glitter and Glee. I also am sort of unwilling to settle for anything less than a boyfriend who will sing romantic, funny or flirty duets with me complete with cute choreographed dance routines and possibly matching outfits (this one may be a little unrealistic, I blame Glee). I have yet to find a straight guy who is willing to take part in any of these activities, or even a straight guy who is aware that you can’t just wear a navy football jersey with black tracksuit pants and grey runners, you shouldn’t even be wearing any of those on their own not to mind together because they are not nice and they certainly do not match. 

I’ve been through it all, guys who had me at “hello” and lost me at “I’m gay”. I’ve listened intently, unsure if I was laughing or crying as a gay friend who has no idea I want to marry him tells me in pretty graphic details of the boy he was with at a party last weekend. I’ve written cliché teenage heartbreak poetry about a guy, only to have it published in a book which he so happened to buy. I’ve had multiple breakdowns about how all my loves are going to marry each other and I’ll be alone and I can’t even get cats because I’m allergic to cats. But the truth is, I’m getting by. I know what I like, it just doesn’t like me back, but I’m working on that. I’m pretty certain I’ve heard “he’s gay” in response to my “he’s hot” so many times that it can’t possibly hurt anymore, and that the pain that seems to be more part of my bloodstream that than actual blood will dull eventually. I try to convince myself that I believe in true love and destiny and “there’s a guy out there who’s looking for a girl just like you”. I’m still listening to classic love ballads and reading romance novels and watching Glee. I’m learning that sometimes having lots in common with a guy isn’t that great, because while liking the same kind of music and movies is fun, having the same taste in guys is not. I’m still optimistic. But gosh, it’s getting pretty difficult.

Amy Campbell



Brooklyn-born self-styled “irreplaceable vixen” Junglepussy first came to attention last October with ultra-smooth track ‘Cream Team’. She’s part of the growing Bushwick C-Unit rave scene, which helped launch artists like Azaelia Banks and A$AP Rocky, curated by performer and designer Contessa Stuto to bring together “the queers and the ravers and the ghetto”.

Every one of her tracks is furious but never ever less than ferociously proud and sure-footed. She’s got her agenda, her “picky bitch checklist” and rolls off anthems to her own strength like it’s nothing, in videos surrounded by waist length blonde weave and nails like shards of glass, shot in a bedroom with her real life best friends.

Her album Satisfaction Guaranteed is due out next month, and having already supported Lil Kim and Dai Burger she is without question on the up. I’ve real fear for anyone who tries to stand in the way of this “genie in a bottle of Malibu”.

Iseult Deane


Christy Lee Rogers is a visual artist from Kailua, Hawaii. She harnesses an obsession with water as a medium for breaking the conventions of contemporary photography. Rogers applies her cunning technique to bodies submerged in water during the night, and creates her effects naturally with the camera using the refraction of light.

Her work is undeniably contemporary yet also timeless; portions appear to be drawn from European art of the 17th century, where vitalised movement and overt emotion were at their height. Many have pointed out similarities to Caravaggio in her work, with her evocation of dynamism and dramatic use of lighting. This intense treatment of her subjects, where light and dark violently contrast, the light in her images appears to alternately engulf the female form or to be on the verge of gradually diminishing to nothing, leaving them alone in the abyss. Light isolates her figures, but her use of spotlighting differs from Caravaggio in that it is atmospheric and well wishing; it protects the figures from the space surrounding them, that empty space which allows light to strike her subjects, not just as transparent images of people, but as unyielding, real, and seemingly impenetrable beings.

What drew me to these wondrous images, beyond their boisterous colour and enigmatic beauty, is how they convey that beneath it all (or under the depths of the ocean) the human soul is radiant and bare with complexity.

Issey Goold


Donyale Luna


On August 31 1945 in Detroit, Michigan, Peggy Ann Freeman was born. She had a reportedly abusive father, whom her mother shot in self defence in 1965. She later distanced herself from him, claiming  that her real father was in fact a different man, a Mr. Luna. Her sister described her as " a very weird child, even from birth, living in a wonderland, a dream”. She studied journalism in high school, where she began calling herself ‘Donyale’.

             She was soon spotted as a model. In March 1966 she became the first African American model to appear on the cover of British Vogue. By April of that year an article in Time magazine dubbed 1966 “the Luna year” and described her as “a new heavenly body who, because of her striking singularity, promises to remain on high for many a season.” She quickly went under exclusive contract for a year with legendary fashion photographer Richard Avedon, helping to create some of the most famous images of the 1960s.

            However she did not “remain on high for many a season”; by the 70s her drug use and eccentric behaviour were damaging her career. A fellow pioneering African American model Beverly Johnson said of her “(Luna) doesn’t wear shoes winter or summer. Ask her where she’s from — Mars? She went up and down the runways on her hands and knees. She didn’t show up for bookings. She didn’t have a hard time, she made it hard for herself.” However while her modelling career failed she starred in many films produced by Andy Warhol and also in Fellini’s 1969 film Satricon.

She was romantically involved with many men prominent in the media, including Brian Jones, but eventually married Italian photographer Luigi Cazzaniga. In 1977 they had a daughter called Dream.

Throughout her short life Donyale suffered from racial dysphoria. She repeatedly spoke of her multiracial lineage which included strands of Indigenous-Mexican, Indonesian, Irish and Afro-Egyptian genes. However few believed or listened to her claims and labelled her simply as a black woman. Once, when asked about whether her appearances in Hollywood films would benefit the cause of black actresses, Luna answered “If it brings about more jobs for Mexicans, Asians, Native Americans, Africans, groovy. It could be good, it could be bad. I couldn’t care less.”

Tragically her drug problems continued to get worse and worse, and in 1979 she died in a clinic in Rome, leaving behind her 18 month old daughter and her (by then estranged) husband.     

            It seems an unsatisfying end to the life of a truly unique individual, but she will live on through the beautiful photographs she has left behind her, which continue to captivate 35 years after her death.


Seán Ceroni