“A Minecraft Movie” introduces us to a ragtag group of four as they stumble into the animated world of Minecraft, where they meet Steve –– the original avatar of the game, played by Jack Black. An opening scene reveals how Steve travelled into the video game world years prior: a piglin witch from the Nether (a hell-like dimension) wanted the crystals they had used to enter the world, hoping to channel their power to wipe out all creativity. The gang learns about the new world with lots of exposition and explanation from Steve, but are forced to split up when piglins attack the village. While the guys go on a harrowing and homoerotic adventure to gather the missing piece to bring them home, the girls fail to pass the “Bechdel Test.” By the end of the film, the group reconnects before finally heading home, defeating their enemies in a way only partially accurate to game mechanics.

The most important element of the movie was the addition of a subplot in which a Minecraft villager enters a portal into the “regular” world, proceeds to get hit by a car and goes on a date with Jennifer Coolidge. Obviously. 

Is the movie good? No. However, it clearly shows a lot of love for the game and its community, featuring iconic Minecraft mechanics, from redstone lava machines to creeper farms. The movie celebrates Minecraft fans with appearances by famous gamer content creators Aphmau, DanTDM, LDShadowlady and Mumbo Jumbo, as well as a tribute to Technoblade –– a beloved Minecraft YouTuber who passed away in 2022. 

However, the contrast between the movie’s genuine love for the game, and the attempt to capture children as a clear target audience, created confusion. Minecraft is iconic for being a sandbox game, where each player can explore the never-ending world and build or destroy whatever they desire. Unfortunately, this doesn’t mesh well with a movie plot which unironically uses the words “chungus” and “unalive,” much less one in which the villain’s backstory centers around losing “Nether’s Got Talent.” “A Minecraft Movie” is certainly a cultural moment, but it’s hard to say if this movie adds anything of substance to the already-beloved game.

The strength of the show is in its ensemble cast. Each character is played with care and enthusiasm –– willing us to love them with their sheer passion and sincerity. Specifically, the sweet pairing of Mafioso-turned-diner-owner Al Dente (Mattea M. Conforti ’28) and undercover angel Anne Gelic (William Murray ’26) left me utterly charmed and rooting for these crazy kids to end up together. By the eleven o’clock number, even Claire’s somewhat dull, straight-man protagonist shtick, which up to that point had been overshadowed by the far more outlandish characters making up the ensemble, found its footing, serving as a solid lynch-pin for the unlikeliest of friends.

As the Trump administration takes aim at drag performers, “101 Damnations’” doubling down on HPT’s history of performing in drag seems notable. Although their brand of drag is closer to early “Saturday Night Live” or “Kids in the Hall” than “Paris is Burning,” the fact that all but three of the characters were played in drag demonstrates a commitment to gender fuckery that is admirable for an organization reliant on tax-deductible donations.

As befits our current moment, the jokes were biting. They were current and they were risky and, while they didn’t always work, the cast committed to making the leap regardless. They punched up at Mark Zuckerberg and down at Cornell, committed to an extended bit about a right wing extremist fish, and made a crude joke at the expense of Wellesley “girls” (touché.)

It is no secret that I have been critical of the Hasty Pudding Theatricals previously for their turn towards cowardice in past productions, preferring the safety of outdated references to the risk of actually saying something substantive. However, I walked away from Tuesday night’s production honestly delighted by the company’s earnest commitment and willingness to take a risk. By the end of the production I wasn’t worried about the convoluted plot or the admittedly weak songwriting –– I had been thoroughly won over by a production that I found genuinely heartfelt and funny.

“101 Damnations” will continue its run at Farkas Hall in Cambridge through March 9th. You can also catch them in New York City on March 14th and 15th or ––if you happen to be in Bermuda –– on March 21st.

Contact the editors responsible for this article: Ivy Buck, Norah Catlin 

“Companion” fits neatly into the genre of “good-for-her” movies, where the girl gets the last laugh (think: Ex Machina, Midsommar, Gone Girl). Like many good-for-her movies, you’re pretty sure how the final scene will end. The film stands alone as a very solid, hair-raising but ultimately so-futuristic-it’s-just-good-fun revenge flick: girl meets boy, boy is evil, girl seeks revenge. But writer and director Drew Hancock’s script dredges up truly compelling background questions of love, violence, misogyny and personhood.

Iris (Sophie Thatcher) and Josh (Jack Quaid) visit Josh’s friend Kat at the woodsy vacation home of her wealthy boyfriend Sergey. However, it quickly becomes clear that Iris is not human. Soon after, we learn that Iris is a “companion,” an android programmed to be Josh’s girlfriend. The crux of the film (and if you want to avoid spoilers, don’t read on!) rests on Iris killing Sergey after he forces himself on her and she refuses his advances. It later becomes clear that Josh and Kat planned this, and that Iris was essentially a weapon the conspirators would “kill” later. 

The idea that androids might be used as sex machines and weapons has been debated, typically on social media, over the past decade or so. “Women will be having more sex with ROBOTS than men by 2025,” read a provocative “Sun” headline from 2016. However, “Companion” presents a portrayal of love and violence which complicates the idea of robots experiencing pure subjugation from humans, by treating Iris as something quite close to human.  

Companion robots cannot harm humans with their factory programming. Thus, when Josh meddles with Iris’ programming to give her the ability to kill, he has already perverted the companion’s intended being. He, of course, only does it to make Iris a murderer. 

The companions’ inability to harm is juxtaposed against the human aggression shown constantly throughout the movie. Sergey’s assault on Iris is an obvious example, but just as powerful is the single line from an employee at Empathix (the companion manufacturer), who says that people use companions frequently for target practice. 

This pure form of violence — (sexual violence, target practice) rests on the dehumanization of the companions. The appearance of humanity greenlights conceptual violence against humans without moral repercussions tantamount to violence against other humans. 

But the violence Josh carries out against Iris is muddier — it is violence imposed while blurring the boundaries between Iris’ humanity and her machinery. Josh doesn’t merely disable her harm-prevention programming, turn Iris’ aggression up to 100 and tell her to kill Sergey. He engineers a situation in which sexual violence will be attempted on Iris so that she has a natural reason to kill Sergey. To fulfill his plot, he must bring Iris as close as possible to humanity, weaponizing the natural, predictable response to sexual violence. Superficially, Josh uses Iris herself as an object, no different than any other weapon. But she is not simply following orders; she is experiencing a deeply gendered, human experience that makes her a more human agent.

Josh’s violence extends to the weaponization of memory and love. Iris as a companion has implanted memories, including when she and Josh supposedly met and moments they had together. She is programmed to love Josh and to remember loving Josh. For all intents and purposes, she does truly love Josh. 

However, we learn throughout the film that Iris’s love for Josh is uncontrollable and essentially unconditional because Josh has ultimate control over her emotions. Josh’s actions grow from the tension between desiring a human relationship and desiring subjugation and ultimate control –– after all, Josh does not hesitate to lower Iris’ intelligence level when he thinks she’s become too aware. 

In the final few minutes of the movie when a physical fight breaks out between Iris and Josh, Josh says, “I don’t need an iPad to control you. I’m part of you.” It’s a chilling moment in an otherwise mostly lighthearted horror — there’s a second when one may wonder if Iris will spare Josh even after she’s spent over an hour trying to exact her revenge. Josh’s manipulation of Iris goes beyond the idea of the two as merely linked by fragile, malleable software — he can control Iris because they are linked by very real, human love. 

It’s a moment that deftly recasts the relationship as not just simply an ‘incel-sexbot’ situation, but a visceral and emotionally abusive relationship between two human beings. Josh’s weaponization of love is not so different at all from the manipulation of love by other emotionally manipulative partners. Josh genuinely believes that his manipulation –– with the backstop of Iris’ programming –– will make her unable to defy him.

Thus, when Iris is ultimately able to overcome her programmed love for Josh, she becomes utterly human. She has control over her reactions to the deepest, most complicated level of feeling which humans can have. Josh’s treatment of Iris stems from the weaponization of her body and the subjugation of her mind because she is originally seen as non-human. But in doing so, he inadvertently brings her so close to humanity that she becomes indistinguishable. 

While “Companion” is an exciting romp through the wishful-thinking-inspired consequences of sex robots for incels everywhere, it’s also a story about control over love and the self ––  perhaps that’s what makes us truly human. 

Contact the editors responsible for this article: Ivy Buck, Norah Catlin 

Since that night, I’ve listened to everything Leigh has released, from her 2023 EP “The Only Thing Worse Than A Woman Who Lies Is A Girl Who’ll Tell Truths to Carrier Pigeon,” her debut album from 2024. Prior to seeing her in concert last November, I got the chance to interview Leigh. During our conversation, I asked what fans should expect at her concerts. She described her shows as “quirky, fun, and sassy.” Keeping this in mind, my friends and I headed to the Sinclair in Cambridge on Nov. 10, eager for a stellar performance and a good time. 

Massachusetts native Charlotte Rose Benjamin opened the show with a sweet and sentimental performance. Both Benjamin and myself observed that the crowd was particularly high-spirited, dancing along to her songs with an energy usually reserved for headliners. I took this as a good omen for Leigh’s set –– one which proved to be correct. 

This time around, Leigh’s all-female band took the stage ahead of her: drummer Grace Goodman, bassist Kaitlyn Gerdau and guitarist/keyboardist Taylor Wafford. Then, to uproarious cheers, Leigh emerged from backstage in a neon green halter top with shimmery silver shorts and matching fishnet tights. At the beginning of her set, she asked the crowd to shout out their names, a request we gleefully obliged. Despite the bigger venue and more elaborate production, it was clear that Leigh’s lovable, down-to-earth personability hadn’t diminished. 

Her setlist included both old and new songs, from her 2021 “Thelma and Louise”–inspired ode to friendship, “Ronnie’s Song,” to “Carrier Pigeon’s” lead single “No Doubt.” About halfway through her set, Leigh’s band left the stage, leaving her alone with her guitar once again. 

“I’m gonna do a few songs alone, for old time’s sake,” she told the audience. As Leigh’s captivating voice washed over the Sinclair, I was once again in awe of her ability to foster beautifully intimate moments. The crowd gently swayed and sang along, many turning to serenade the friends or lovers beside them. 

The audience’s liveliness remained consistent throughout the evening, peaking especially when Leigh’s band returned for the set’s electric conclusion. Prior to “Sheep Song,” Leigh explained that Grace Goodman, the band’s drummer, suggested that what these shows really needed was a mosh pit. Whether or not it was a joke, Leigh agreed, and instructed the crowd to open up a circle pit. As the band launched into song, we flooded the now-vacant section of the floor. I’m not sure if what we did was a mosh pit –– maybe more of a dance pit or jumping up-and-down pit. Regardless, it was a blast, and I certainly danced more than I have at any other indie-folk show.

For the encore, Leigh played “Take Back,” the same song she culminated her set with back in 2023. Before she began to sing, she shared its origins: the song was born from a time when she worked all day and went home to a person who made her feel terrible. Her time, she then realized, should belong to her and nobody else. “We’re going to reclaim that time, right now, together. I want you to scream it!” she urged us. And so we did — chanting the cathartic refrain  –– “I’m gonna take back some of my time, I’m gonna take back some of my time” –– as Leigh sang with a smile I could hear.

While Odie Leigh’s musical stylings have shifted considerably since I saw her in 2023, her concert at the Sinclair proved her elegant growth as an artist. Bearing witness to her trajectory has been an incredibly rewarding experience, and like so many others in the crowd that night, I wait with bated breath to see where she brings us next.

Contact the editors responsible for this article: Norah Catlin, Ivy Buck 

“The Winter’s Tale” is split into roughly three parts, set in ancient Greece. Over the course of the nearly three-hour play, the audience travels along with the cast through plotlines of accused adultery, tragic death, espoused love, and at the end –– spoiler alert –– a glorious reconciliation. 

Each of the play’s actors put on a truly marvelous performance that was larger than life; exactly what theater acting should be. The energy and choreographed physicality on the part of the actors –– as well as the creative team who directed them –– was able to overcome the linguistic boundaries of Shakespearean English, now outdated to most ears. Additionally, the incorporation of song and dance into the play’s second part, performed largely by Soonchunhyang’s actors, was a fascinating choice which broke up the traditional “straight play” structure. Donned in traditional and vibrant Korean hanboks and set against an abstract digital background to show the passage of time and space, the design choices enhanced the creativity present within this Shakespearean adaptation. The story existed in a space both historical and modern, and somehow also a time that has never occurred –– the perfect way to keep Shakespeare fresh even when maintaining the script, one that was first performed in 1611. 

Overall, the collaborative “Winter’s Tale” between WCT and Soonchunhyang University’s theater department was beautifully executed, despite the constraints of language and the limited time (less than one week) spent rehearsing together. Such collaborative efforts add greatly to the cultural richness of campus and to the theater scene in general, and the Wellesley community should see this play as an opportunity to continue such collaborative efforts in the future. While “The Winter’s Tale” has wrapped up here in Massachusetts, the entire cast and crew will travel to South Korea for more performances during winter break in January 2025. To the entire creative team: break a leg!

Contact the editors responsible for this story: Ivy Buck, Norah Catlin

This year’s theme, “Taste the Money,” delved “into the complex relationship between Africa’s immense natural wealth and the long history of exploitation that plagued the continent.” Mamaland engaged with these ideas throughout the night, putting together an unforgettable, and quite frankly life-changing show. As Ashley Santana ’26 reflected, “It just felt like everyone was so present not only from the people that participated and made the show possible, but also the crowd.” The show featured a wide variety of performances, from poetry to dancing to the annual fashion show to an ethereal harp performance, ensuring there was something for everyone. 

This variety in performance was no accident. Organizers Angel Olubakin ’26 and Gloria Manhey ’26 were intentional about creating a program as diverse as the theme itself. Olubakin noted that “Because of our theme this year, we thought having a speech from a professor with knowledge on it would be fitting.” Professor Chipo Dendere’s speech quite literally brought everyone to their feet. She humorously and poignantly talked about the idea of money as power and the way that money allows us to take care of ourselves and those we love. She also called attention to the atrocities happening around the globe including in Sudan and the Democratic Republic of the Congo — countries often overlooked in mainstream media. Throughout the night, WASA highlighted these two nations by asking the audience to raise awareness and donate to organizations like Save the Children. Dendere also encouraged students in the crowd to take advantage of all the wealth Wellesley has to offer and ended her speech with a set of affirmations she uses with her four-year-old daughter at home. Her words resonated deeply, and by the end of her speech, there was not a dry eye in the house. 

The event also featured a rousing performance by the Fever Dancers, who kept the energy going all the way through the final dance by WASA seniors sporting fantastic black and white outfits, with a DJ booth completing the vibe. The emcees, Lucy Alaeto ’26 and Stephanie Akuakolam ’26, played a crucial role in keeping the energy up with their witty banter and enthusiasm. As Santana ‘26 put it, “They kept everyone in it, and never did you fall out of it. You couldn’t even tell that time was passing outside of the fact that the curtains were opening and closing, there was no way of knowing.” 

Mamaland was a testament to WASA’s hard work and was an enriching experience for all. Olubakin ’26 noted that, “We hope every year Mamaland gets bigger and better.”

Contact the editors responsible for this story: Norah Catlin, Anabelle Meyers 

“She Stoops to Conquer” (1773) — Oliver Goldsmith

Some lighter fare first. For those new to eighteenth-century literature, “She Stoops to Conquer,” a short but chirpy play, is a natural springboard. Set against the intimate, fire-lit rooms of an English country manor, this comedy of manners revolves around the quick-witted Kate Hardcastle, as she outmaneuvers her Janus-faced suitor Charles Marlow. With gentlewomen like Kate, Marlow is a bashful, deferential mess of a man. Meanwhile, in the company of working-class women, he is a bold (frankly, rather creepy) rogue, a reality Kate exposes in an elaborate ruse. “She Stoops to Conquer” explores the absurdity and humor in the everyday performance of class and gender norms — and the sometimes frustrating, sometimes endearing reality of human mutability. It’s the perfect panacea for a dull winter day.

“Northanger Abbey” (1817) — Jane Austen

For those unfamiliar with Austen’s beloved literary ribbing of the Gothic, the novel chronicles the development of Catherine Morland, whose preference for the genre colors her perception of the world from the modish streets of Bath to the halls of the eponymous estate. To the young protagonist, macabre intrigue is not just the stuff of books but of reality, too. Catherine discovers that her instincts and fears are not so much mistaken as misplaced — no matter what well-meaning but overly-secure beau Henry Tilney might say to the contrary. In a Radcliffean twist, Austen, in her archly astute way, shows us that everyday vices like avarice, tyranny and deceit are just as terrifying as any Gothic spook.

“Fathers and Sons” (1862) — Ivan Turgenev

Although “Fathers and Sons” examines a mid-nineteenth-century Russian ideological schism, one needn’t be a Russianist to appreciate the work. Turgenev’s nuanced, compassionate portrait of generational conflict stands the test of time. The novel opens with recent university graduate Arkady Kirsanov, as he returns to his father Nikolai’s provincial estate. His friend Yevgeny Bazarov, a medical student and self-styled nihilist whose worldview has already rubbed off on Arkady, comes along. Nikolai and his brother Pavel are troubled by the disparity between their (apparently antediluvian) liberal, reformist views and the young men’s skepticism toward progressivism and Slavophile traditionalism alike. When Bazarov and Arkady meet the captivating, financially independent Madame Anna Sergeyevna Odintsova and her quietly dignified sister, Katya, the young men must grapple with their supposed emotional indifference and their burgeoning affections. 

“The Rainbow” (1915) — D.H. Lawrence

Set primarily in the East Midlands of England between the 1840s and the early twentieth century, “The Rainbow” traces three generations of the Brangwen family, beginning with the union of a sensitive farmer Tom Brangwen and Lydia Lensky, a flinty Polish widow living in exile. The novel then focuses on the increasingly hostile marriage between Anna Lensky, Lydia’s headstrong daughter by her first husband, and Tom’s possessive, insecure nephew Will. Finally, “The Rainbow” follows Anna and Will Brangwen’s daughter Ursula in her pursuit of moral truth and vocational purpose in a mercenary society and in her search of emotional depth in her relationship with complacent soldier Anton Skrebensky. Part commentary on intergenerational relationships, part criticism of English industrialization and urbanization, part exploration of female hetero- and homosexual desire, part examination of the communication breakdown between men and women, it’s nearly impossible for me to condense “The Rainbow” into a neat summary. Lawrence’s language is fervid; his imagery, lush; his narrative, all-encompassing. The best I can say is, well, read it.

“Snow Country” (1956) — Yasunari Kawabata

Kawabata’s austere novel, expressed in crystalline and somber prose, reflects on the beautiful in the melancholy and on the isolation that arises from aestheticism devoid of human sentiment. For years, Shimamura, an idle married man from Tokyo, frequents a hot spring town nestled in the white-capped Japanese Alps, where he sees a young geisha named Komako. Though forced into her profession by financial necessity and gender constraints, Komako’s inner life is dynamic and rich. She cultivates her passion for music and dance insofar as she is able. She feels with vigor and delicacy in equal measure. While Komako comes to love him, Shimamura is unable to derive any finer feelings from what he sees as a transactional, carnal affair. At most, he pities her. But Shimamura, who lives off family money and merely pretends to have an interest in the performing arts, is much more to be pitied — or scorned. Only as a witness to Komako’s humanity can Shimamura realize the hollowness of his own life, though perhaps too late. 

“My Brilliant Friend” (2012) — Elena Ferrante

The first installment of Ferrante’s “Neapolitan Novels” is a colossus of twenty-first-century fiction. Ostensibly, “My Brilliant Friend” centers on Elena Greco, a young woman in a working-class neighborhood in post-war Naples, as she recounts her childhood friendship and rivalry with Raffaella “Lila” Cerullo. Elena sees herself as retiring and both intellectually and physically unremarkable. In contrast, she views Lila as admirably fierce, adroit and beautiful. All the while, Lila berates herself for her crudeness and hot-headed nature. She holds Elena in high esteem for her diligence, composure and subtlety of mind. As the pair age, rhythms of class and gender limitations set them on divergent life paths. Nonetheless, their relationship with one another continues to inform how they perceive the world and how they conceive of themselves. The visceral, unrelenting honesty of Ferrante’s style — particularly in the expression of women’s rage in the face of gender and economic oppression — gives “My Brilliant Friend” a singular potency. Ferrante’s characters are literary forces of nature, even if they don’t always recognize it for themselves. Elena is simultaneously highly conscious, prudent, awkward, penetrating and powerfully resolute. Lila is indomitable, coarse, elegant, enterprising, loyal and vulnerable. Their “friendship” (the word is woefully inadequate) is manifold, running the gamut from hatred to love and dissolving the boundaries of selfhood. The result is magnetic. Brilliant, even.  

“Sing, Unburied, Sing” (2017) — Jesmyn Ward

Ward’s lyrical and gripping novel begins in the fictional Mississippi town of Bois Sauvage and follows Jojo, a precocious thirteen-year-old, and his little sister Kayla, siblings born to a Black mother Leonie and a white father Michael. The pair — both of whom possess the ability to communicate with the (un)dead — are raised primarily by their maternal grandparents; Leonie, traumatized by the murder of her brother and addicted to drugs, is mentally absent, while Michael is physically and mentally absent, serving out a sentence for drug trafficking. Upon the end of Michael’s sentence, Leonie and her family embark on something of a modern Odyssey to Mississippi State Penitentiary, coming face to face with the ghosts — literal and figurative, past and present — of US slavery, convict leasing, the prison industrial complex and the experiences of interracial families in a racist society.

Contact the editors responsible for this story: Norah Catlin, Anabelle Meyers

The play, which Upstage performed in Mandarin with English subtitles, had three showings, with the opening night on Friday followed by two shows on Saturday. After the Saturday matinée, Professor Mingwei Song of Wellesley’s Department of East Asian Languages and Cultures gave a talk on the play’s context in mid-20th century China and its author, Cao Yu, whom Yihan Ling ’27, the director of Upstage’s production of the play, calls “China’s Shakespeare.”

“Sunrise” was written and first performed in 1936, and is the second installment in Yu’s classic trilogy of Huaju (“spoken drama”). It follows Chen Bailu (Grace Yuan ’28), an educated young woman from the country who, after her family suffers a blow to their status, moves to the city and becomes a prostitute. Living in a hotel managed by her wealthy clients, she indulges in parties and entertainment, unbothered by the city’s debauchery. But when an abused young girl shows up on her doorstep, Chen Bailu is forced to face the suffering around her and reexamine the life she is leading.

Ling and Eliza Mai ’27, who both co-chair Upstage, knew they wanted to stage a play by Cao Yu due to his iconic legacy in Chinese theater. Before Cao Yu’s works, Peking Opera –– a form of opera which involves music, dance, martial arts and acrobatics –– was the dominant form of theatrical entertainment. It was Yu who first popularized the spoken drama in China, and changed the way audiences viewed drama. 

Initially, Upstage considered staging “Thunderstorm,” the first drama in Yu’s trilogy and perhaps his most famous work. However, because they were driven by an interest in class issues, the team decided to go with “Sunrise” instead. “Thunderstorm” focuses on one family, all of the same social class, while “Sunrise” follows the lives and interactions of several different characters from all kinds of class backgrounds. It was important for Ling and Mai to explore a range of class struggles and how these struggles relate to other global issues, such as patriarchy and poverty. 

For Ling, “Sunrise” still feels strikingly relevant today. Although the play was written almost a hundred years ago, she says, “things haven’t changed … That’s what made me want to put on this show. After one hundred years, you can see that people in the lower classes, they’re still being exploited.” Ling felt that the questions that the play explores are ones of interest to Wellesley students, and as a result, it was clear that “Sunrise” was the perfect choice for the production this fall.

Ling and Mai had wanted to put on a play in Mandarin at Wellesley for a while. They were inspired to make their dream into a reality after seeing “Rhinoceros in Love,” a Mandarin-language play staged by Massachusetts Institute of Technology’s Wuming Theater Club last April. According to Ling, there are Wellesley students who are interested in participating in theater in their native language of Mandarin — they just choose to go to MIT or other nearby schools to get involved, because Wellesley does not have a history of supporting theater in languages other than English. Nevertheless, it was precisely because of the lack of multilingual theater at Wellesley that Ling and Mai were determined to stage “Sunrise” as soon as possible. 

“There definitely are students who are interested in putting on Mandarin plays at Wellesley,” Ling said. “So we thought, why can’t we do it here?” 

As an actor whose native language is Mandarin and who has been involved in multiple plays at Wellesley, Ling is incredibly proud to have been a part of the college’s first non-English language theater production. “When you’re doing theater that’s not in your native language, it can be a bit weird sometimes,” she said. “For the [bilingual students] here, I want to tell them that there’s a chance for you to make theater in your native language. English is not the only language for theater.”

Contact the editors responsible for this story: Anabelle Meyers, Ivy Buck

On Friday, Nov. 1, the Harvard-Radcliffe Dramatic Club opened their production of “Anastasia,” the perennial theater-kid favorite based on the 1997 Don Bluth animated movie and the 1956 Ingrid Bergman film, both of the same name. Despite being widely panned by critics, the original production enjoyed a two-year run on Broadway and a special place in the hearts of its fans.

The staying power of the musical comes from its moving score by Stephen Flaherty and Lynn Ahrens, sung convincingly by this cast, specifically Caitlin Beirne’s Anya –– whose Disney Cruise ship experience as Cinderella was on full display in her ability to play sweet without becoming saccharine. A special mention must also be made of Justice Sirotek’s stirring rendition of “Stay I Pray You.” Typically a chore of a song that serves only to drag the run time out to its bloated 2 hours and 30 minutes, Sirotek’s performance proved to be one of the high points of the production. 

Despite the best efforts of a passionate cast to mask the weakness of the book’s over writing, the ultimate result fell flat. Since the plot shatters upon any scrutiny, it requires a high budget that can bring dazzling costumes and luscious sets to lull the audience into acceptance. With budgetary restraints in mind –– an article in the Harvard Crimson from 2023 reported a 89% budget cut to the Harvard-Radcliffe Dramatic Club –– perhaps “Anastasia” was the wrong choice. Even with these constraints, the lack of ingenuity from a production team which included a costume designer, assistant costume designer, hair and makeup designer and dramaturg is disappointing.

The greatest problem inherent in the production was the inevitability of the cast’s youth. The rare moments when the source material manages to touch on something deeper are those which reference aging, regret and the weight of the crimes committed by ancestors. The old guard of the Russian aristocracy battling with their own regrets and pain of loved ones lost rang false on the faces of actors in their late teens and early twenties without the gravitas to allow the audience a suspension of disbelief. Each actor played their role as a budding young ingénue –– which worked well for the ingénues but was confusing for the rest of the cast. 

The Harvard-Radcliffe Drama Club was faced with a surprisingly immense challenge with their choice of source material. Despite deft comedic moments and strong performances by many of the cast, there was simply not enough magic to make “Anastasia” the crowd-pleaser that it is intended to be.

Contact the editors responsible for this article: Norah Catlin, Ivy Buck

 “SATURDAY NIGHT” depicts the 90 minutes before the first ever episode of “Saturday Night Live,” commonly referred to as “SNL,” which premiered on Oct. 11, 1975. It reveals the behind-the-scenes challenges faced by the cast and crew that have remained largely unknown to the public –– until now.

 The film’s pacing, set design and casting relay the sensation of “a night in New York City” — as said by Lorne Michaels, the Showrunner and Creator of SNL, portrayed in “SATURDAY NIGHT” by Gabriel LaBelle. The cast is packed with big hitters and each performer captures their counterpart with immense accuracy, in terms of both physical resemblance and minute mannerisms. It’s hard to pick out performances that stand out above others, but among the top performances are Cory Michael Smith, Lamorne Morris and Ella Hunt. The similarities between Smith and Chevy Chase, who went on to iconize ‘weekend update,’ were uncanny, down to his voice, tone, the way he walked and his uniquely egotistical attitude. Hunt as Gilda Radner, who helped to form the comedy and tone SNL itself with her quirks, pulled on my heartstrings with her love for nostalgia and kid-sister-ness. Morris as Garrett Morris, another original cast member,(no relation) could’ve fooled me with the identical singing voice and mannerisms. It was as if the modern cast was possessed by the very icons who revolutionized American television. 

The film’s fast pacing and scene splicing in moments of tension brought a shared anxiety to the theater. Near the end of the movie, I felt like I WAS Michaels – unsure if the show would go on. LaBelle (Michaels) centers the movie, which is not an easy feat considering the chaos in every scene and performance. 

Watching “SATURDAY NIGHT,” I found myself transported to Oct 11, 1975 in New York City, begging Belushi to sign his contract, breaking up fights, putting out fires, worrying about my impact on a new television show and trying to create a home for lost, disregarded comedians and personalities alike. This movie at its core feels incredibly authentic to “Saturday Night Live.” Some jokes fall flat and some hit you right in the stomach with giggles –– similar to the current state of the show, at least according to its younger audience. If anything, “SATURDAY NIGHT” strives to bring modern relevance to SNL and remind folks at home of its original intention – a group of people brought together to make an audience laugh.

Contact the editors responsible for this story: Ivy Buck, Norah Catlin