While You Were Watching "Degrassi"...

By: 
Kimberly

Based on the articles I've written so far and my little blurb in the Contributors section, you all are well aware of my affinity for Spanish culture and language. That, I don't have to tell you. But I do have something else to tell you: 

I am also pretty obsessed with the Spanish television teen drama Física o Química. (Translation: Physical or Chemical or Physics or Chemistry) To give you a general, cultural perspective, it's basically the Spanish Degrassi. (Or, having premiered in early 2008, it could also possibly be Spain's answer to UK's Skins.) 

More specifically, however, the show follows the students and teachers of Colegio Zurbarán, a high school located in Spain's bustling capital of Madrid. What makes it interesting, of course, is the series of dramatic hookups, breakups, and rumors that circulate amongst both the students and the staff. (See? Spanish Degrassi, in Canadian and American terms.)

Students of the first season

However, I'm afraid I cannot compare specific characters, storylines, and events of Física to those of its Canadian predecessor. No, it's not that Física o Química is any better or worse than Degrassi, or that some things "just don't translate." (After all, we can agree that these are purely guilty pleasure shows, at least for those of us aged 18 and older.)

It's just that I can't enjoy Degrassi. At. All.

For one, I find the acting appalling. I remember sifting through television channels at the Degrassi-appreciative age and cringing in response to the acting even then. So I would wait until someone said "sorry", giggle, and then change the channel. Thus, I could never get into it.

All I know about this picture is that the kid in the wheelchair raps. Right?

One great thing about it is that each episode, or capítulo, lasts approximately an hour and 20 minutes long, so basically, if you were living in Spain, you'd have an entire feature-length film's worth of sex, lies, and Maxi Iglesias' piercing blue eyes every week.

So why and how do I like this and not "Degrassi"? Is it because I watch it to maintain my listening skills? (Maybe all that corny dialogue doesn't sound so corny in Spanish.) Is it the fact that the Pilot episode premiered when I was studying in Madrid? Is it because I want to put a nervous/confused Javier Calvo (who plays Fer, the only openly gay character until he gets a steady boyfriend in season 3) in every future film I hope to make? Am I hoping to recognize areas of Madrid in the background of exterior scenes? Is it because I eagerly anticipate who is going to be the new gym teacher each season? Maybe I'm just waiting for one of them to jumpstart his/her rap career.

Alright, fine, it's because of the hunky jailbird waiter of the cafeteria, Berto.

Whatever the reason, I'm sure a large part of it has to do with being there since the very beginning, during each character's arc. I hear there is an overwhelming number of seasons of Degrassi, so I suppose catching up with the current season (if it exists) isn't a task I hope to take on anytime soon. I was there when Irene, the philosophy teacher during the first four seasons, had her first day at Zurbarán and discovered that Isaac, her one-night-stand from the night before happened to be a student in her class. I was also there when Gorka, of all people, helped deliver the child of Olimpia, the hard-headed English teacher and former principal. I even watched as Fer's parents were relieved to hear that Fer was gay and not an alcoholic. 

As cheesy and silly as it all seems, it's an educational, (in terms of maintaining Spanish listening skills,) cathartic, and sometimes even vicarious way to be entertained. It works in the same way soap operas and telenovelas do, but I'd like to think that Física o Química has a much higher production value and a vague yet existing sense of cultural relevance. (There are definitely lessons to be learned in each episode, thus giving it a dash of "after-school special.") 

Julio (Gonzalo Ramos) was even a nazi skinhead for a few episodes, despite having a gay friend, a Chinese friend, and a liberal ex-girlfriend.

And I'm sure you Degrassi people can say the same thing for your beloved albeit often underdeveloped characters, such as: "I was there when Jimmy got shot."

The Order of the Virgins Who Can’t Drive

By: Lani

Don’t tell the Missouri department of motor vehicles, but I really can’t drive. Sure, I am much better at it than I was at 16, when I failed my driving test twice and was a few points away from failing a third time. But I’m only on the roads thanks to that nice old man, the driving proctor, who passed me out of sympathy on my third test. The fact of the matter is that I didn’t even know left from right before I started driving. I don’t even have a very good grasp on it now. What can I say? I’m left-handed, but I always think I’m “right.” Also, I hate driving, I hate cars, I hate filling up my gas tank (though I am very fortunate to have car that gets descent mileage). But, alas, I live in St. Louis, and I have no choice. If you want to get to work, if you want to get to school, you have to drive. There is basically no public transportation, especially not out here in the ‘burbs (it brings in those kinds of people...).

Come here Rudd boy, boy... is you big enough?

Not being able to drive is just one reason why I relate so well to Cher Horowitz of 'Clueless.' I’m also totally, majorly, butt-crazy in love with Paul Rudd, but who isn’t? Oh yeah, and I’m a virgin. A virgin who can’t drive. In 'Clueless,' Cher, 16,  is made to be ashamed of her “status” by Brittney Murphy’s (R.I.P.) character, Jersey-Girl, Tai. At 20, I realize just how "way harsh" this is, especially as a virgin who still can’t drive. Not everyone loses their virginity after the homecoming dance or on prom night. Some people don’t even lose it their Freshman year of college. My still-with-standing virginity has nothing to do with religious beliefs (unlike most of my other virgin friends who are waiting until they're married, in the grand tradition of Twilight). Though, I like to jokingly blame it on having a name that means “Heavenly Mary” (Lani - Hawaiian, “heavenly;” Marie - French, “Mary”) and having been raised Catholic. And, not to brag, but I don’t really think my continued lack of consummation has nothing to do with me not being bang-able.

"You see how picky I am about my shoes and they only go on my feet."

It has a lot more to do with being surrounded by guys who resemble Elton in personality (not in looks, because Jeremy Sisto is “my type” in that department) my whole life. I’m sorry that I am not turned on by blatant  (or subconscious) misogyny and/or classism. I don’t care what car you drive, who your father is, how much money you have, or what you drink. If you’re an asshole, you are not fucking me. That’s just how it works, because I have standards and lack daddy-issues (i.e. - my biggest issue with my dad is that he's one of my best friends).

Elton, trapped behind the veil of Male Privilege.

And seriously, my post-secondary education is even more full of Elton types than before. My school has every sport ever. We have sports I didn’t even know were sports before I start going to Lindenwood (including bowling, shooting and weight lifting). I hate sports. It comes after a lifetime of getting hit in the head in gym class whist playing any sport that ends with “-ball.” In my time at Lindenwood, I’ve only ever been to ONE football game. I think that might be a record. I’m surprised I haven’t been bullied into going to more, since most of my friends are in marching band. Also, we have a shit-ton of frats, like co-ed service fraternities. And hey, good for you if you like helping people and being involved in extra-curriculars, but I am not paying money to partake in mandatory community service. 

Cher: I want to do something for humanity.
Josh: How about sterilization? 

I’ve done pretty well at making friends in college with out being on a sports team or joining a frat. I have found some people whose idea of fun doesn’t solely revolve around playing table tennis (or some other ridiculous “sport”) or beer pong (they’re cousins!) Mostly, my idea of fun at school is going out to eat with friends, hiding in the library or hanging around the TV station/video editing lab. While this might not be incredibly well-adjusted, it’s not too maladjusted either. 

God Forbid, I want to have sex with my Step Brother.

I watch way too many movies and in the past couple movies I’ve seen: If you lose your virginity and you’re a girl, BAD THINGS WILL HAPPEN. You will get the clap, you will get raped, you will get pregnant. It’s just like the Sex Ed / Gym Teacher in 'Mean Girls' said:

Coach Carr: Don't have sex, because you will get pregnant and die! Don't have sex in the missionary position, don't have sex standing up, just don't do it, OK, promise? OK, now everybody take some rubbers. 

And this is the message that has been around a long time before Nancy Reagan came up with her “JUST SAY NO!” Policy in the 80s. For women, it’s almost always been there. And at the same time the opposite message is always around too.

  

Just do WHAT? I need you to be more specific!

Which makes modern life and sex and sexuality pretty goddamn confusing. Tina Fey, while she may not be the perfect model for feminism, must know how I feel, seeing as she had her V-card until she was 24. (She claims that she “couldn’t give it away,” but I am pretty sure this is part of her old “single-lady” schtick. I’m not falling for it any more, TINA). Mean Girls (Clueless for the 2k’s, amirite?) does, however, pass the Mo-Movie measure and it actually discusses the issues young girls face everyday. 

Save a horse, ride marry a Playgirl Centerfold.

Coach Carr’s line about sex is a parody of abstinence education. It might be a stretch, but it could also be a parody of the continued fascination with the Madonna-Whore complex in our culture and media (especially film). Bret Easton Ellis is already on my bad list, but here’s the thing, I liked 'Rules of Attraction' - I liked it a lot. You know, before I saw the unedited version where Lauren loses her virginity by getting raped. My biggest complaint with 'The Last Days of Disco' is that Alice contracts the Clap her first time (and that Robert Sean Leonard gives it to her). In 'Les Parapluies de Cherbourg' (or 'The Umbrellas of Cherbourg'), Genevieve gets pregnant after giving it up to Guy. And even on my favorite TV show, 'Mad Men', there is the message of “lose your vigitinity and you shall suffer." Peggy gets pregnant and fails to notice until she’s giving birth, and the whole story line is at least PARTIALLY to show that Pete is not impotent... Oh the dramatic irony!

"I don't like you like this!"

If this is what *really* happens when you lose it, then I’m joining a convent now. We shall be the order of The Virgins Who Can’t Drive. ... But since it isn’t what happens, it’s just the overly-dramatic, neo-Freudian visions of men with mean mommies, I’m okay with losing my virginity. On my own time. With the right guy. While using protection. And then making movies with realistic, albeit boring, sex scenes...

My Drunk Life

By 

Kimberly

A good number of people I talk to seem to have their wacky stories of the first time they became inebriated. As in most of these story-telling situations, I'm half-listening to the story being told, half-thinking of a similar story of mine to tell and maybe one-up. Then, I find myself zooming through my past to uncover the first moment I felt all woozy and wobbly after a cup of bubbly (or other alcoholic drink.) But once I think I've backtracked to that very moment, I then remind myself of an even EARLIER time I hit the sauce.

And then it actually hits me - I've been drinking since the 3rd grade.

For my fellow Roman-Catholics out there reading this, I'm sure you're thinking, "Psh, BIG DEAL." That's because A. Your first drink was also a sip of Jesus' blood at your First Communion, B. You're also Italian and/or Irish, or C. You were playing in Mommy's liquor cabinet again, weren't you? I happen to be an Italian-American Roman-Catholic, so I'm pretty sure my first alcoholic drink was the one presented to me as the blood of my presumed Lord and savior (which, at the time, explained the "icky, bittery" taste to it.) But transubstantiation aside, I remember feeling  just the tiniest bit of joy in knowing that I was drinking a grown-up drink. 

Then, of course, there's the inevitable cousin's wedding. This is where I learned that appearances - when it comes to figuring out the difference between champagne and sparkling apple cider - can be deceiving, especially when the caterers have already poured the glasses and emptied the bottles. "Gee, this sparkling apple cider tastes kinda funny,"said a naïve, 14-year-old me. I didn't get drunk (or the slightest bit tipsy, for that matter,) but my brother, a college Freshman at the time, totally did. It was an interesting 2-hour car ride from Cincinnati back to Columbus, to say the least.

Let's skip ahead to high school, when I started drinking at family functions and during my school's Europe trip. Now, to give you an idea of the group of people I was traveling with, I'll mention this: I attended the high school that Heathers (1989) was based on. No joke. Needless to say, it was uptight, mostly conservative, and, like all high schools, teeming with assholery. We traveled to Spain, Italy, and Greece, where the respective legal purchasing ages for alcohol are: 16, none (16 in certain public places), and... none. Of course, what do the chaperones so pleasantly and courteously remind us before we go out on the town? That the drinking and purchasing age in all those countries is 18. I mean, I can understand that they didn't want a bunch of obnoxious, idiotic, drunk teenagers on their hands, but to flat out lie? I'm still pissed about that. I was 16 at the time, so I whenever I would order alcohol at a restaurant or bar I was thinking that I was getting away with something, only to discover the truth back in the good ole U. S. of A.

A sneaky 16-year-old me on a boat between Capri and Sorrento.

Two years after my Europe trip (which I took the summer after my Sophomore year,) I studied abroad in Madrid during the final semester of my Senior year. I ended up meeting a lot of great people from all over the world. This was mostly due to the "Copa de bienvenida", a little event my language school provided every Monday evening at a bar located right around the corner from the school for new incoming students to meet and mingle with others. 

Aware of my status as a citizen from (arguably) the most douchey country in the world, I was quite nervous for reasons that today seem pretty silly, because everyone I met was incredibly gracious and excited to meet one another. But I believe it was one of the first instances in which I discovered alcohol as "liquid confidence," as they call it. Thus, I always credit the Copa de bienvenida for both giving me the chance to meet some amazing people and discover the social lubricating powers of sangría and Desperados beer.

That takes us to my college days, those of which I am currently experiencing. Still underage, I've almost developed my alcohol tolerance perhaps to the highest it's ever gonna get. Other than sangría and Desperados beer, I know what my North American "poisons" are (rum and Coke, Stella Artois.) These are the glorious four years of discovery, in which halfway through I will be able to flash my driver's license with confidence. 

But really, there isn't (and shouldn't be) any shame for already having a "drunk history". (At age 20 and a half, I should have a drunk history, despite the U.S.'s rather strict drinking laws.) 

Unless I did something so completely and utterly terrible and unforgivable whilst under the influence or developed an unhealthy, socially damaging habit, then I consider myself a-okay in the drinking department. I'm sure a good number of you have more epic, illustrious stories to tell, but unlike the situation mentioned in the very first paragraph, I'm not looking to win Best Drunk Story or Best Text From Last Night 2010. 

Instead, I'd like to think I have left a beautiful, shining tapestry of empty bottles, cans, and glasses through which I've drunk alcoholic beverages -- one that illustrates the development of my alcohol tolerance and adult self, from my First Communion up untl that last bottle of 312 Urban Wheat Ale I nursed last night.

And, if you drink, hopefully you can imagine your own tapestry as well.

Now Presenting... Avi Buffalo.

By: Valerie

For the musically inclined, finding one or multiple summer soundtracks is key. Something about the summer air not only uplifts your soul, but also your ears. Like plants, we lean towards the sun. UV rays seeping into our pores, outdoor barbeques, watermelon slices and a plethora of smiles- only to be accompanied by the melodies that define your glorious months. You look back upon those moments, those sounds that evoke the slightest sense of warmth as fall’s cold air rushes through rustling leaves above your head. Its is July, so lets us bask on a little bit longer, tap our toes, and lie down in the fresh cut grass.




Avi Buffalo’s self -titled debut (released in April 2010 on Sub Pop), is an album that has been sitting patiently in my iTunes library awaiting its rotation amongst a cluster of brand new music and has slowly but surely made its place in my go-to summer picks. Avi Buffalo, is a quartet hailing from Long Beach, California. Sheridan Riley on drums, Rebecca Coleman on keyboards along with vocals bring the estrogen to the group while Avigdor Zahner-Insberg (where the ‘Avi’ comes from) provides lead vocals and the strum of the guitar complimentary of Arin Fazio on the bass. While their album has had much buzz and success, the majority of the band members are simply recent high school graduates, most of them being between the ages of 18 and 19 with the exception of Riley, age 21. With an album with tracks titled “Summer Cum” and “Five Little Sluts,” how can you not be intrigued? I suppose I am a bit of a pervert, so on I listened.

The album’s first track “Truth Sets In” sets the pace for the breezy forty minutes you have left to hear. A whirlwind of ease flows through the crooning voice of Zahner-Insberg mumbling his awkward woes. Being such young individuals, they write about what they know best- youth, and dealing with it. Free of clichés, there are no tracks about cliques, varsity football games and the cafeteria’s mystery meat. (Well, there is that line “your lips are like tiny pieces of bacon” in their first single “What’s In it For?”) Track after track brings forth that feeling we all once knew, that vulnerability and naivety every teenager felt. The critique of yourself in the mirror for hours, the dread of school dances, and the about face you did at the sight of your crush in the hall, and the longing expectation felt within interactions with members of the opposite sex. The moments we thought meant the world to us then that we can’t help but cherish now.  As J.D. Salinger epitomized the tale of coming of age with “Catcher in the Rye,” Avi Buffalo attempts their stab at it with tales of romance, warped relationships, and questions of existence, death, along with odes to self-discovery and doubt.


Musically, they are talented. Avi Zahner-Insberg’s raspy, child like howls reminisce those of Karen O. in the Where the Wild Things Are soundtrack, simply more understated. The tone of Avi’s voice is also very similar that of The Thrills’ lead singer Conor Deasy. Each world stumbles upon another, only adding to each songs quirky, awkward element. On tracks such as “One Last” where Rebecca Coleman’s vocals truly come forth, both singers bounce of each other’s sounds. Both scratchy voiced singers, Coleman and Insberg achieve a harmony that is a ying and yang. While Insberg coolly instills himself in our presence, Coleman picks up the pace and brings a tinge of life to our mellow. Though frequently compared to The Shins, I being a devout Shins listener, beg to differ. I would consider this band to be what would become the result of a fusion of Rilo Kiley and Woods-if that makes sense to my fellow music heads. Each song on the album has a quality that makes it easy to enter; each track can be hummed along to. Their one flaw is in the endings of their songs, sometimes dragging on when one could have made due without the dramatic winding. But hey, they’re young! They have plenty of time to correct a very promising start. While many other artists in various bands make tracks to jab our brain in an instant, Avi Buffalo simply sinks right in. The melodies are simple and sweet sounding, constantly blended with soft, eerie echoes. Perfect listening for the nights you spend drinking beers for your friends, thinking of your current crush, and even on your adventures walking around in the summer sun.

Key Tracks: “What’s In It For?” “Summer Cum,” “One Last”


Watch their video for "What's In It For?" HERE.

Whit Stillman V. Common People

By: Lani

If you’re my age, you remember certain things about the 90’s. A lot of these things transcend generational lines, like Titanic, the Macarena and owning a pair of Guess jeans (I got my pair at a resale shop). But mainly you remember things marketed towards children, things on Nickelodeon, or if you’re parents were loaded (or like me, your dad worked for the cable company), Cartoon Network.

We don't even like each other!

However, if you’re in your early 20’s, I’m willing to bet, you definitely don’t remember the Whit Stillman movie The Last Days of Disco. Actually, I’m not sure if anyone remembers it. Well, besides the Criterion people, who added it to their DVD collection (supposedly one of the best collections in the world… supposedly) and the programming people on the Style Network, who’ve been playing it in the late night slot for the past month. I’ve caught the movie (from different random points) a few times.

Jarvis is judging you.

The Last Days of Disco is one of those things from the 90’s that I’m just now experiencing, over 10 years after the fact, like the band Pulp. I had heard of Pulp a few times, mainly mentions of the William Shatner version of ‘Common People’ on Vh1, (did you know buying into something for the sake of irony existed before 2003? ME EITHER).  I had to come around to listening to them (and loving them) on my own. Now I can’t stop listening to Pulp. Once I had a revelation while listening to “Common People”, but I don’t remember it now. Unlike my affection for Pulp, The Last Days of Disco did not fill me with second hand nostalgia.

What do you mean you don't remember us?!

The Last Days of Disco is supposed to take place in the “very early 80’s,” but it’s totally 90’s. It stars Chloe Sevigny and Kate Beckinsale for Christ’s sake… and that guy that dated Lorelei in ‘Gilmore Girls’ …and that other guy that was Mandy Moore’s future brother-in-law in How to Deal… you know, people who hold zero social relevance anymore.

Like almost all of Pulp’s songs, The Last Days of Disco tells the [melodramatic, boring] stories of a small group of young people: their trials, their tribulations, their love affairs. And in an attempt to add more subtext, the whole thing is set against New York City in the disco days of Studio 54.

Chloe Sevigny plays Alice, the “narrator” of the story. She says less than the assholes that surround her, but we get to see Stillman torment her the most. Alice and her coworker/roommate Charlotte (Beckinsale), both work at a publishing house and spend their free time going to the discos. They have a third roommate, but she says nothing of value. Because she’s a woman, duh… She just goes on dates with assholes that make Alice and Charlotte ~judge~ her - not that they really have any room to do so.

Can't you see the torment in her eyes?! ... or at least the boredum...

Alice has a one-night-stand with another disco goer, played by Dr. Wilson, I mean Robert Sean Leonard, and Alice contracts herpes and gonorrhea from him. It’s later revealed that Alice was a virgin before this roll in the hay with Dr. Wilson.:

Alice Kinnon: If when making love, the man... *spurts*... outside the woman, does that count as sexual intercourse?

Tom Platt: "Spurts"?

Alice Kinnon: If it... *squirts* outside, without getting in... does that count as losing your virginity?

Tom Platt: No part of the man got in at any time?

Alice Kinnon: I don't think so.

Tom Platt: I think part has to get in to be considered sexual intercourse.

Alice Kinnon: So then I was a virgin.

That’s right, if you surrender your purity, you must suffer! Alice tries to keep her V.D. on the D.L., but Charlotte, the bitch, blows her cover. Right in front of all their “friends” too.

Charlotte, Queen Bitch Face

And that’s the thing that struck me most about this film; Charlotte and Alice pretty much hate each other. They are each other’s foils and they’re companions with each other because they went to [a “prestigious”/expensive] college together and work together, but they don’t really like each other at all.  It’s all about convenience with them. Honestly, I have been in a relationship like that. My best friend growing up and I were exactly like this. We grew to not even like each other, have almost nothing in common, but we couldn’t face school alone. We just needed someone to commiserate with and it didn’t hurt that the other person lived on the same block. Of course our friendship ended in a big blow-out, just like Alice and Charlotte.

Actually it’s hard to believe that anyone in this film likes each other. The characters are just not  likeable. They’re not even endearing in the quirky-amusing way that Juno and every other character is today.  They’re all just assholes and I guess that’s a form of “realism.” They’re all just like the people in Pulp’s songs. Except, because Jarvis Cocker isn’t narrating, it’s hard to feel anything for these hollow shells called people. The dialog is painful, but not because it’s particularly bad (except for Charlotte’s line: “You and Holly are the first female friends I’ve ever had!”), but because it’s hard to watch these people interact so rudely with each other.  

 ...I'm so ashamed to be seen with you...

The whole thing is set in the Disco Clubs of the late 70’s and early 80’s, but that becomes inconsequential, because the characters never dance on screen (except in the subway), they’re never shown enjoying the fun parts of “clubbing” (assuming that there are fun aspects of it). They usually lounge around languorously, drink and bullshit. They talk about the kind of stuff you’d expect from recent college grads, gossip, drugs, and one particularly “deep” conversation about whether or not people can “really” change and the effects of media.

[Josh describes Lady and the Tramp]

Josh Neff: [referring to Lady and the Tramp] There is something depressing about it, and it's not really about dogs. Except for some superficial bow-wow stuff at the start, the dogs all represent human types, which is where it gets into real trouble. Lady, the ostensible protagonist, is a fluffy blond Cocker Spaniel with absolutely nothing on her brain. She's great-looking, but - let's be honest - incredibly insipid. Tramp, the love interest, is a smarmy braggart of the most obnoxious kind - an oily jailbird out for a piece of tail, or... whatever he can get.

Charlotte Pingress: Oh, come on.

Josh Neff: No, he's a self-confessed chicken thief, and all-around sleazeball. What's the function of a film of this kind? Essentially as a primer on love and marriage directed at very young people, imprinting on their little psyches the idea that smooth-talking delinquents recently escaped from the local pound are a good match for nice girls from sheltered homes. When in ten years the icky human version of Tramp shows up around the house, their hormones will be racing and no one will understand why. Films like this program women to adore jerks.

Well, in that case, films like The Last Days of Disco program young people to adore the sounds of their own bullshit, write it down and make a movie out of it. (That is what mumblecore is right)? Whit Stillman has had an influence on some formally young people, who are now formidable directors. Stillman is said to have influenced Wes Anderson and Noah Baumbach, and I get it, but I feel like this is the best case of Godard’s idea of “It’s not where you take things from—it’s where you take them to.” Sure, both Anderson and Baumbach write about upper-middle/upper class white people with emotional problems, but they take Stillman-esque characters to a different place than Stillman. Anderson takes them to the story-book absurd and Baumbach takes them to a place where they can be emotionally “real” (instead of just assholes spouting opinions).

I only went with him 'cause he looks like you.

It’s not hard to picture any of these characters being taken aside, by JC (no not that one, this one) and told to pretend they don’t have money, pretend they never went to school. And that’s what it boils down to: these people have enough money to live in the city (even if they have a few roommates) and they have jobs and they are upwardly mobile (ie- not common people). They do cocaine and they don’t have to pay for it. They dance and drink and screw, but not because there is nothing left to do, or because their lives have slipped out of view. They do all this because they can afford it and nothing more is expected of them. And because it is Disco.

No matter how much Alice and Charlotte and the gang hate each other, I hope they can resolve their issues enough to meet up at some point in the future, say The Year 2000.

Listen to Whit Stillman talk about the commercial failure of The Last Days of Disco.