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The pressure of growing up in a Caribbean household meant I always had a plan. A 10-year plan, a five-year plan, a breakfast, lunch and dinner plan. I always had dreams that my parents didn’t believe in; therefore, my adolescent years meant planning out my dreams into reasonable journeys.
But my junior year in college was the first time in my life I didn’t have one. I wanted to be a veterinarian growing up; however, freshman year in college made me realize how bad I was at chemistry and math, so that didn’t seem viable. I’ve always been a great performer and writer. Most of my college years was spent performing for large audiences. I wrote poems and was solicited to perform them around the country. I loved poems, but I wasn’t sure if being a touring poet would’ve been satisfying to me.
There was always proof that performing and writing would be part of my life. My parents did not create an environment that made me believe my talent was sustainable. I wanted to utilize the talents I had in spaces that would lift me up.
A Channel Change and a Bowl of Cereal
Spring break, April 2016, I grabbed a bowl of cereal and turned on the television. I was feeling lost, emotionally exhausted, digging into my soggy ass cereal. Something compelled me to turn on my television. The Daily Show with Trevor Noah was on. I’ve heard news reports about him. A South African stand-up comedian “mostly” unknown to America taking over for one of the most influential late-night TV personalities, Jon Stewart. I’ve heard how people thought Trevor wasn’t funny, that he wasn’t ready for the seat, or that it should have gone to any other Daily Show correspondent. And yet, when I saw him, my future made sense. This man that wasn’t even supposed to be alive, flourished in a seat that people thought shouldn’t belong to him.
At that moment, all the feelings of sureness, fear, and confusion exited my body. I saw Trevor Noah and suddenly I made the most impulsive decision of my life: I decided I wanted to write for late night television. And I cannot express it enough, this was the quickest decision I’ve ever made in my life. Every plan I craft usually takes me weeks or months, but here I made this decision in less than 10 minutes. I pulled up my phone, requested tickets, called my partner, begged him to come with me, and was on that line to see a taping that same day.
I stood in line, pen and notebook in hand, nervous about stepping into the studio. This would be my first-time stepping foot in a television studio. Consenting to go inside symbolized my intent to follow through with these goals. Even though I knew at any moment I could decide “this was too impulsive let me step back,” something seemingly minuscule as just being part of an audience meant that I was investing in this.
I prepped a question for the Q&A: “how do you and your writers work together to create the web of your show each day, and how does that transform over time?” When he stepped out and so happen to call on me, it was over. Apologies to my partner who was next to me as I was cheesing ear to ear, when Trevor smiled at me, and said, “wow I wasn’t expecting that, that’s a great question.”
Late Night’s Embrace
He spoke about how the show web transforms day to day, and the collaborative process derives from the various people watching everything unfold. I didn’t know the extent of it then, but putting on a show every day based on the information you learned a couple of hours ago would be a lesson in stamina.
I didn’t have the kind of exposure to media growing up like most people did. Being raised as a Seventh Day Adventist meant that things that didn’t immediately “glorify” or center God was not meant for my consumption. I loved comedy but shows that came on late at night or did gags that were borderline blasphemous, or even worse, cussed would be skinned from the television. Therefore, going to see late night shows and committing to the art form was an act of protest.
The Daily Show with Trevor Noah was one of many gateways out of indoctrination. My friends brought me to see late night shows as a gift. It started with former The Daily Show with Jon Stewart correspondent, Samantha Bee, whose show, I frequented almost every other Wednesday. My best friend brought me to see The Nightly Show with Larry Wilmore weeks before it was unfairly canceled. Another friend, Isaiah, stood with me in the freezing cold so we could dance along to Jon Batiste and Stay Human at The Late Show with Stephen Colbert. My world changed, because I saw a future in someone being there at the right place, right time.
An Art Form is Dying?
People have asked me, “Is late night dying?” Does anyone watch late night anymore?” We see our world shaping still because of the voices in late night. Who are we for us to make a grandiose statement that a whole art form is dying? I bowed my head when Desus & Mero departed, my heart broke when Full Frontal with Samantha Bee got canceled, and now Trevor Noah sings of his leave, but we act like there’s not a new generation of late night still budding. We have a legendary writer who got her well-deserved seat three seasons ago, Amber Ruffin. We have the cunning comedy in the awkward silence of Ziwe.
Late night is going through a transitional period because what the standard was a decade ago is exhausting. We never stop growing, we never stop shedding ourselves of things that no longer serve us. With that in mind, how do we expect an art form to stick to the same format and not transform with us?
No Longer Serves Them
Late night is a reflection of the day after we experience it. If we, as an audience are seeing the world differently, then why would we not expect an art to go through the same form of growth? Late night has the tools to be the perfect merge between poetry and comedy like how I saw it when I sat at The Daily Show. As networks look for the replacements of our departing hosts, they should analyze the reasons that they left.
Why does this seat no longer serve them? How can one uplift and change the late-night format without completely disassociating from the nostalgic format that brought previous audiences? Also, what are we learning from social media that can be added to the television hemisphere? Some shows prove that it doesn’t need an interview segment in each show to still be invigorating to audiences, or maybe some shows can be all interview segments and make that the focal source of comedy.
So no, late night is not dying because a few hosts decided this path no longer serve them. Late night is being destroyed because it refuses to cultivate space for diverse voices to shine. Systems want to adhere to what their white counterparts’ thought was important. Networks need to grow when thinking about late night formats, much like how their audience is growing.
They Said I Wouldn’t Make it
When I think about Trevor Noah taking The Daily Show mantle when people doubted him, I reflect on how I’m perceived in late-night. As a Black woman in media, I often find myself shrinking and making my dreams smaller to seem more “possible.” People told me, “not everyone can be a writer.” One part of me revels in the fact that when it does happen, I can do the stereotypical rapper shit. I could say “people said I couldn’t do it.”
I said I wanted to be a late-night writer for my parents. Said I wanted to be a writer so that my peers think I have reasonable goals. The truth is, when I saw The Daily Show with Trevor Noah, I believed I could be a host. The same late night that is “dying,” many people that look like me are aspiring to take it over. It’s understandable to grieve, but it’s a mistake to disregard the people who still contribute to the art.
Cover image via Los Angeles Times
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The post Late Night is Shedding, Not Dying appeared first on Black Nerd Problems.
The pressure of growing up in a Caribbean household meant I always had a plan. A 10-year plan, a five-year plan, a breakfast, lunch and dinner plan. I always had dreams that my parents didn’t believe in; therefore, my adolescent years meant planning out my dreams into reasonable journeys.
But my junior year in college was the first time in my life I didn’t have one. I wanted to be a veterinarian growing up; however, freshman year in college made me realize how bad I was at chemistry and math, so that didn’t seem viable. I’ve always been a great performer and writer. Most of my college years was spent performing for large audiences. I wrote poems and was solicited to perform them around the country. I loved poems, but I wasn’t sure if being a touring poet would’ve been satisfying to me.
There was always proof that performing and writing would be part of my life. My parents did not create an environment that made me believe my talent was sustainable. I wanted to utilize the talents I had in spaces that would lift me up.
A Channel Change and a Bowl of Cereal
Spring break, April 2016, I grabbed a bowl of cereal and turned on the television. I was feeling lost, emotionally exhausted, digging into my soggy ass cereal. Something compelled me to turn on my television. The Daily Show with Trevor Noah was on. I’ve heard news reports about him. A South African stand-up comedian “mostly” unknown to America taking over for one of the most influential late-night TV personalities, Jon Stewart. I’ve heard how people thought Trevor wasn’t funny, that he wasn’t ready for the seat, or that it should have gone to any other Daily Show correspondent. And yet, when I saw him, my future made sense. This man that wasn’t even supposed to be alive, flourished in a seat that people thought shouldn’t belong to him.
At that moment, all the feelings of sureness, fear, and confusion exited my body. I saw Trevor Noah and suddenly I made the most impulsive decision of my life: I decided I wanted to write for late night television. And I cannot express it enough, this was the quickest decision I’ve ever made in my life. Every plan I craft usually takes me weeks or months, but here I made this decision in less than 10 minutes. I pulled up my phone, requested tickets, called my partner, begged him to come with me, and was on that line to see a taping that same day.
I stood in line, pen and notebook in hand, nervous about stepping into the studio. This would be my first-time stepping foot in a television studio. Consenting to go inside symbolized my intent to follow through with these goals. Even though I knew at any moment I could decide “this was too impulsive let me step back,” something seemingly minuscule as just being part of an audience meant that I was investing in this.
I prepped a question for the Q&A: “how do you and your writers work together to create the web of your show each day, and how does that transform over time?” When he stepped out and so happen to call on me, it was over. Apologies to my partner who was next to me as I was cheesing ear to ear, when Trevor smiled at me, and said, “wow I wasn’t expecting that, that’s a great question.”
Late Night’s Embrace
He spoke about how the show web transforms day to day, and the collaborative process derives from the various people watching everything unfold. I didn’t know the extent of it then, but putting on a show every day based on the information you learned a couple of hours ago would be a lesson in stamina.
I didn’t have the kind of exposure to media growing up like most people did. Being raised as a Seventh Day Adventist meant that things that didn’t immediately “glorify” or center God was not meant for my consumption. I loved comedy but shows that came on late at night or did gags that were borderline blasphemous, or even worse, cussed would be skinned from the television. Therefore, going to see late night shows and committing to the art form was an act of protest.
The Daily Show with Trevor Noah was one of many gateways out of indoctrination. My friends brought me to see late night shows as a gift. It started with former The Daily Show with Jon Stewart correspondent, Samantha Bee, whose show, I frequented almost every other Wednesday. My best friend brought me to see The Nightly Show with Larry Wilmore weeks before it was unfairly canceled. Another friend, Isaiah, stood with me in the freezing cold so we could dance along to Jon Batiste and Stay Human at The Late Show with Stephen Colbert. My world changed, because I saw a future in someone being there at the right place, right time.
An Art Form is Dying?
People have asked me, “Is late night dying?” Does anyone watch late night anymore?” We see our world shaping still because of the voices in late night. Who are we for us to make a grandiose statement that a whole art form is dying? I bowed my head when Desus & Mero departed, my heart broke when Full Frontal with Samantha Bee got canceled, and now Trevor Noah sings of his leave, but we act like there’s not a new generation of late night still budding. We have a legendary writer who got her well-deserved seat three seasons ago, Amber Ruffin. We have the cunning comedy in the awkward silence of Ziwe.
Late night is going through a transitional period because what the standard was a decade ago is exhausting. We never stop growing, we never stop shedding ourselves of things that no longer serve us. With that in mind, how do we expect an art form to stick to the same format and not transform with us?
No Longer Serves Them
Late night is a reflection of the day after we experience it. If we, as an audience are seeing the world differently, then why would we not expect an art to go through the same form of growth? Late night has the tools to be the perfect merge between poetry and comedy like how I saw it when I sat at The Daily Show. As networks look for the replacements of our departing hosts, they should analyze the reasons that they left.
Why does this seat no longer serve them? How can one uplift and change the late-night format without completely disassociating from the nostalgic format that brought previous audiences? Also, what are we learning from social media that can be added to the television hemisphere? Some shows prove that it doesn’t need an interview segment in each show to still be invigorating to audiences, or maybe some shows can be all interview segments and make that the focal source of comedy.
So no, late night is not dying because a few hosts decided this path no longer serve them. Late night is being destroyed because it refuses to cultivate space for diverse voices to shine. Systems want to adhere to what their white counterparts’ thought was important. Networks need to grow when thinking about late night formats, much like how their audience is growing.
They Said I Wouldn’t Make it
When I think about Trevor Noah taking The Daily Show mantle when people doubted him, I reflect on how I’m perceived in late-night. As a Black woman in media, I often find myself shrinking and making my dreams smaller to seem more “possible.” People told me, “not everyone can be a writer.” One part of me revels in the fact that when it does happen, I can do the stereotypical rapper shit. I could say “people said I couldn’t do it.”
I said I wanted to be a late-night writer for my parents. Said I wanted to be a writer so that my peers think I have reasonable goals. The truth is, when I saw The Daily Show with Trevor Noah, I believed I could be a host. The same late night that is “dying,” many people that look like me are aspiring to take it over. It’s understandable to grieve, but it’s a mistake to disregard the people who still contribute to the art.
Cover image via Los Angeles Times
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The post Late Night is Shedding, Not Dying appeared first on Black Nerd Problems.
Who would’ve thought that nearly 25 years later, we could call Girl 6, an early Spike Lee movie, a film ahead of its time? It most certainly isn’t Lee’s biggest cinematic achievement. In fact, the director and everyone involved in the film, including the screenwriter Suzan-Lori Parks, have apparently distanced themselves from the movie, disavowing their part in its creation. So, how come a film that’s not even mentioned by those who made it and is nearly impossible to find is now more relevant than ever?
Well, though Girl 6 was made in 1996, there are undeniable similarities between the life of its fictionalized protagonist, Judy, an aspiring young actress, and the pervasive nature of the online camming and Onlyfans that exists today. These platforms are viewed as a door of exploration and financial freedom by many of their content creators. Join us as we dive into how this film speaks to a generation of people that live in a time when cash is king and modesty remains optional.
As the movie opens, we see Judy (Theresa Randle), the future Girl 6, as a timid up-and-coming actress living in a big city. She attends an audition with Quentin Tarantino. Her audition was going quite well until she became apprehensive and defiant when asked to undress and reveal her breasts. She eventually complies and reluctantly undresses, only to become quickly overwhelmed with guilt before storming out.
Not only disrespected for her choice by her agent and her mentor but also unable to make ends meet, Judi decides to make some quick money working as a phone sex operator at an office where female empowerment is the prevailing sentiment. In fact, the company’s boss, Lil, runs a very corporate environment. But there is an emphasis on friendship and support, which develops between the work colleagues.
While alive but not well, phone sex was a major industry in 1996. The internet ran at 56kbps speeds, that would take forever to download a spicy image, let alone facilitate the growth of the adult industry the way it did approximately a decade later. Nowadays, as our world continues to evolve and press into a digital space, creating and supplying online content has become an entrepreneurial hub for many — which also includes sex work. And before we go any further into the discussion, sex work is work.
As a consequence of the Covid-19 pandemic, many individuals have turned to OnlyFans — a platform that gives content creators space to upload their often-explicit content for their paying subscribers’ viewing pleasure. In fact, the platform flourished during the pandemic, when both demand and supply for adult content increased. The former happened because people had more time to consume it, and the latter because the other party in the transaction had to make ends meet.
In fact, why wouldn’t you be able to make some money by showing off your body? That’s what Girl 6’s Judy did with nothing else but her voice and acting skills. Well, at first, Judy was satisfied with her work, but things started to shift throughout the movie. Though she adopts a more sexually bolder attitude and personality, she is immediately objectified. Her performance — which she had given him a glimpse of — was mistaken for a renewed sexual interest by her former husband.
Unfortunately, many customers don’t realize that the emotional lives of people working in the sex industry take place when the phones are down and cameras are off. Through a series of events that plunge Judy into emotional turmoil, one caller becomes disrespectful and outright insulting, and verbally violent towards her. Girl 6 suffers a breakdown, after which she’s temporarily suspended by her boss. Judy, however, decides to get a private phone line and continue her phone sex career from home. That scene is particularly interesting and borderline prophetic, as it reflects the current state of OnlyFans culture but is set in the 90s.
Madonna, who also made a cameo appearance, is saying to Judy that office-bound girls are restricted by what they can say. But a fantasy girl that works from home — a home girl — doesn’t have such limitations. Thus, she can invite her callers to fully experience their deepest, darkest, strangest, wildest desires, with no restrictions and no inhibitions, just freedom, no taboos. Sounds familiar, right?
Well, fast-forward some 20-25 years, and amateur adult content creators are flocking to OnlyFans in droves, seeking financial freedom. The loudest voices in our society tell us that this new frontier is actually empowering women through the capitalization of their bodies. And not just women, but men as well. But is that really the case? Is the capitalization of one’s body and the digitization of sex actually empowering, or are they doing more harm than good?
In the movie, after Judy receives her private line so that she may work from home, the disrespectful caller calls her once more. The two engage in a very explicit and perverse S&M conversation — hey, it’s all about the customer’s desires, right? The scene is fantastic, as it features Spike Lee’s iconic gliding shot, which symbolically depicts Judy spiraling psychologically during the conversation, up until the point at which she finally capitulates. This is followed by another breakdown and fear for her safety as the caller reveals that he knows her address.
The descent into deep, dark, unspoken sexual desires of her customers reflects the current supply and demand of the very same content that has become the bread and butter of many earning through OnlyFans. Just recently, a young content creator (we won’t list any names) shared her experience creating sexual content on the platform and commoditizing her body for $200,000 a month. As per her own account, the majority of her earnings comes from commission work — work that has been privately requested by the client.
Afterward, she admitted to having several throat infections in the past from ingesting her own fecal matter (as requested by the client). This makes us wonder whether this type of empowerment, whether done by a female or male, is psychologically healthy. Well, she was incentivized by money, so she created a revolting supply for existing and equally revolting demand. And nobody had forced her to do anything. OnlyFans, as a platform, is a mere facilitator, just as phones were during the 90s, and the internet was and still is.
In the end, Girl 6, a film shunned by nearly everyone due to its incoherent and loosely connected subplots, now speaks volumes to the OnlyFans generations, especially women. Sex sells for good money, but the price of commoditization of our bodies is paid by both the client and the content creator. One pays with money, but the other pay with something else. The need for money chews on the identity of a person and spews out a brand whose recognition and reputation match its marketing efforts. Welcome to OnlyFans — or any other adult content creation platform.
Anyone interested in watching Spike Lee’s Girl 6 can do so on Starz or Amazon Prime Video.
Hellraiser is one of horror’s most long-lasting and impactful franchises. It began with Clive Barker’s brilliant story The Hell Priest (nee The Hellbound Heart). Barker then adapted that into the stunning 1987 horror classic Hellraiser. Tony Randel made a sequel back-to-back with a story by Barker. Those films sparked a series of movies that expanded the lore of Hellraiser, and gave us nine direct sequels to the original. Over the years there have been many rumors and rumblings of a Hellraiser remake or reboot. But it was The Night House’s David Bruckner who transformed rumors into reality with Hulu’s Hellraiser. Though this reviewer long feared their favorite franchise getting the reboot treatment; Bruckner has gifted us with a darkly delightful horror steeped in Barker’s sensibilities. The biggest disappointment is that this Hellraiser won’t be getting a wide release in theaters.
Bruckner’s vision introduces us to debauched billionaire Roland Voight (Goran Visnjic) who holds a lavish party in his Berkshire Estates. In the dimly lit halls, a young man named Joey (Kit Clarke) is drawn into the bowels of the mansion. It’s here that those familiar with the world of Hellraiser will get excited. We learn that Voight’s home is built to replicate the puzzle box at the heart of the franchise, the Lament Configuration. Occult architecture has long been a part of the Hellraiser sequels, most famously in Hellraiser: Bloodline, which seems to have been a large influence on the film. It’s a nice nod which also introduces new viewers into the intricate visual world of Barker’s lore. Joey quickly falls victim to the puzzle box. And we learn Voight is a man who’ll do anything to connect with the creatures unleashed by LeMarchand’s infamous Box.
Enter struggling addict Riley (Odessa A’zion) and her shady enabler boyfriend Trevor (Drew Starkey). Currently crashing with Matt (Brandon Flynn), his empathetic boyfriend Colin (Adam Faison), and their roommate Nora (Aoife Hinds); Riley is hardly the perfect house guest, and it’s her relationship with Trevor that throws Riley into the world of the Cenobites. Speaking of the most iconic part of Barker’s stories, Bruckner brings them to life in spectacular fashion. Led by a haunting performance by Jamie Clayton as The Priest; (a version of Pinhead), the Cenobites instill the kind of nightmarish anxiety that they should. The Priest is joined by the Chatterer (Jason Liles), the Weeper (Yinka Olorunnife), the Gasp (Selina Lo), and the Asphyx (Zachary Hing); all of whom bring a specific type of terror to the screen.
None of that would be possible without the unreal work of the special effects department. Supervised by Dragan Radic, the crew has crafted visions of hell that feel like they’ve directly walked out of Barker’s stories. It’s a feat that many later Hellraiser movies have struggled with, and allows this version to sit happily alongside the original two films in tone and visuals. Ben Lovett’s echoing score plays a key part in building that atmosphere. Pulsing, haunting, and at times beautiful, I would’ve loved to hear it complimenting the film through the sound system of an immense cinema screen.
While the Cenobites and their horrors are appealing, Odessa A’zion leads a talented cast that you want to root for as they face down a nightmare come to life. Writers Ben Collins and Luke Piotrowski’s script crafts a group of characters that you care about. And ultimately gives the story an almost entirely satisfying ending. But what could’ve been a brilliantly powerful final act gets slightly dampened by a strange very ’00s feeling stinger that sits more inline with the direct to video Hellraiser movies of the past than the powerful emotional choice that finishes the movie proper. Even with that, though, this is still a really great addition to the Hellraiser series that sits comfortably as just another chapter in the sprawling legend of the Lament Configuration rather than diminishing what came before.
The post David Bruckner’s HELLRAISER Is a Demented Delight appeared first on Nerdist.
The Atlas moth has a wingspan of almost 10 inches and the tips of those wings look like the face of a cobra. This helps them scare off predators in their native environment in India, the Philippines, and other tropical parts of Asia. But it definitely makes them stand out in the Pacific Northwest, where one was recently spotted. The Washington State Department of Agriculture has asked the public to be on the lookout for the moth after one was spotted in Bellevue, a suburb just east of Seattle. They’re not dangerous and only live a few weeks as adults. But as caterpillars they are very hungry and could make quick work of apple and cherry trees in the area.
Scientists don’t think the Atlas moth got to the United States on its own. It’s illegal to own them but officials think the one found in Washington likely escaped from a breeder, someone raising them to sell as pets. Because apparently there’s such a thing as a black market for moths. In fact, according to the Seattle Times, a local seller on eBay was offering Atlas moths as recently as this summer. We saw the news on Smithsonian Magazine.
Atlas moths are one of the largest species of moths. There are at least 160,000 types of moth on Earth, with new ones discovered often. Insects have all kinds of adaptations in order to survive and caterpillars come in all shapes and sizes. There is the hairy monkey slug moth that looks like a tarantula. Looking like a snake is not unique to the Atlas moth. The hawk moth’s caterpillar also mimics a snake to scare off predators.
Melissa is Nerdist’s science & technology staff writer. She also moderates “science of” panels at conventions and co-hosts Star Warsologies, a podcast about science and Star Wars. Follow her on Twitter @melissatruth.
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