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In the new Death on the Nile (adapted from Agatha Christie's book), they made a number of changes to ensure the work was better appreciated by a modern audience. This included changing certain motives and secrets for characters (having a former kleptomaniac instead have a secret lover, for example) and adding a romantic subplot for the main character.
Regardless of whether one thinks these changes work or not, I wanted to open up a discussion on why we feel the need to modernize old stories (even bringing some into the modern day rather than keeping them set in the past), and if these efforts help our understanding of these stories.
After all, movies tend to be made for a wide audience. There is a risk that many viewers won't understand what certain decisions or plot elements imply, because they don't have a knowledge of the time period it was originally created in. Changes are made to 'translate' the work for modern audiences. But on the other hand, it can easily go too far and attempts to modernize can remove beloved parts of the original work.

True crime is a quintessentially American genre of television, literature, and more recently, podcasts. The fascination with the dark, disturbing, grotesque, and downright deranged have been entrenched in American media since Truman Capote's In Cold Blood captivated audiences in the 1960s. While true crime has its benefits: revisiting cold cases and even identifying murderers, rapists, and other such criminals, where is the line between seeking justice and becoming a voyeur in a victim's tragedy? Can there be an ethical consumption of true crime when it has been transformed into casual brunch conversation and a quirky pastime? What does the growing popularity of murder podcasts (notably mainly hosted by 30-something white women) say about American culture?

A number of movies, tv shows, and other pieces of fiction use animal death for one main reason. Generally, it's to show a particular character is evil, and to pull on the viewer's heartstrings by showing the death of an innocent creature (most often, a dog).

This technique is often very effective, and many viewers feel very emotional at the death of animals on screen, to the point that sites such as 'Does the Dog Die' exist simply to warn viewers who find animal death (among other things) to be too much. But due to being effective, some find it over-used, a bit of a cliche.

So, why is it used so often? Is it just so effective that it's worth the cries of unoriginality? Is it just such a simple way to portray a character's cruelty? And why is it so effective, anyway? Why is the death of an animal more effective than that of say, a child?

Analyze the ways in HBO series succession follows a traditional tragedy structure in both the Ancient Greek sense and Shakespearean sense. A tragedy is a play based on human suffering, primarily concerning tragic events that befall the main character. The intention of tragedy, as understood by Aristotle, is to provoke catharsis in its audience. Catharsis is a release of emotions that comes with seeing others undergo painful or unfortunate circumstances. It is the pleasure of intense emotion with the relief of not undergoing the suffering oneself. Both Greek and Shakespearean tragedies tend to focus on the downfall of a protagonist who holds a high position in society. In the case of Succession, the main character, Kendall Roy, is the son of the CEO and founder of the largest multi-media conglomerate in the world. The plot itself is reminiscent of King Lear, as Logan Roy ages and must consider which of his three children is fit to take over his immensely successful business as he ages (though whether or not he is actually willing to give up his position of power is uncertain). Kendall's dreams of taking over the company are continuously derailed, no matter how hard he tries he is denied this one desire that he believes to be his birthright. Are there other aspects of Shakespearean tragedy that present themselves in the show? For example, there is considerable comic relief throughout the whole show, a feature not present in Greek tragedies. Is it more like one than the other? In what ways does it differ from these archetypes, and what significance do these divergences carry? Many consider it to be a comedy, how does the entwining of genres contribute to the complexity of the show, and the message it sends to its viewers? How does it merge traditional media with the problems and techniques of modernity?

With Phase 4 of the MCU introducing so many broad concepts, is it getting too messy & losing track of what makes it great? Or, are these the first steps of another genius plan to intertwine everything into another sprawling, mind-blowing epic? Consider the rapid influx of new characters and ideas. When we started in 2008, the MCU introduced a handful of characters over 4 years. The last 2 years have brought us at least a dozen throughout the movies and shows. This could be considered a benefit of the streaming era. Though one could argue this influx has led to a decrease in quality because there's too much to keep track of. Quantity doesn't always equal quality. For example, it's a common criticism that the shows are coming out too fast and they don't stick the landing because they're only 6 episodes. Or many ideas seemingly contradict those that are firmly established.

Many of famous horror author H.P Lovecraft's work contains themes and language indicative of racism towards indigenous and black communities. Even the famed "Call of Cthulu" retains aspects of racism when referring to the activities of indigenous and black communities. They are labeled as practicing "Voodoo", and often referred to as savages. How has the work of H.P Lovecraft aged? Is something like this acceptable for fans of the genre to hold as an example?

Paris has always been a hub of artists, intellectuals and wanderers from the surrealists to the Lost Generation. Recently, one can see a return to the city of love in influencers and vloggers such as Moya Mawhinney, Leah's Fieldnotes and others. Why are social media personalities leaving places like LA and New York and once again gravitating to Paris?

Nosferatu, Jason Voorhees, Freddy Krueger, Lex Luthor, Kingpin, Bane, The Penguin, Golum, Voldemort, Thanos, Red Skull, The Night King… They all are villains. And they all are bald. And the list can go on and on. Male baldness is often used in fiction to equate villainy. This works even better when the hero, in opposition, has lustrous and abundant hair (e.g., He-Man vs. Skeletor), since there is an ancient sociocultural belief that hair is a symbol of health, virility and virtue. However, in “Unbreakable” (2000), Shyamalan fools the audience by introducing a villain with a copious afro (Samuel L. Jackson) opposed to a hairless hero (Bruce Willis). The plot twist is undoubtedly perfect. What other examples of this unusual representation can be found in film? What could it mean to challenge the stereotypical trope? Why would it be worth exploring?

There are mainly four reasons women have their heads shaved in films: 1) toughness (“Alien 3”, “G.I. Jane”), 2) illness or scientific experimentation (“Life in a Year”, “Stranger Things”), 3) rebellion, counterculture or villainy (“Mad Max: Fury Road”, “Guardians of the Galaxy”) or 4) mysticism (“Dr. Strange”, “Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Men Tell no Tales”). Of course, some of these reasons may overlap, but usually bald women in film are depicted as an abnormality, as a product of trauma, as the result of an extraordinary and life-changing event that catapults the plot. Why is getting a buzz cut for a woman a decision that needs to be justified and have a deeper meaning or rationality? Why does society feel the need to point it out publicly, to joke about it? Why people tempt to question the sanity or sexuality of a woman who decides to wear short or no hair? Are women supposed to have long, silky hair in order to be beautiful, feminine or just not weird? But most importantly, how does the film industry handle it? The normalization of western beauty standards might be being reinforced (imposed) by the way bald women are often portrayed in movies.

In H. P. Lovecraft's "Supernatural Horror in Literature" (1927), Lovecraft describes a horror that distances itself away from anything physical and attempts to attack the psyche of the reader through cosmic mystery, ancient folklore and culture as well as our primal instincts. Themes such as space and the deep ocean, primordial Gods and mythology and their respective mysteries seep into literature to create a profound sense of dread and isolation from the real world.

With the advancement of computers and networks, a new theme in horror fiction has found its footing amongst the aforementioned ideas: the theme of technology and the mystery of cyber data, the disposable nature of human flesh, its replacement by better and stronger artificial prosthetics and the paranoia of human-made machine rising against its own creator after achieving consciousness, something only humans so far possess. Works such as Harlan Ellison's "I Have No Mouth, and I Must Scream" (1968), Mamoru Oshii's "Ghost in the Shell" (1995) or Frictional Games's "Soma" (2015) explore this newfound horror with different methods, but with great success.

The question therefore lies within the nature of this trope. Is technological horror part of the weird and the supernatural as it treats technology as its own entity and its own vast realm of mystery, similar to that of the endless space and the deep ocean? How does technological horror fit with the ghost, thriller or other forms of scary themes? What other modern fictional stories bring forth technology as a truly terrifying aspect that attacks the mind of the consumer and isolates them from their world, rather than cause brief shock or superficial scares?

With so many different anime and manga available in the world, there are bound to be many that grow in popularity much more than others. For instance, series like Demon Slayer/Kimetsu no Yaiba absolutely blew up in popularity in late 2019. Other series like One Piece and Naruto have stayed relevant ever since they began in the late 1990s, and it seems just about everyone knows what Attack on Titan is even if they never watched/read anime/manga. But what is it that makes these series so popular? The characters, themes, accessibility, plot, or something else completely?

Characters that present as villainous at first and nobly heroic nearing the end, have always fascinated audiences. Zuko from Avatar The Last Airbender, presents as a particularly striking example of this. Here we have a young teenager who just fills an antagonist role so well. He constantly is hunting Aang and company in the hopes to restore his honour. As the story progresses however, through various trials, tribulations, self-reflection, and personal development, he ultimately finds his own honour in helping the Avatar. Eleanor from the show The Good Place has a similar arc where self-development, understanding, and personal growth prove key to her redemption.

One can argue that Snape in Harry Potter doesn't quite follow this redemption arc, and while many fans think his redemption proves just as valid, a case can be made against it. Snape arguably doesn't make any effort in his own redemption, and his love for Lily and grand reveal that 'he was actually one of the good guys all along' just doesn't seem to offer that same 'satisfaction' for lack of a better word as the other redemption arcs previously mentioned so much as it seems to play more into the role of a plot twist than a redemption arc. We don't see the same focus on growth and becoming a better person here.

This begs the question- what makes a good or bad redemption arc and what differentiates a redemption arc from a plot twist?

Adam McKay, one of the great modern comedy feature writers (Step Brothers, The Big Short, Anchorman), has stirred up controversy with his latest Oscar nominated feature, Don't Look Up. In a world that appears to be going more and more insane with each passing day, the premise of Don't Look Up should be the type of concept that resonates with the majority of the population. And looking at its success with the Oscar nomination and its popularity on Netflix, clearly it did. It narrowly missed the streaming service's record for the highest watch time of a film in its opening 28 days, at 360 million hours.

So then, how does a film this so well-perceived by the Academy and popular with the masses manage just 55% on Rotten Tomatoes, 49% on Metacritic, and a relatively underwhelming 7.2 IMDb? The feature isn't perfect, and perhaps the star-studded cast and wealth of talent behind the scenes had some expecting the impossible. But gripes over story and weren't what prompted such an adverse response from reviewers. Something else that's rubbed a portion of viewers the wrong way. In creating this satire, Adam McKay poked the bear and pissed off the very people he's trying to appeal to: climate change deniers. Negative reviews of this film almost always circle back to the same critique, which is the perception that McKay is attempting to preach true knowledge to his (it's not exclusive to them, but for simplicity's sake) conservative audience that they are laughably naïve and easily swayed by politicians that would sacrifice them in a heartbeat to turn a profit.

To come to a conclusive judgement on whether Don't Look Up hits or misses the mark of a great satire, we must do an objective deep dive into its character. Does it hit too close to home for people to accept, or is it simply so absurd that we can't help but laugh at it, and not in the way McKay intended?

Alex Russo in Disney Channel's hit TV show, "Wizards of Waverly Place" (2007-2012), is well loved for her constant antics: pranking her brothers, breaking rules, being lazy and selfish but ultimately having a heart of gold. Why is it that audiences adore "rule breaker" characters? Is it because they can do and get away with things that the rest of us in reality cannot so we live vicariously through them? Or is it because to be good all the time is boring? What other films and TV series star rebel protagonists and why are their immoral actions so appealing to viewers?

In “Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl” (2003), the apple that Captain Sparrow bites in front of Barbosa does not serve alimentary purposes. This is done to humiliate the pirate because he is not able to taste any food due to his curse. This apple is, in a way, wasted food after one bite because Barbosa throws it away. However, Barbosa carries an apple with him to eat once the malediction is over. The movie ends with the uneaten (wasted) apple falling from his dying hand, but it appears again in the next movie, “Dead Man’s Chest” (2006), when he finally chomps on it with arrogance. An apple is a cinematic device to show the audience that the eater in question is an overconfident villain, a maverick badass or an arrogant person. Examples of this are Draco Malfoy in “Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban” (2004), Jerry Dandrige in “Fright Night” (2011), or Ajax in “Deadpool” (2016). The trope of the bad guy eating an apple has been pointed out in movie analyses, but it would be more interesting to explore the idea of wasted food, apples being the favorite food characters bite only once and then throw them away. Lex Luthor does it in “Smallville” (S01E02), and also Professor Colan in “Transformers: The Revenge of the Fallen” (2009). Is there a consequential reason for this beyond the mere trope?

The ancient philosopher Plutarch wrote a famous essay on how to tell the difference between a friend and a flatterer. In this essay, he lists several qualities associated with a flatterer, including:
1. being inconsistent and willing to change into whatever seems most attractive to the victim;
2. appealing to the worst angels of the victim's nature and copying their vices rather than their virtues;
3. seeking to please the victim in the moment, even if it will cause the victim greater problems later on;
4. seeking to separate the victim from their real friends.

With this definition in mind, what are some examples of flatterers from fiction, particularly modern fiction? What traits, if any, do they and their victims have in common? Are there any stereotypes associated with fictional flatterers, either in terms of physical features or psychological makeup?

It seems as though, a lot of the time, the audience's perception of a character in a story is colored less by things the character has actually said or done, and more by how another character (who is usually a main character or simply more popular) views them. For instance, in the original British Office, Tim, a salesman, spends most of his time bullying his fellow salesman, Gareth. However, because Tim is more popular and gets more screen time, audiences just assume that he is the "nice" one and Gareth "deserves" to be mistreated when there's no real evidence of this. The same series also includes a corporate higher-up named Neil, who is made out to be "mean" simply because he doesn't get along with David, the main face of the show. What are some other examples of this phenomenon from TV, or media in general? Are there any characters who seem to be especially unfairly judged? Do they (or the people judging them) share any particular traits in common?

With most games filled with action and strong storylines, popular video games such as Animal Crossing and Stardew Valley have created a large fanbase for games highlighting slow living and farm life. What is the appeal to these types of games compared to action-packed games such as Grand Theft Auto? Is the audience different?

In no way is the female warrior a new archetype, but what is new is the increasing mainstream TV portrayals of faceted versions of such characters. With the changes occurring in the representation of women in TV we are seeing a great up take of new presentations of women in what have been predominantly male roles/positions.
An examination of this progression and the emergence of new perspectives on the female warrior would be a timely discussion.

Some examples you ask?
Take 'Wynonna Earp' first. Westerns have traditionally focused on masculine frontier storytelling where women have two roles (chorus girl or wife – to put it politely) that are fundamentally centred on the men in the story. Wynonna is an alcoholic, damaged and has so much emotional baggage it fills the show. She is flawed, she is all the western cliches and she is still the biggest "bad ass" on the show.
Consider 'Star Trek: Discovery' next. ST has actually been fairly forward with the presentation of women in roles of power and has often represented them in new and relevant versions…until the most recent films, when they were regressed back to wearing short dresses, go-go boots and being vulnerable. Michael (with a very traditionally masculine name) exemplifies the characteristics of a warrior, to the degree that the first season is framed by her act of violence.
‘Motherland: Fort Salem’ is literally a show about warrior witches. They are training and learning to be warriors. This is a show that fulfills many of the traditional tropes in masculine representations of war/combat style archetypes. Many of the subplots within the show follow traditional subplot paths of such genres, including characterisations of particular stereotypes such as the recruit, the cocky fighter, the drill sergeant, and so on.

There are so many more that could be discussed and explored. It is interesting to see the changes to these representations that are able to balance traditional “feminine” characteristics of the characters with traditional representations of masculine warrior traits in a manner the begins to normalise a greater diversity in gender representations.

Berserk is an incredibly influential series of manga in the dark fantasy genre of literature and has amassed an expansive following throughout the world. It has branched out into different anime, films, video-games and other forms of media, inspiring countless other artists. Unfortunately, its story could never be finished as Kentaro Miura, the original creator, had passed away about a year ago, leaving the series on a sour cliffhanger.

As of 7th June 2022, the Japanese manga magazine Young Animal officially stated that it will continue the serialization of the famous Berserk manga series without the visionary Kentaro. Headed by Kentaro's best friend Kouji Mori, the close friends and coworkers of Kentaro Miura promise to deliver an authentic end to the manga, stating that they know how it ends, since Kentaro would often discuss the narrative with everyone on the team before drafting the scenes, dialogue and aesthetic decisions.

The question therefore lies within the nature of finalizing someone else's work after their death. Though the continuation of the series seems to be in capable hands, should it still be continued? Is the authorship and authenticity of the work more important than its continued serialization and commercialization? Will this decision attract controversy from the fans, how so or why not? Will the original vision of the manga's themes and aesthetic features differ, or become watered down? How can one describe the differentiation between auteurs in an artwork or franchise?