Thirty-one years ago, “Riverdance” was born as a performance in the iconic “Eurovision” competition. Since then, it has transformed into an iconic display of Irish culture as a full theatrical performance that has set off on a tour to celebrate its 30th anniversary in the United States and the United Kingdom.

Samantha Felling, a member of the Irish dance troupe and graduate of Saint Louis University, discussed the excitement to bring the show to her hometown, a performance she feels is as important and valuable now as it was three decades ago.

Samantha Felling spoke with The University News’ Owen Herdrick on April 16. The following conversation has been edited for clarity and length.

Owen Herdrick: If you could give me an elevator pitch on what ‘Riverdance’ is, what would that be?

Samantha Felling: It started at the Eurovision Song Contest in 1994, and that was the first time Irish dance kind of got a big stage to showcase on… it was seen as an actual performance piece, versus just kind of a traditional thing that people did at the pubs and back in Ireland. Riverdance itself is really just a celebration of Irish culture and music. [But] as much as there’s a lot of Irish dance and music, there’s also a flamenco dancer, there’s American tap dancers [and] there’s Eastern European folk dancers. We have a whole live band – it’s just a really high-energy show.

OH: What does it mean to you to be reviving an old classic?

SF:  The show itself is so iconic. So it’s been around for 30 years, and it maintains that same iconic music and choreography. We’ve just really upped the lighting up to the production, the graphics, the costumes and the whole cast now as well. It’s a whole new generation of Irish dancers in the cast. None of us were actually born when Riverdance first came into the scene. We haven’t known life without Riverdance, and we grew up watching Riverdance.

OH: In what ways do you feel the story of ‘Riverdance’ is important today?

SF: The whole show is about people from different cultures and backgrounds coming together and sharing their culture and their history. It’s primarily an Irish dance and music show, but there’s a lot of back-and-forth pieces between the Irish dancers and the tap dancers and the flamenco dancers and the Eastern European folk dancers. It’s a timeless show, and it’s a timeless story, because it’ll always be relevant to share your culture and your passion. There’s scenes in the show about Irish people immigrating to the United States – that’s a very relevant theme these days. It’s about kind of letting things go, moving on [and] losing people as they immigrate to the U.S., but still holding on to their family ties [and] cultural ties as they emigrate to a new place. So, I think those kinds of themes throughout the story are always timeless.

OH: What is your favorite moment in the show?

SF: I think I have two favorite moments. The first is walking on stage for the very first time in the show. The music is really ethereal. It’s really dark and moody and mysterious, and it sets the whole tone for the show. I still literally get goosebumps every single time I walk on to that opening number. It’s an exciting part because it’s kind of like the dancers coming out ready to say: you’re about to see something spectacular. I think also [the] finale: the lights go up a bit and we can see the audience. Usually, audiences are already up on their feet by the end of the show and dancing along and clapping. Two very different points in the show and different emotions, but both highlights for me.

OH: How does it feel to bring this play to your hometown, a city with such deep Irish roots?

SF: I was raised in St. Louis and then obviously went to SLU as well, so I have such close ties to St. Louis. All my family and friends are pretty much still in St Louis, so to be able to go back and dance for them is really cool, because they’ve been the ones to support me on this whole journey. And whenever you have family and friends in the audience, it’s just extra special because you’re dancing for them and they’ve seen you through this whole process to get here.

OH: While you were enrolled at SLU, was the Fox a favorite spot of yours?

SF: Not being biased, I think it is one of the most beautiful theaters in the world. The first time I saw Riverdance was actually at the Fox. I was five or six years old, and I remember exactly where we were sitting. It was one of those core memories for me. 

OH: Why should a SLU student, who has never been to the Fox, come see ‘Riverdance’?

SF: No matter what show you’re seeing, being in the Fox is an outing in itself. St. Louis is very big on its community and bringing its people together, and the Fox is one of those venues that brings people in the community together. [And] I think it’s really important to support the live arts right now. ‘Riverdance’ is a show for everyone. It’s very high energy and upbeat, and you’ll definitely be left on the edge of your seat.

In 2012 the multi-instrumentalist, electronic savant and indie production legend, Sufjan Stevens, lost his mother. Three years later, and nearly exactly ten years ago today, Stevens released “Carrie and Lowell,” an emotionally devastating yet cathartic expression of grief, named after his mother Carrie and stepfather Lowell.

Stevens’ relationship with Carrie was complex, as avid listeners of his knew before the record even released. In a standout track “Romulus” off his record “Michigan” in 2003, Stevens describes a childhood where he felt immense shame for and from his mother. Carrie struggled to juggle parenting while battling alcohol and drug addiction combined with schizoaffective disorder.

In “Romulus,” Stevens poignantly sings “We saw her once last fall / Our grandpa died in a hospital gown / She didn’t seem to care / She smoked in her room and colored her hair.”

As such, fans knew a project centered on Stevens’ mother would be emotionally tough to hear. However, Stevens, as always, found exactly the right sound for the record that, combined with the deeply personal and somber lyrics, created a piece of work that feels as much like a looking glass as it does a mirror.

“Carrie and Lowell” proves that deeply personal and specific works can be some of the most relatable, undoubtedly because the authenticity is impossible to make up.

In the opening track, “Death with Dignity,” Stevens establishes over luscious guitar and piano that he has grown away from ill-will toward his mom, singing “I forgive you, mother, I can hear you / and I long to be near you / but every road leads to an end.”

The record continues with this stripped back sound, a return to more acoustic sounds the artist largely had not touched for over a decade back to 2004’s “Seven Swans.” In doing so, Stevens proved he still has as much touch at somber acoustic folk as he does with the fantastical and abrasive electronic multi instrumental epic “Age of Adz,” his most recent record at the time.

The focus of the record is without question Stevens’ poetic and gorgeous writing. The artist’s lyrics continue to overwhelm the listener with emotion ten years later, especially when closely reading the lyrics.

On standout track “Eugene,” Stevens calls back to the descriptive recounting of a connection with his mother and cigarettes, dating back to his previous song, “Romulus.” Stevens mentions dropping an ashtray as a child, doing so merely out of desire for closeness to his mother. Later Stevens sings “Some part of me was lost in your sleeve / Where you hid your cigarettes.”

On “The Only Thing,” Sufjans details thoughts of suicide and asks himself “Do I care if I survive this?” in a gut-punch of a song that ends with the beautifully sung, but devastatingly written bridge, “Should I tear my eyes out now? Everything I see, returns to you somehow / Should I tear my heart out now? Everything I feel, returns to you somehow / I want to save you from your sorrow.”

“Carrie and Lowell” achieved a level of intimacy paired with artistic writing that has rarely been touched outside of 2017’s “A Crow Looked at Me.” Ten years on, and Stevens’ record maintains its role as one of the most important expressions of grief ever made.

In 2012 the multi-instrumentalist, electronic savant and indie production legend, Sufjan Stevens, lost his mother. Three years later, and nearly exactly ten years ago today, Stevens released “Carrie and Lowell,” an emotionally devastating yet cathartic expression of grief, named after his mother Carrie and stepfather Lowell.

Stevens’ relationship with Carrie was complex, as avid listeners of his knew before the record even released. In a standout track “Romulus” off his record “Michigan” in 2003, Stevens describes a childhood where he felt immense shame for and from his mother. Carrie struggled to juggle parenting while battling alcohol and drug addiction combined with schizoaffective disorder.

In “Romulus,” Stevens poignantly sings “We saw her once last fall / Our grandpa died in a hospital gown / She didn’t seem to care / She smoked in her room and colored her hair.”

As such, fans knew a project centered on Stevens’ mother would be emotionally tough to hear. However, Stevens, as always, found exactly the right sound for the record that, combined with the deeply personal and somber lyrics, created a piece of work that feels as much like a looking glass as it does a mirror.

“Carrie and Lowell” proves that deeply personal and specific works can be some of the most relatable, undoubtedly because the authenticity is impossible to make up.

In the opening track, “Death with Dignity,” Stevens establishes over luscious guitar and piano that he has grown away from ill-will toward his mom, singing “I forgive you, mother, I can hear you / and I long to be near you / but every road leads to an end.”

The record continues with this stripped back sound, a return to more acoustic sounds the artist largely had not touched for over a decade back to 2004’s “Seven Swans.” In doing so, Stevens proved he still has as much touch at somber acoustic folk as he does with the fantastical and abrasive electronic multi instrumental epic “Age of Adz,” his most recent record at the time.

The focus of the record is without question Stevens’ poetic and gorgeous writing. The artist’s lyrics continue to overwhelm the listener with emotion ten years later, especially when closely reading the lyrics.

On standout track “Eugene,” Stevens calls back to the descriptive recounting of a connection with his mother and cigarettes, dating back to his previous song, “Romulus.” Stevens mentions dropping an ashtray as a child, doing so merely out of desire for closeness to his mother. Later Stevens sings “Some part of me was lost in your sleeve / Where you hid your cigarettes.”

On “The Only Thing,” Sufjans details thoughts of suicide and asks himself “Do I care if I survive this?” in a gut-punch of a song that ends with the beautifully sung, but devastatingly written bridge, “Should I tear my eyes out now? Everything I see, returns to you somehow / Should I tear my heart out now? Everything I feel, returns to you somehow / I want to save you from your sorrow.”

“Carrie and Lowell” achieved a level of intimacy paired with artistic writing that has rarely been touched outside of 2017’s “A Crow Looked at Me.” Ten years on, and Stevens’ record maintains its role as one of the most important expressions of grief ever made.

In 2012 the multi-instrumentalist, electronic savant and indie production legend, Sufjan Stevens, lost his mother. Three years later, and nearly exactly ten years ago today, Stevens released “Carrie and Lowell,” an emotionally devastating yet cathartic expression of grief, named after his mother Carrie and stepfather Lowell.

Stevens’ relationship with Carrie was complex, as avid listeners of his knew before the record even released. In a standout track “Romulus” off his record “Michigan” in 2003, Stevens describes a childhood where he felt immense shame for and from his mother. Carrie struggled to juggle parenting while battling alcohol and drug addiction combined with schizoaffective disorder.

In “Romulus,” Stevens poignantly sings “We saw her once last fall / Our grandpa died in a hospital gown / She didn’t seem to care / She smoked in her room and colored her hair.”

As such, fans knew a project centered on Stevens’ mother would be emotionally tough to hear. However, Stevens, as always, found exactly the right sound for the record that, combined with the deeply personal and somber lyrics, created a piece of work that feels as much like a looking glass as it does a mirror.

“Carrie and Lowell” proves that deeply personal and specific works can be some of the most relatable, undoubtedly because the authenticity is impossible to make up.

In the opening track, “Death with Dignity,” Stevens establishes over luscious guitar and piano that he has grown away from ill-will toward his mom, singing “I forgive you, mother, I can hear you / and I long to be near you / but every road leads to an end.”

The record continues with this stripped back sound, a return to more acoustic sounds the artist largely had not touched for over a decade back to 2004’s “Seven Swans.” In doing so, Stevens proved he still has as much touch at somber acoustic folk as he does with the fantastical and abrasive electronic multi instrumental epic “Age of Adz,” his most recent record at the time.

The focus of the record is without question Stevens’ poetic and gorgeous writing. The artist’s lyrics continue to overwhelm the listener with emotion ten years later, especially when closely reading the lyrics.

On standout track “Eugene,” Stevens calls back to the descriptive recounting of a connection with his mother and cigarettes, dating back to his previous song, “Romulus.” Stevens mentions dropping an ashtray as a child, doing so merely out of desire for closeness to his mother. Later Stevens sings “Some part of me was lost in your sleeve / Where you hid your cigarettes.”

On “The Only Thing,” Sufjans details thoughts of suicide and asks himself “Do I care if I survive this?” in a gut-punch of a song that ends with the beautifully sung, but devastatingly written bridge, “Should I tear my eyes out now? Everything I see, returns to you somehow / Should I tear my heart out now? Everything I feel, returns to you somehow / I want to save you from your sorrow.”

“Carrie and Lowell” achieved a level of intimacy paired with artistic writing that has rarely been touched outside of 2017’s “A Crow Looked at Me.” Ten years on, and Stevens’ record maintains its role as one of the most important expressions of grief ever made.

In 2012 the multi-instrumentalist, electronic savant and indie production legend, Sufjan Stevens, lost his mother. Three years later, and nearly exactly ten years ago today, Stevens released “Carrie and Lowell,” an emotionally devastating yet cathartic expression of grief, named after his mother Carrie and stepfather Lowell.

Stevens’ relationship with Carrie was complex, as avid listeners of his knew before the record even released. In a standout track “Romulus” off his record “Michigan” in 2003, Stevens describes a childhood where he felt immense shame for and from his mother. Carrie struggled to juggle parenting while battling alcohol and drug addiction combined with schizoaffective disorder.

In “Romulus,” Stevens poignantly sings “We saw her once last fall / Our grandpa died in a hospital gown / She didn’t seem to care / She smoked in her room and colored her hair.”

As such, fans knew a project centered on Stevens’ mother would be emotionally tough to hear. However, Stevens, as always, found exactly the right sound for the record that, combined with the deeply personal and somber lyrics, created a piece of work that feels as much like a looking glass as it does a mirror.

“Carrie and Lowell” proves that deeply personal and specific works can be some of the most relatable, undoubtedly because the authenticity is impossible to make up.

In the opening track, “Death with Dignity,” Stevens establishes over luscious guitar and piano that he has grown away from ill-will toward his mom, singing “I forgive you, mother, I can hear you / and I long to be near you / but every road leads to an end.”

The record continues with this stripped back sound, a return to more acoustic sounds the artist largely had not touched for over a decade back to 2004’s “Seven Swans.” In doing so, Stevens proved he still has as much touch at somber acoustic folk as he does with the fantastical and abrasive electronic multi instrumental epic “Age of Adz,” his most recent record at the time.

The focus of the record is without question Stevens’ poetic and gorgeous writing. The artist’s lyrics continue to overwhelm the listener with emotion ten years later, especially when closely reading the lyrics.

On standout track “Eugene,” Stevens calls back to the descriptive recounting of a connection with his mother and cigarettes, dating back to his previous song, “Romulus.” Stevens mentions dropping an ashtray as a child, doing so merely out of desire for closeness to his mother. Later Stevens sings “Some part of me was lost in your sleeve / Where you hid your cigarettes.”

On “The Only Thing,” Sufjans details thoughts of suicide and asks himself “Do I care if I survive this?” in a gut-punch of a song that ends with the beautifully sung, but devastatingly written bridge, “Should I tear my eyes out now? Everything I see, returns to you somehow / Should I tear my heart out now? Everything I feel, returns to you somehow / I want to save you from your sorrow.”

“Carrie and Lowell” achieved a level of intimacy paired with artistic writing that has rarely been touched outside of 2017’s “A Crow Looked at Me.” Ten years on, and Stevens’ record maintains its role as one of the most important expressions of grief ever made.

In 2012 the multi-instrumentalist, electronic savant and indie production legend, Sufjan Stevens, lost his mother. Three years later, and nearly exactly ten years ago today, Stevens released “Carrie and Lowell,” an emotionally devastating yet cathartic expression of grief, named after his mother Carrie and stepfather Lowell.

Stevens’ relationship with Carrie was complex, as avid listeners of his knew before the record even released. In a standout track “Romulus” off his record “Michigan” in 2003, Stevens describes a childhood where he felt immense shame for and from his mother. Carrie struggled to juggle parenting while battling alcohol and drug addiction combined with schizoaffective disorder.

In “Romulus,” Stevens poignantly sings “We saw her once last fall / Our grandpa died in a hospital gown / She didn’t seem to care / She smoked in her room and colored her hair.”

As such, fans knew a project centered on Stevens’ mother would be emotionally tough to hear. However, Stevens, as always, found exactly the right sound for the record that, combined with the deeply personal and somber lyrics, created a piece of work that feels as much like a looking glass as it does a mirror.

“Carrie and Lowell” proves that deeply personal and specific works can be some of the most relatable, undoubtedly because the authenticity is impossible to make up.

In the opening track, “Death with Dignity,” Stevens establishes over luscious guitar and piano that he has grown away from ill-will toward his mom, singing “I forgive you, mother, I can hear you / and I long to be near you / but every road leads to an end.”

The record continues with this stripped back sound, a return to more acoustic sounds the artist largely had not touched for over a decade back to 2004’s “Seven Swans.” In doing so, Stevens proved he still has as much touch at somber acoustic folk as he does with the fantastical and abrasive electronic multi instrumental epic “Age of Adz,” his most recent record at the time.

The focus of the record is without question Stevens’ poetic and gorgeous writing. The artist’s lyrics continue to overwhelm the listener with emotion ten years later, especially when closely reading the lyrics.

On standout track “Eugene,” Stevens calls back to the descriptive recounting of a connection with his mother and cigarettes, dating back to his previous song, “Romulus.” Stevens mentions dropping an ashtray as a child, doing so merely out of desire for closeness to his mother. Later Stevens sings “Some part of me was lost in your sleeve / Where you hid your cigarettes.”

On “The Only Thing,” Sufjans details thoughts of suicide and asks himself “Do I care if I survive this?” in a gut-punch of a song that ends with the beautifully sung, but devastatingly written bridge, “Should I tear my eyes out now? Everything I see, returns to you somehow / Should I tear my heart out now? Everything I feel, returns to you somehow / I want to save you from your sorrow.”

“Carrie and Lowell” achieved a level of intimacy paired with artistic writing that has rarely been touched outside of 2017’s “A Crow Looked at Me.” Ten years on, and Stevens’ record maintains its role as one of the most important expressions of grief ever made.

St. Louis is, if absolutely nothing else, a sports town.

St. Louis Blues and St. Louis City merchandise fill the city even when either sport is in the offseason. Busch Stadium is one of the first things seen when driving across the Mississippi River into the city. No thrift store is complete without a surplus of St. Louis Rams jerseys donated with resentment that practically radiates off the rack. 

So, then, where is the love for the sport that has been around since the country’s founding? That is, of course, good old American boxing.

A reignited love for boxing is exactly what USA Boxing and matchmaker/promoter Earl McWilliams hopes to bring back to St. Louis with Uptown Saturday Night Fights (USNF). The most recent event, the 8th in the series, occurred on Jan. 25.

Gallery • 9 Photos

Owen Herdrick

Empty boxing ring at the Polish Heritage Center on Jan. 25, 2024, in St. Louis.

“Amateur boxing used to be glamourized,” McWilliams said. “The Golden Gloves used to be held at the Checkerdome, which held 20,000 fans; I want to help try to bring it back to that peak level.” 

While good seats at St. Louis’ professional sports events can cost a pretty penny, USNF provides a cheaper and much more intimate experience, albeit at the cost of an amateur talent pool. Every ticket, starting at $20 a pop, has a good seat with a direct view of the action. 

One can expect to watch over a dozen fights, (around 16-18), ranging wildly in gender, weight and age. In their last event, fights ranged from the 60 lb mark (a children’s bout to open up the evening) all the way up to a 203+ heavyweight main event. 

What these fighters lack in professional talent, they make up for raw passion and energy. Many open their matches full-steam-ahead. While one could imagine their tank would subsequently run out of gas, they often treat each round with this degree of intensity, exerting every ounce of power they have. 

Attendees will also save a significant amount on concessions, as USNF does not follow the big-venue obsession with ridiculous markups. Their menu features $3 hot dogs, $5 nachos and a $12 chicken dinner with wings and fries.

For the cost of what one could easily pay for parking and a water bottle at a Cardinals game, USNF provides a few solid hours of entertainment bursting with energy and passion from the crowd. Uppercuts are met with loud cheers from one corner and viscous “constructive criticism” from the corner on the receiving end of the abrasive hit.

Every fight looks entirely different, with the heavyweights delivering powerful strikes while their lighter weight contemporaries dance around the ring placing more methodical hits. With a pool of talent as large as this, the viewer is also almost guaranteed a range of fights from a razor thin talent disparity to an outright stomping, no matter which kind they prefer.

USNF’s next event is scheduled for April 19 and promises to be an enjoyable evening for those looking for a change of pace from St. Louis’ usual sports scene.

“It’s gonna be the best show I’ve ever done,” McWilliams said.

Gallery • 9 Photos

Owen Herdrick

Danny Nellom (left) evades a strike from Sean Brown (right) at the Polish Heritage Center on Jan. 25, 2024, in St. Louis.

Everybody dies, and that’s life.

What isn’t “just life,” though, would be an AC unit falling from the roof into the pool or a face full of fish hooks. However, this is exactly the surreal, dark and surprisingly hilarious world of “The Monkey.” 

Directed and written by Oz Perkins off the short story by Stephen King, trailers for “The Monkey” depicted a tense, violent and brutal slasher with little reprieve from previously unfathomable deaths. The film is still chock-full of these events, some deemed “rube-goldberg murders,” but what was not shown in promotional material was the consistent laughs garnered by the total hysteria of the world.

It makes sense, as coming off the hype of Perkins’ previous film “Longlegs,” viewers expected (and perhaps desired) he’d continue that dark Lynchian world building. “The Monkey” is no “Longlegs” though, and will fall short of that mark to many.

However, to both those who did and did not like “Longlegs,” find enjoyment in the fact that this is a wildly different and very entertaining higher-paced film. “The Monkey” does not take itself seriously, nor should a movie about a cymbal-banging monkey toy who may literally be the devil incarnate.

In fact, the film is at its best when it takes itself the least seriously, seen in its hilarious scenes with Nicco Del Rio’s “rookie priest.” Trying desperately to weather the storm as a 20-something preacher, Del Rio’s performance is a surefire laugh with every appearance as he oversees a city facing what could be described as biblical plagues. 

Another fantastically stupid (in a good way) performance is Theo James as Bill. Twin-brother of protagonist Hal (also played by James), Bill is a ridiculously absurd character whose obsession with theatrics is played to a tee by James’ silliness. 

Many of the film’s best moments are in its humor by way of cuts. While fans of wild and shocking deaths will not be disappointed with the brutal “accidents” visibly seen in the film, some have abrupt and shocking cuts to after-the-fact that feel cartoonish in a way only a good dark comedy is.

Cinematographer Nico Aguilar captures these comedic moments and also builds tensions in all the right ways. Combined with Edo Van Breemen’s composing, more than a few scenes will have the viewer gripping the sides of their chair, as the music builds, anticipating just how bloody things are about to get.

“The Monkey” is not without its faults. Like most other movies, it falls victim to a lack of ability to accurately write dialogue for kids, with some of the dialogue coming off as formulaic and cringey. It also does not seem to have a whole lot to say, but that does not stop it from being a whole lot of fun. 

If one enters expecting the next “Longlegs” or “Hereditary,” they could leave disappointed; but, as far as dark, funny and shocking films go, “The Monkey” is a more-than-passible weekend viewing.

The original graphic novel “Watchmen” was released over the course of 1986 and 1987, becoming an instantly foundational piece in comic book lore, whose commercial and critical success stunned the industry. 

Writer Alan Moore and artist Dave Gibbons, both at the absolute top of their game, crafted a masterful dissection of the idealism comic books live within, choosing to instead depict an entirely original cast of heroes that feel far more grounded in stark reality. 

What resulted was a piece of art that transcended a medium commonly considered to be for children, landing it on Time’s list of the 100 best English-language novels since 1923.

If a “gritty, edgier superhero adaptation” sounds overdone, understand “Watchmen” is the source material that successors like “Invincible,” “The Boys” and countless others try desperately to catch the flame of. While these pieces of art are fun, Moore does not fall into the cautious optimism of “Invincible” or childish crudeness of “The Boys.” 

Instead, he crafted a world that deals with intensely heavy subjects, just with actual empathy and depth, not the bizarre fetishization comics often succumb to.

Now it is nearly 40 years later, and an adaptation that seems to actually understand the source material has finally hit the market (unlike Zack Snyder’s 2009 film that felt like if you let frat boys adapt the graphic novel). This time around, Warner Brothers opted for an animated two-part film that adapts the source material nearly panel-by-panel.

What “Watchmen: Chapter I” does well is making almost no changes and capturing all of this exactly how Moore intended it to be understood, even though he despises any adaptations of his work (sorry, Moore).

While only the first part is out at the moment (found on Max), it is horrifying how much more accurate it feels now than it did in the 80s. The film sees a seemingly unimpeachable Richard Nixon running for his fifth term, having repealed the 22nd Amendment and killed the journalists who would have broken the Watergate scandal. 

Moore sought to warn us against tyrants like Nixon. 

So, when hearing President-elect Donald Trump telling a roaring crowd they are “not gonna have to vote again” after the 2024 election, it feels as though we hardly listened.

Amid this corrupt world of politics are a slew of “superheroes,” but probably not the ones unfamiliar viewers would expect. Everyone is entirely powerless, except for Dr. Manhattan, who is no Superman-esque savior. In fact, due to his objective superiority, he cares a little more about humans than he does termites. 

Moore also makes a clear statement with the scarce villains that are depicted, humanizing them as real people. These are people who are capable of reform, no thanks to the immense beatings or even murders they endure.

Rather than having an easy and dramatized Joker-esque villain, the main perpetrators of harm are the very “heroes” the story follows, and establishments like the United States and former Soviet Union military-industrial complexes.

Semi-protagonist Rorschach, this universe’s idea of a Batman-type who would love QAnon almost as much as he hates women, is in some ways the blueprint for Homelander in “The Boys.” While he is meant to be depicted as a distressing and unhinged extremist with genuinely terrifying beliefs, Rorschach became an icon to incels, Proud Boys and racists, just like Homelander. 

This horrifying and unintended reaction led to Moore meeting a lot of Rorschach superfans, telling them, “Yeah, great, can you just keep away from me, [and] never come anywhere near me again as long as I live?”

One of the comic’s best moments is seen in “Watchmen: Chapter I” as a distressed Nite-Owl watches his colleague, the Comedian, gleefully firing tear gas into a rioting crowd. Ironically, the crowd is protesting this exact kind of oppression by masked vigilantes who operate without consequence and above the law. 

In an interesting parallel, The Badger Project finds more than 300 officers in Wisconsin this year alone were able to regain their jobs after being fired or forced out. 

Disillusioned, Nite-Owl asks who they are even protecting the citizens from, to which the Comedian eagerly offers up a simple answer: themselves.

“What’s happened to the American dream?” Nite-Owl said.

“It came true,” the Comedian said. “You’re lookin’ at it.”

Understand that this comic comes years before the deaths of George Floyd, Mike Brown or even the near-murder of Rodney King. Only a decade removed from the Vietnam War, Moore could see the trajectory our neoliberal “utopia” was headed on, realizing the United States hates nothing quite like its own people waking up to their oppression.

Moore and Gibbons fit in an incredible amount of commentary in this sprawling epic: Ozymandias’ materialism/capitalism, Rorschach’s moral absolutism, the Comedian’s/public’s over-sexualization and violence towards women, Dr. Manhattan’s ethical apathy and so much more.

Nothing will top a chilly weekend spent obsessively turning the pages of the original classic; that said, “Watchmen: Chapter I” offers a more than apt jumping-off point for those who wouldn’t dare pick up a physical comic book, as well as a satisfying page-to-screen experience for those who couldn’t put the source text down.

While the computer-generated animation can feel flat and emotionless at points, aspects like Dr. Manhattan’s distinct animation style perfectly encapsulate Gibbons’ style. It may not touch the masterful craft of “Wild Robot” or “Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse,” but for a non-theatrical film, the animation is satisfactory and generally gets the tone across.

Watching the film, fictional character Hollis Mason’s “Under the Hood” novel excerpts were one of the few things notably omitted, albeit understandably due to its text-only format. However, as the credits roll and those excerpts are read aloud to ensure the entire book is captured, it is clear at least some of the crew loved the source material. 

The second part is out for purchase and rent now and, if consistent with its predecessor, will likely stream on Max in late January. Until then, do yourself a favor and turn the TV on (or rent the book from the library) and find yourself asking two of the most rewarding questions in a novel, graphic or even literary: Who killed the Comedian, and who the hell watches the Watchmen?

Mariah Carey, Michael Bublé and Frank Sinatra are just a few of the voices Americans are accustomed to hearing annually come winter. However, hidden among countless generic renditions of the same several Christmas songs, is a truly special piece of art that fights to be the best piece of Christmas art (yes, all art) ever made: Sufjan Stevens’ simply titled “Songs for Christmas.”

Made initially as five EPs over the course of six years (he skipped 2005 while working on his magnum opus “Illinois”) “Songs for Christmas,” at first glance, can be described in just three words: wow, it’s long. Coming in at just over two hours, the record is tracklisted with the original five EPs in mind, being split into five “discs” on Spotify. 

While every song on the album is incredibly special and artistically crafted, it is unlikely many readers will listen to the full album because of its length. The good news? All of “Songs for Christmas” holds up whether you prefer to sing along to old hymns/Christmas classics, study to beautiful instrumentals or hear completely original (and delightful) Christmas compositions. 

Moreover, it should be stressed that while Stevens’ background is Christian and the album serves in many facets as a love letter to specifically Christian holiday culture, many of the songs do not. “Songs for Christmas” is a delightful addition to the winter rotation, regardless of religious upbringing or lack thereof.

Warnings and context aside, here is a review of the album, as well as a handful of songs that could serve as a starting point for first-time listeners.

Stevens, a multi-instrumentalist, leans mainly on the four main forms of guitar, banjo, piano and woodwinds for this record, giving it mainly a folksy, campfire vibe. One of the opening tracks is a cover of “O Come O Come Emmanuel,” and it washes over the listener’s ears with luscious banjo, guitar and layered vocals that feel somewhere between a cult initiation and a warm hug.

“It’s Christmas! Let’s Be Glad!” is one of Stevens’ original creations and includes a chorus of singers who joyfully shout about the holiday season; the perfect kind of song to put on as you put up Christmas decorations. As the tree is brought out, the under two minute “Put the Lights On the Tree,” will serve as the perfect backdrop for the festive activity.

“Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing,” a hymnal staple, is beautifully adapted by Stevens, and the crisp minimalist instruments back Stevens’ enchanting voice wonderfully. “Come on! Let’s Boogey to the Elf Dance!” is another of Stevens contemporary Christmas creations, bringing lyrics about K-Mart into Christmas music discourse.

Stevens’ “Jingle Bells” rendition sounds as though it should be played in a saloon in the wild west; two songs later, “Lo! How A Rose E’er Blooming” sounds like it should be played inside a massive empty chapel. The diversity of sound yet cohesiveness of aesthetic is truly something to behold.

The record culminates in its last few songs, like the masterfully arranged original “Sister Winter” that builds on its gorgeous strings gradually to create an incredibly rewarding listening experience. It is followed quickly by another version of “O Come O Come Emmanuel,” this time a brief piano version. This gives the listener a moment to breathe before consuming what may be the best Christmas song ever, and the album’s definitive peak: “Star of Wonder.” 

Unlike “We Three Kings,” the song its title is based on, “Star of Wonder” is a seven minute wave of winter euphoria. For three minutes, it builds slowly and patiently up to a post-rock-esque climax that deserves to be heard even if you never listen to a single other song off the record.

Immediately after is a simply gorgeous rendition of “Holy, Holy, Holy” that ends the album lyrically before the instrumental drone heavy collage “The Winter Solstice” sends “Songs for Christmas” off with a final artistic kiss goodbye.