Dear God, the classes are going to kill me. It's like the professors in the program decided to throw lectures out the window and offer only evening seminars from 7 to 8:50, or for whatever reason the class I want to take is during the writing seminar I'm determined to take. Not that there's a lot. It's slim pickings this semester. Blaxploitation and the female body, Spike Lee, The Western, American Avant-Garde, and like every course I've already taken before. I bet you all are like, WHAT YOU TALKIN', THOSE SOUND AMAZING.
No. You do not understand. If you could meet these professors with their crazy rhetoric: "The fact that he uses the back entrance symbolizes his desire to dress his mother's dog up in a duck costume, a theme oft exploited in this director's work and the genre as a whole."
I almost miss the days where I was being forced to read dudes who derived their only joy out of life by imagining themselves as futuristic robots and thought that the camera was a transcendant being made to inspire the unwashed masses to dizzying heights of farming perfection. These classes suck. What happened to Irish cinema?