Black Cop, by Canadian director Cory Bowles, is pretty much what it says on the tin – the story of an African-American man who works as a police officer.
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On the summit of Mount Precipice, Adam — a down-and-out Arab-Christian entrepreneur and expectant father — sits in his car, a trail of marijuana smoke rising from the sunroof, when a crowd of tourists pass by.
With accuracy and great beauty, Call Me By Your Name (CMBYN) captures the experience of a languid, over-long summer. It’s the 1980s, somewhere in idyllic Northern Italy. Oliver (Armie Hammer) is an American academic and guest in Elio Perlman's home.
If you’ve spent any time on Facebook, Twitter, or Youtube you’ve seen them. Taco Bell copycat crunchwrap supremes and jalapeno corn poppers. Tinker Bell cupcakes and unicorn dip. Caramel apple cheese balls and Oreogasm skillet brownies.
They called me at eleven on a Monday night. After the customary argument, I capitulated, and soon I found myself in a tiki bar with four boys, drinking with a two-foot-long straw out of a shared booze bowl in which floated flaming limes.
Since Canada Day on July 1, over 7,000 migrants have claimed asylum in Quebec alone — many of them Haitians who fear their status of “temporary protection” in the US will soon come to an end.
UBC is a cage, and not just for the Thunderbirds. After a couple months the campus feels like how Buchanan Tower looks; plain, imposing, and vaguely Stalinist.
My first period was a lot like the opening scene of Saving Private Ryan, except Tom Hanks wasn’t there.
This is what a good part of my First Year looked like: staring at a computer screen most nights, sitting alone in my room talking to someone who isn’t even there, lots of crying, lots of fighting. It’s not a pretty picture and, unfortunately, I was the only one to blame for that.
As soon as I made the reservation I felt I had implicated myself into a political cause. I was going to give my hard-earned dollars to the billionaire reality TV star, President Donald J. Trump.
Who would have thought that a play where the main character is burried up to her waist in dirt and half-mad with boredom would be anything less than exhausting to watch?
We were waiting outside together, this mismatched group of people. An older couple waited by the door, making sure they would be the first in. An accordion player was singing to help the wait go faster until the doors open.
I wanted so badly to be successful and happy at UBC, but I felt like I was flung in the deep end of some warped post-secondary dimension.
Yesterday at 6 p.m., Vance Joy — in partnership with the AMS and Peak radio — put on a 16-minute “surprise” concert in the plaza. It was exactly what you would expect from a slightly ramshackle, hasty outdoor concert announced on Peak two hours in advance.
Beckett is far from your average playwright. At first glance, his characters utter words and sentences that seem to lack any sort of coherence and trying to make sense of even one line usually just leads to more befuddlement.