Recess remembers the days gone by

The films you can't forget

Forget the good, the bad, the brilliant, the boring and the Oscars. A film is what you make of it. For better or for worse--and for reasons all your own--what counts is what you remember three months, six months or a year down the road. So here's to Charlie Kaufman, for suggesting that it's enough to simply enjoy life in the moment, and here's to Charlie Kaufman again, for admitting that maybe it's not. Here's to holding on to the ones that count:

Quentin Tarantino's Kill Bill, which made violence funny again.

Hayden Christiansen in Shattered Glass, and his portrayal of wayward journalist Stephen Glass. Smart people make smart excuses, particularly for themselves.

The Wachowski Brothers and The Matrix trilogy, which kept Keanu occupied, and out of other movies, for a good four years.

Mel Gibson's The Passion of the Christ, which made us talk.

X-Men 2, 'cause there's a little mutant in us all.

Peter Weir's Master and Commander, for the history that happened between the explosions.

21 Grams, for the anguish of imminence, and because ignorance is bliss.

Pirates of the Caribbean, just because. ARRRRR.

Starship Troopers, which might possibly be communist propaganda. No room to explain.

And finally, Anthony Minghella's Cold Mountain. Says Ruby Thewes: "They say this war is a cloud over these lands. But they make the weather, and then they stand in the rain and say, Shit! It's raining!"

Here's to drawing your own conclusions.

The arts are all around you

In an informal but widespread 2002 poll at Duke, researchers asked "What would you change about Duke?" One of the most popular responses was "the arts scene."

To those in the University's arts departments, this was a bit of a surprise. The theater, dance and fine arts communities are small but strong. Over the past four years, the drama department has become the Department of Theater Studies, increased its major's popularity and built a $10 million facility adjacent to the Bryan Center.

The school's visual art collections will soon take new residence in the $23 million Nasher Museum of Art, an extraordinary accomplishment, as commented on by Arts Editor Julia Fryett earlier this year.

Senior Mark Pike and Blaise DePersia, '03, have successfully implemented a photobooth in the Bryan Center, and despite the two bucks required to use it, someone's almost always going in or out.

Wendell Theater Group had a spring coup with A Perfect Ganesh, a student-directed play put up in three weeks with inexplicably beautiful costumes, a creative design, baby-smooth set changes, stellar performances and a sold-out crowd.

Hoof 'n' Horn, founded 65 years ago, returned to its roots this year and produced its first student-written musical this decade.

We've seen the rise of Dance Slam and On Tap, the birth of Where's Gus? Theater, Urgent Theater, and next year we'll have the Broadway-bound Little Women playing on campus, allowing students to work with the likes of Susan Shulman and the Tony-award winning Broadway star, Sutton Foster.

Off-campus, students have worked consistently at Manbites Dog Theater in Durham and painted with children at community centers, and some lucky Duke dancers will patter across the stage at the Kennedy Center this summer with Ron Brown's dance company.

To those who doubt the presence of the arts at Duke, the message is clear: Look around you--and you'll be amazed by what you see.

Class of '04 fashion flashback

Sometimes recalling what you were wearing takes you back in time better than anything else. In this spirit, we ask: Do you remember...? 

Freshman year 

Discovering Uniquities--and all the Susanna Monacco and Trina Turk that goes with it? Walking to that cute Simply Hip (or simply something--it vanished after freshman year as if in protest of its Durham location) boutique in Brightleaf? Black-and-white everything? Wearing sweater jackets and losing them in piles at George's? Girls in Patagonia's from Boston meeting girls in Lilly from Charlotte? And, of course, the all-time male favorite: trading capris for mini skirts? 

Sophomore Year 

A real mall finally opening? Realizing it still wasn't quite a real mall but not even caring at this point? Gaining cleavage for the first time thanks to Moulin Rouge-inspired corsets? Louis Vuitton going ghetto with its graffiti bag? Duke students posing as hippies in boho-chic (this notably does not mean they adopted '70s activism and started picketing... sorry Dean Chafe)? 

Junior Year 

Bringing a melting pot of styles back from abroad? Wearing all black all winter and then finding wonderful redemption in the candy-colored spring? Polka dots? Chanel-inspired tweed pieces? Satin cargo pants (was that only a year ago? God help us.)? The LV Murakami bag? The millions of fake LV Murakami bags? 

Senior Year 

The pajamas you were still wearing when you managed to make it to your one 5 p.m. Monday class? The suit you wore again and again to every interview? Ugg boots, Ugg boots and Ugg boots, with tucked-in jeans, pleated mini-skirts and (gasp) even yoga pants? La Perla lingerie and pearls (which are not mutually exclusive)? And sadly--looking ahead three weeks--too-short synthetic graduation gowns and mascara-stained faces? 

Bar-win's theory of evolution

You reach for your wallet anxiously and approach the front door to Cafe Parizade like a thirsty and cramped coach passenger fiddling with the curtain entrance to the first class cabin on an airplane. Fumbling your fake ID with trembling freshman fingers, you hope the bouncer won't spot your moist brow or heavy breathing. For the rest of freshman year you enjoy these Thursday night Parizade parties, rubbing your sweaty body against other clueless freshmen to "Ride Wit Me" in complete darkness, attaching yourself to any upperclassmen who would talk to you.

Sophomore year you decide you hate freshmen and so Parizade must be avoided at all costs. Mugshots tries to fill the void, but their inconsistent ID policy puzzles the student body, allowing easy entry on all nights except for when the miserable munchkin officer's Napoleon complex costs our class about 90 perfectly good fake ID's. Rum Runners revolutionizes Wednesday nights with 75 cent drinks and the piano man. Shooters becomes the hot spot for bid nights and four-ways, so you ride the bull until the lights come on at 2 a.m., and the crowd is dispersed faster than a human rights convention in Communist China.

Junior year sees a revival of your appreciation for Parizade, but only from the back room where you laugh at all the clueless, sweaty freshmen. Bully's and the WaDuke on points hit the scene as the ultimate bar odd couple--extensive drink specials for a dollar or expensive drink sessions on daddy.

And ahh, senior year rolls around, and you find yourself in the same stool at Charlie's by the conclusion of every night, whether it be Wednesday or Saturday, Sunday or Monday, rubbing elbows with filthy bikers and best friends and lamenting the end of an era: so many beers, so many bars, and four years come to a cruel close with a few wild weeks of doing the same thing, at the same places, with the same people. And we wouldn't have it any other way.