Are you interested in hearing our students' opinions on topical events in the news? Do you have a counterargument you would like to share? This is the section for you. Each piece published in this section will be solely opinion-based and often an Op-Ed. If you would like to share your counterargument to a piece published, please email or share your piece with 701924@lrstudents.org. 

Nowadays, it’s common to view writing as a tedious school assignment rather than a genuine source of entertainment. Why would you choose to crack open a book when we have blocks in our home with unlimited stimulation just a click away? But writing is all around us—it is one of the foundations of our world. It’s just evolved with us. 

Back in the day, novels were as frivolous as a TikTok video is now. It might seem weird, but reading was judged as a dangerous waste of time. How dare that woman read and develop individual thoughts! She’s meant to follow us around like a brainless zombie!–my idea of how people reacted. Writing was a shallow distraction from real-world duties but eventually evolved into a common pastime and henceforth increased in educational value and decreased in enjoyment for the overall public. This is not a rare occurrence. Many things we see as superficial eventually evolve into something we hold on an intellectual pedestal. Take Shakespeare. When he put on plays, the buildings were often next to animal-fighting businesses. He was not an important soon-to-be classic, but a childish writer who was changing all the rules other writers lived by. And that brings me to my next point: Classics weren’t written to be classics. They, like everything else in the world, were written for enjoyment.

I love reading. You’ll often see me using every breath between a teacher’s sentences to sneak another page or two of whatever my current obsession is (right now it’s And Then There Were None by Agatha Christie, and it is SO GOOD). But my favorite genre is fantasy. My favorite books are ones about magical worlds and pointed ears. Many times, I prefer those books over books that are praised for their meaningful messages or intellectual metaphors. Does that make me any less of a reader? No, because guess what? The books that became classics…were not intended to be classics. Jane Austen was not seen as a revolutionary artist, but as someone who was just really good at writing romance novels. Charles Dickens was not a lesson in school but a writer whose work was so good that readers would wait on the docks as boats carrying his new books would arrive. What angers me is that people keep writing with the intent of making something to last decades. But if you desire that lasting impact, you must write for the people now, not for the people in the future. You may try to argue that writing itself will be old-fashioned and nonexistent by that time, but I vehemently disagree with that. Nothing dies; it just evolves.

Poetry. There are a few great poets of our time, but I’d be willing to bet that a good number of students cannot name five poets of the last decade. Don’t worry, that’s me included. But that’s just because we’re calling them poets…and the vast majority of rhyme crafters and rhythm makers aren’t. Not anymore. They’re now called “songwriters.” With the development of technology comes the development of writing. We no longer listen to and read poems as a pastime, but we do listen to music. Take a song and remove the instruments; what do you have? Why a poem, of course. Just as the idea of reading and books itself evolves, so does the general concept of writing. You cannot make a movie without a script. You cannot make a game without written rules. You cannot complete a project without a guideline. And you cannot make a song without a poem. Whether you like it or not, writing is in every aspect of our lives.

Writing is something I love and something many people tend to hate. But they don’t hate it. Not really. Well, unless you hate books and movies and games and songs and basically everything ever. Writing is not restricted to a classroom; it’s everywhere. You just have to choose to see it.      

This review contains spoilers… please watch the movie first.

This review was originally published on Keane's Letterboxd:

I think I just saw the greatest movie of the year, maybe even the decade. This film is a masterpiece, and I don’t use that word lightly.

This is on another level entirely.

I want to deconstruct the themes, the messaging, and everything else about it, because I believe it contains some of the richest subtext we’ve seen in the media in years.

First, this is an incredible critique of fascism. Fascism is a trope that shows up constantly in movies and TV, but it’s rarely done well. Take The Boys, for example. I really enjoy that show, but its approach to fascism is cartoonishly over-the-top. We know Homelander is a Trump stand-in, everything is turned up to eleven, and while it’s entertaining, it doesn’t always feel real.

This film, however, presents a world that feels terrifyingly authentic, a near one-to-one reflection of the reality we live in. The time period is never specified, which has led many (myself included) to think it’s set in the near future. That ambiguity only strengthens its realism.

Here, fascism isn’t delivered with a “big bad villain” moment. There are horrific acts, yes, but never a single scene screaming: “Here are the bad guys.” Instead, fascism is shown as it truly operates: subtly, insidiously, and woven into everyday life. It’s just the new normal.

One of the most compelling elements is Sean Penn’s character, who, to me, is the perfect embodiment of the modern fascist. Sean Penn, right off the bat, is a perverted weirdo—a man desperate for meaning. His denial of his own homosexuality later in the film (despite no one accusing him) echoes the way many fascists project their own insecurities.

The movie introduces the secret white supremacist society of the Christmas Adventurers, a group that promises superiority to its members. Penn’s character dives into this opportunity because fascism thrives on insecure, unfulfilled men searching for purpose. This is why fascism resurges during hard times: men without jobs or meaning find validation in the state, the race, or the group.

What’s fascinating is the way society’s power is depicted; it feels vast and threatening, but its true scope is never defined. We, the audience, don’t really know the full extent of power this secret society has. That secrecy creates allure, both for Penn and for us as viewers. Fascism is attractive and seductive not only because of its ideology but also because of the illusion of power and exclusivity.

And then there’s his ending, arguably the most controversial part of the film. After he’s shot in the face by his own allies, he somehow survives, deformed, only to crawl back to the very group that betrayed him. He’s promised membership, a false sense of belonging, before being gassed and killed anyway.

Some argue this was unnecessary, that he should have just died during the earlier car chase. But I think this is the point. Fascism ultimately destroys even those who serve it most loyally. Penn’s willingness to return to the party that literally disfigured him is the perfect metaphor for how fascism exploits its followers.

It’s like watching Trump supporters right now. They’re the ones most hurt by his policies (cutting healthcare and imposing tariffs), but they still support him. Even when they’re betrayed, even when they’re the ones paying the price, they still crawl back. They don’t even always know who’s screwing them over. They blame someone else or refuse to admit it.

That final sequence underscores the futility of Penn’s quest for purpose: in fascism, you’re never special, never indispensable; you’re just a cog, easily discarded. Fascism isn’t even beneficial to its soldiers. It chews up its own people.

On the opposite end of the spectrum are Leonardo DiCaprio and Teyana Taylor’s characters, who embody revolutionary purpose. They break people out of deportation camps, challenge the powerful, and push for systemic change.

DiCaprio’s arc revolves around his daughter, who gives him a new sense of purpose. He embodies the idea that parenthood shifts your priorities; you stop fighting for abstract ideals and start fighting for the future and safety of your child.

Taylor’s character, on the other hand, is more conflicted. She’s revolutionary, yes, but she’s selfish. She abandons her daughter and betrays her people. She claims loyalty to the movement, but she rats her comrades out and runs. Her purpose is less about justice and more about her own desire to feel special.

Then there’s Chase Infiniti’s character, the daughter, who represents the next generation. She starts off indifferent, a typical teenager, but is forced into revolution by circumstances beyond her control. Here is every revolutionary’s story: No one chooses to inherit the world’s and her family's problems, but the new generation always does.

The film also works beautifully as a generational metaphor.

Sean Penn and the Christmas Adventures embody the Baby Boomers: clinging to power, embracing authoritarian ideologies, and ultimately destroying the world.

DiCaprio represents Gen X: full of ideals but compromised by responsibility and the oppressiveness of the Baby Boomers.

Chase Infiniti represents Gen Z (or younger): put into chaos not of their making, caused by the failure of Gen X, but now has to solve it.

The movie also wrestles with the morality of revolutionary violence. Is it glorified? Is it justified? Teyana Taylor’s violence is shown as selfish and destructive, while Benicio del Toro’s character offers a different (and what I believe the film is trying to say is the right) model: someone who protects his family, supports migrants, and works against the system in practical, often nonviolent ways, but who is also willing to fight violently when necessary.

I have to mention one sequence that proves Paul Thomas Anderson is one of the greatest directors alive. In the middle of the film, there’s a bounty hunter introduced. Almost no lines, barely any development. Sean Penn hires him to kill Chase Infiniti, but he refuses, saying, “I don’t do kids.”

Later, he agrees to drop her off so others can do the job. In one wordless scene, we see Chase tied up. She looks at a soldier filling a boat with fuel. In that instant, we know what’s going to happen. Then we cut to the bounty hunter, still sitting in his car, staring. Ten seconds pass. Then he gets out, guns blazing, and saves her, sacrificing his own life.

That whole arc, told with almost no dialogue, is a masterclass in “show, don’t tell.” It’s cinematic perfection.

This is probably the longest review I’ve ever written. If you actually read this thing, thanks. I feel like I’ve only scratched the surface. I want to rewatch this movie a trillion times. It’s the one I’ve been thinking about the most since I saw it. I want to get inside Paul Thomas Anderson’s head and see how he crafted this. I might even read the book it was based on, and I never do that. Books are for nerds.

This is truly a masterpiece of the modern age. I believe it will be remembered in cinema history. I hope it ushers in a new kind of filmmaking, though who knows? The world is really scary right now. We live in something close to a fascist regime already. But as long as Paul Thomas Anderson keeps making movies, I’ll be okay.

Whew. No fear, like Tom Cruise.