PAGES & FRAMES/ Monthly Roundup

What I read and watched in MAY

who i’d like to be these days
anyways, not a lot happened this May, dear reader
the coffin was closed

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p a g e s

THE APOTHECARY DIARIES LIGHT NOVEL 4 & 5 by NATSU HYŪGA
Volumes 4 and 5 of THE APOTHECARY DIARIES deepen Maomao’s journey from reluctant palace physician to indispensable court sleuth. The author skillfully layers political intrigue—assassination plots, poisonings, and clandestine romances—against the backdrop of imperial opulence, all while Maomao’s forensic acumen and unflappable pragmatism shine. Volume 4 plunges us into the tension between eunuchs and consorts, revealing hidden alliances; volume 5 then pivots to medical mysteries that test Maomao’s ethics and ingenuity. The author’s blend of rich historical detail, deft characterization, and quiet humor elevates these installments beyond mere puzzle-boxes into a nuanced portrait of power, loyalty, and compassion in a cutthroat court. GET THEM NOW

WHY HAVE THERE BEEN NO GREAT WOMEN ARTISTS? by LINDA NOCHLIN
In this seminal 1971 essay, NOCHLIN dismantles the myth that genius is an equal-opportunity trait, showing instead how structural barriers—access to training, gendered expectations, and exclusion from patronage—have systematically sidelined women. Through incisive case studies of artists like Artemisia Gentileschi and Élisabeth Vigée Le Brun, she illuminates the social constraints that confine female creativity and calls for a reevaluation of art history’s male-dominated canon. Her argument remains blisteringly relevant: her rigorous scholarship and passionate urgency compel us to confront persistent inequalities in museums, academia, and the marketplace, and to expand our notion of what counts as “great” art.

THE SUMMER HIKARU DIED VOL. 1 & 2 by MOKUMOKUREN
MOKUMOKUREN’s tale unfolds in a sleepy mountainous town, where childhood friends Hikaru and Yoshiki share sun-drenched days collecting memories until a sinister possession tears their bond apart. The author’s masterful pacing and art heighten every small gesture—a stray hair, a shared smile—so that the horrors lurking beneath feel all the more jarring. Cannot wait for July 5th to watch the anime adaptation!

BAD CREE by JESSICA JOHNS
Johns’s debut novel traffics in gothic horror and Indigenous folklore to explore how generational trauma imprints itself on the psyche. Protagonist Mackenzie returns to her family’s remote reserve grappling with nightmares of monstrous figures powered by grief. As she unravels her family’s secrets Mackenzie confronts her own fractured identity and the legacy of her heritage. JOHNS’s spare yet lyrical prose conjures an atmosphere of creeping dread, while her culturally grounded storytelling offers both a chilling supernatural thriller and a searing critique of colonial violence.

THE CELESTIAL OMNIBUS by E. M. FORSTER
Forster’s early 20th-century collection fuses gentility with the uncanny, whisking you from Edwardian drawing rooms to fantastical realms where ordinary people glimpse transcendent wonders. Stories like “The Story of a Panic” and “The Celestial Omnibus” blend satirical wit—skewering bourgeois propriety—with moments of genuine enchantment, as characters encounter angels, time-slipping trains, and cosmic vistas. FORSTER’s elegant prose and subtle humor render the fantastic entirely plausible, reminding us that the miraculous often lies just beyond the edge of everyday perception.

f r a m e s
movies

SINNERS (dir. RYAN COOGLER, 2025)
Ryan Coogler returns with SINNERS, a visceral drama exploring faith, community, and moral ambiguity in a contemporary urban milieu. Centered on a charismatic soon to be pastor whose progressive views on art and music clash with the church’s conservative elders, the film interrogates the fine line between spiritual leadership, authoritarianism and racial injustice through the allegory of vampirism. Coogler’s trademark sensitivity to performance elicits raw, nuanced portrayals—particularly from his lead—while a gritty cinematography style underscores the story’s simmering tensions. With a score that bridges gospel fervor and modern beats, SINNERS challenges viewers to reconsider the intersections of belief, power, and redemption.

FLOW (dir. GINTS ZILBALOĪDIS, 2024)
A wordless marvel of independent animation, FLOW follows a solitary cat drawn into surreal underwater landscapes after an environmental disaster. Zilbalodis employs hand-drawn frames and watercolor textures to evoke the fluidity of water and the swimmer’s internal journey from isolation to transcendence. Each sequence unfolds like a moving painting: phosphorescent sea creatures drift past, submerged ruins hint at lost civilizations, and currents become metaphors for memory. Without dialogue, the film’s emotional resonance relies on visual poetry and a minimalist, ambient score—making FLOW a meditative exploration of solitude, loss, and the healing power of nature.

THE SALT PATH (dir. MARIANNE ELLIOTT, 2024)
Adapted from Raynor Winn’s bestselling memoir, THE SALT PATH chronicles one couple’s trek along England’s 630-mile South West Coast Path after losing their home and facing a terminal diagnosis. Elliott’s direction prioritizes authenticity: wide-angle shots capture the rugged cliffs and windswept beaches, while close-ups register the spouses’ interdependence and resilience. The film balances moments of bleakness—rain-soaked tents, dwindling supplies—with luminous discoveries of community and self-worth. Anchored by heartfelt performances, THE SALT PATH emerges as a poignant testament to love’s endurance and the restorative power of walking.

MONONOKE THE MOVIE: THE PHANTOM IN THE RAIN (dir. KENJI NAKAMURA, 2024)
Building on the legacy of supernatural folklore, Nakamura’s MONONOKE THE MOVIE transports viewers to a rainy post-Meiji era, where medicine seller Van and his apprentice unravel a string of spectral occurrences tied to a tragic love affair. Nakamura’s use of muted color palettes—grays mingled with sudden crimson splashes—creates a haunting, nocturnal atmosphere. His meticulous creature designs bring rain-soaked yokai to life in fluid CGI, while human drama remains at the heart: grief, guilt, and the desire for atonement. The result is a visually sumptuous and emotionally resonant fusion of horror, romance, and historical fantasy.

THE BURNING HELL (dir. RON ORMOND, 1974)
A striking, if campy, artifact of 1970s evangelical cinema, THE BURNING HELL pairs preacher Estus W. Pirkle’s fervent sermons with lurid dramatizations of sin and damnation. Ormond intercuts Pirkle’s on-stage exhortations—complete with sweat-soaked oratory and thunderous organ music—with graphic reenactments of murder, drug use, and moral decay. The film’s unflinching imagery and hyperbolic tone verge on exploitation, yet inadvertently capture the era’s cultural anxieties about youth rebellion and secularism. Whether viewed as sincere evangelism or midnight-movie curiosity, THE BURNING HELL stands as a bold expression of religious conviction meets low-budget shock tactics.

AS TEARS GO BY (dir. WONG KAR-WAI, 1988)
Wong Kar-Wai’s debut is a raw, kinetic portrait of Hong Kong’s urban underworld, revolving around small-time gangster Wah and his cousin Ngor, whose love propels the narrative. Even in this early work, Wong’s signature style emerges: impulsive jump-cuts, neon-glazed night scenes, and a wistful voice-over that lends poetic melancholy to street-level violence. The film juxtaposes bursts of tenderness—Wah’s protective instincts toward Ngor—with abrupt outbursts of brutality, underscoring themes of loyalty, alienation, and the impossibility of escape. AS TEARS GO BY remains a visceral testament to Wong’s gift for finding beauty in despair.

ONE CUT OF THE DEAD (dir. SHIN’ICHIRO UEDA, 2017)
Ueda’s meta-miracle ONE CUT OF THE DEAD begins as a deceptively low-key zombie flick—actually shot in a single 37-minute take—but soon rewinds to reveal the chaotic, hilarious truth behind the production. The film’s second and third acts lampoon indie-filmmaking tropes: flustered actors, scheming producers, and ever-encroaching hordes of extras. Its genius lies in this structural sleight-of-hand, turning an apparent gimmick into a heartfelt celebration of collaborative creativity.

THE VOURDALAK (dir. ADRIEN BEAU, 2023)
Inspired by Aleksey Tolstoy’s 19th-century vampire novella, Beau’s THE VOURDALAK is a folk-horror tour de force set in snowbound Eastern Europe. Shot on 16 mm film, it evokes dusty cabinets of curiosities: flickering lanterns, tangled woods, and the slow, creeping dread of a guesthouse whose visitors vanish one by one. Practical effects—a wolf-like creature glimpsed through frost, hands clawing at wooden doors—ground the supernatural in tactile reality. Beau’s austere pacing and atmospheric sound design transform a classic literary horror into an immersive, retro-sensory nightmare.

TWILIGHT Q (dir. TOMOMI MOCHIZUKI & MAMORU OSHII, 1987)
This two-part OVA anthology channels The Twilight Zone’s spirit through anime’s expressive lens. In “Time Knot,” Mochizuki weaves a melancholic tale of a young woman stranded between past and present at a deserted station; its deliberate pacing and minimalist dialogue heighten the eerie tension. The second segment, “File 538,” directed by Oshii, rewards observant viewers with snap-zoom cuts, cryptic visual motifs, and a twist ending that reframes every preceding scene. Together, they showcase ’80s anime experimentation—unafraid to embrace ambiguity, psychological unease, and the uncanny.

VERSAILLES NO BARA (dir. AI YOSHIMURA, 2025)
Yoshimura’s feature-length musical adaptation of Riyoko Ikeda’s epic manga brings the French Revolution’s opulence and tragedy to technicolor life. Lavish set pieces—ballroom waltzes beneath crystalline chandeliers, battlefield marches swirling with crimson banners—contrast with intimate moments: Lady Oscar’s masquerade as a guard, her forbidden longing for André. Choreographed dance numbers and an original orchestral score elevate the drama, while pastel-toned backgrounds recall neoclassical paintings. By fusing shōjo aesthetics with revolutionary fervor, VERSAILLES NO BARA reaffirms the enduring power of heroism, sacrifice, and courtly romance in anime form. Not the exquisite plot you’d expect with these visuals though.

anime/cartoon

FRUITS BASKET (dir. YOSHIHIDE IBATA, 2019–2021)
This three-season reboot of Natsuki Takaya’s beloved manga deepens the Soma family’s zodiac-curse mythology with richer character arcs and modernized animation. Across 63 episodes, director Ibata balances comedic levity—Tohru’s eternally optimistic housecleaning mishaps—with poignant explorations of trauma, grief, and healing. Each arc spotlights a different Soma member, peeling back layers of emotional armor through flashbacks and heartfelt dialogues. The series culminates in a cathartic confrontation of past wounds, making FRUITS BASKET a testament to found family’s capacity to transform pain into hope.

FRUITS BASKET: PRELUDE (dir. YOSHIHIDE IBATA, 2022)
This compilation film reframes the main series by bookending it with an all-new prelude detailing Tohru’s parents’ tragic story. Through lush flashbacks and original voice work, Ibata adds emotional depth to the daughter-parent bond that underpins the entire saga. By intercutting familiar scenes with these fresh vignettes, PRELUDE enriches the audience’s understanding of Tohru’s resilience and the intergenerational echoes of love and loss—transforming the film into both a companion piece and a standalone elegy for familial devotion.

MY LITTLE MONSTER (dir. HIRO KABURAKI, 2012)
Adapted from Robico’s rom-com manga, MY LITTLE MONSTER unfolds over 13 brisk episodes chronicling the unlikely bond between studious Shizuku Mizutani and reckless Haru Yoshida. Kaburaki’s direction captures their chemistry through dynamic framing—rapid jump-cuts when Haru’s impulsivity strikes, lingering close-ups on Shizuku’s deadpan reactions. The supporting cast adds depth: shy Yūki and flirtatious Kyōko provide comic relief, while the school setting underscores adolescent awkwardness. Though concise, the series delivers a thoughtful look at communication barriers, personal growth, and the way one person’s chaos can awaken another’s emotions.

DEAD DEAD DEMONS DEDEDEDE DESTRUCTION (dir. TOMOYUKI KUROKAWA, 2024)
Kurokawa’s sprawling adaptation of Inio Asano’s manga spans two films and an 18-episode series, juxtaposing an alien invasion with the quotidian ennui of Tokyo high schoolers. His measured pacing allows quiet moments—routines of homework, commuting, teenage chatter—to breathe amid satellite strikes and government conspiracies. Visually, the series marries Asano’s clean character designs with painterly backgrounds that shift from sunlit streets to ominous skies. By emphasizing how life goes on even under existential threat, DEAD DEAD DEMONS… becomes a poignant social commentary on youthful apathy, media saturation, and the yearning for normalcy.

I HAVE A CRUSH AT WORK (dir. NAOKO TAKEICHI, 2025)
In this office-rom-com, Takeichi charts the slow-burn romance between earnest accountant Masugu and free-spirited HR manager Yui. Over 12 episodes, the series mines everyday workplace rituals—coffee runs, late-night meetings, performance reviews—for moments of awkward longing and genuine connection. Takeichi’s direction leans into naturalistic dialogue and subtle visual cues (a shared glance across the photocopier, a tentative offer of help with spreadsheets). By grounding the romance in realistic settings and unvarnished humor, this little series is a relatable, heartwarming look at love blooming amid cubicles and balance sheets.