Reel Talk

The man behind Yale’s screenings reviews the future of film.

Tony Sudol surveys his territory from the projection booth. He makes a brief foray into the theater to check light and sound levels, then returns satisfied. The show tonight, Jean-Luc Godard’s 1961 French New Wave film Breathless, is one Sudol has projected dozens of times. He knows exactly how it’s supposed to look and sound. While the first reel unspools in one of the reel-to-reel projection towers, Sudol runs his finger over the next, which he’ll load into the second tower in twenty minutes. He. . . Read more
Ruby Bilger
Dialing for the Detained

Volunteers try to fix a broken communication system between the government and asylum-seekers.

When two groups of Yale Law students arrived in Dilley and Karnes, Texas, in the spring of 2015, the detention centers they saw housed over two thousand asylum seekers. The people inside were overwhelmingly women and children fleeing rising violence in Central America’s Northern Triangle, and the volunteers intended to help them stay in the United States. They were there to conduct interviews, to ask the families what they had experienced that would help them win their cases in front of a government judge. Swapna. . . Read more
Victorio Cabrera
Quality Time

Getting home, the long way.

Emma picks me up from my dorm at Yale on the first day of spring break so she can drive me to her dorm at Wesleyan, where I plan to spend the next two nights to figure things out. She looks strange in the driver’s seat, taller and calmer than I’m used to, or maybe I’m just not used to the idea of her sitting there. I still don’t know how to drive. Last summer I was supposed to learn, and the summer before that,. . . Read more
Jennifer Gersten
#SpiritSquad

On psychic fairs, the tarot, and millennial angst.

I am a twenty-year-old college junior and terrible at making decisions—the sort of person who agonizes for an hour about which pack of white socks to buy on Amazon. I have a handle on my immediate future; the rainbow tiles of my Google Calendar are a warm, constant presence in my life. But beyond tomorrow or next week or next month, I am at a loss as to how to make Decisions about The Future. People say follow your dreams, but I am not destined. . . Read more
Azeezat Adeleke
Autism at Yale

Navigating the limits of the university’s support.

Elise* ’16 speaks the way most people write—without garden-path syntax, unnecessary repetition, or filler words. Her tone is even and detached, simultaneously emphatic and matter-of-fact. Her lack of facial and auditory expressiveness is common in autistic people and brilliant but abrasive television detectives—but then, I knew what to look for. We didn’t make eye contact. Like many women with autism, Elise received her diagnosis relatively late in life. She was frank about the process. “It sucked. I always knew something was wrong, or off, and. . . Read more
Clara Collier
Management in a Mason Jar

The Yale School of Management is investing in applesauce.

The first time I met Catherine Wu, she sat with two small, misshapen apples at the Happiness Lab, a coffee shop on Chapel Street. Beside her were also three tiny mason jars, each with a different flavor of UglyFruit, the “artisanal applesauce” Wu makes from Connecticut apples and sells to local coffee shop(pe)s. I had just taken a bite of the “vanilla bourbon” flavor (savory, spicy, an applesauce iteration of how houses smell after wood fires), when she leaned across to ask what I thought.. . . Read more
Amelia Nierenberg
Checking into Limbo

How a real estate developer and government regulators failed hundreds of low-income families in New Haven.

From above, the Church Street South complex looks like a yard of stray train cars. Each of the nineteen buildings is a squat, concrete rectangle coated in a layer of yellow-beige paint. It could be the site of a massive derailment. Evidence of human occupancy catches the eye: a blue bike on a second floor balcony, a towel hanging from a window. One basketball hoop. Amy Marx observes the apartment complex from the eighth floor of a public housing high-rise next door. Church Street South—subsidized. . . Read more
Elena Saavedra Buckley
When Yale Moves In

Has a university program meant to stabilize the city become a publicity stunt?

A dramatic exposé published in a 1994 issue of GQ magazine lamented that Yale was about to cheer its “Last Boola Boola.” The pre-apocalyptic article described an institution whose sluggish endowment struggled amid a “war zone of poverty, crime, and drugs as frightening as any American city.” New Haven was hauling itself out of a recession, and while the city and Yale were certainly not quite as rotten as the article made it seem, the bad press was an indicator of the University’s declining public. . . Read more
Natalie Yang
Mispronunciations

A poem by Jake Orbison.

We cannot tell anyone where we are going, but they all know we are lost. We walk from the mountain to a café to another café talking about what foundations are best to build on. We make guesses. Respect, money. It would have to be something unlike bricks that can evolve with the structure it creates. Love. No, not love. Anything but love. We know we are more or less talking about affection. We stay nights on Duluth and enjoy pushing the sounds through our. . . Read more
Jake Orbison
pickle jar apology

A poem by Charlotte Ferenbach.

pickle jar apology Because gratitude is finite and because apparently, there was never remorse to start with, what I get instead is handed a jar of pickles. I sit on the floor in front of everyone. I accept because I am on a floor and it is in front of everyone. I eat and am silent. The muscle brines. * I would have preferred them the afternoon the birdwatcher showed us how to look, When he tasted the way leaves do if they’re new and. . . Read more
Charlotte Ferenbach