Pedro Pascal leads a new wave of online fan mania

Graphic by Gabby Gagnon ‘24.

By Eliška Jacob ’24

Arts & Entertainment Editor

         José Pedro Balmaceda Pascal, more colloquially known as Pedro Pascal, is a 47-year-old Chilean actor who has taken the internet by storm. Notably, he has starred as Din Djarin, the main character in “The Mandalorian,” Oberyn Martell in “Game of Thrones” and most recently, Joel Miller in the video game adaptation “The Last of Us,” which premiered on Jan. 15, 2023. Pascal has drawn significant attention from younger audiences, manifesting from his diverse acting abilities and good looks. The latter seems to have significantly aided his thrust into the social media limelight.

Born on April 2, 1975, in Santiago, Chile, Pascal endured a tumultuous upbringing. His family actively protested the Chilean authoritarian military dictatorship of Augusto Pinochet that began in 1973. The Pascal family’s rebellion against the Pinochet regime was fueled by Pascal’s mother’s relation as the cousin of Andrés Pascal Allende, who was the nephew of socialist Salvador Allende, the Chilean president preceding Pinochet. To seek safety, the Pascals were granted political asylum in Denmark by the Venezuelan embassy. 

The family moved to the United States, residing in California and then Texas. Pascal attended New York University’s Tisch School of the Arts and began professionally acting in 1996 with his debut in “Burning Bridges,” a short film by Marcus Hahn. From television roles in “Buffy the Vampire Slayer” and “Narcos” to movies such as “Kingsman: The Golden Circle” and “Wonder Woman 1984,” Pascal has slowly, through the hard work of being featured in at least one show or movie per year since 1996, established himself as a prominent actor in Hollywood.

The fixation on Pascal, specifically his looks, has taken center stage with the debut of TikTok user @dvcree’s Pascal fan edits. One particular edit featured Pascal as Agent Whiskey in “Kingsman 2: The Golden Circle” with a sultry video collage of Agent Whiskey against the song “Hey Sexy Lady” by Shaggy. This fan craze is not only limited to the internet and the various iterations of #PedroPascalEdit that are pervading social media hashtags. The mania has spread to our very own campus. “First of all, he’s been iconic since Game of Thrones,” Amelia Anderson ’26 began, “[an] early bisexual icon [on the show]; he was incredible.” 

“I’m a huge Pedro fan, personally. I just find him so likable in interviews, and that’s what really sells me on an actor; their charisma and likability as seen in interviews. In addition to their acting, of course.”

— Mira Hurtt '24

A role that truly began to propel Pascal to the limelight was his role in “The Mandalorian,” a Disney+ Star Wars series that features Pascal as the faceless main character. Watching the show, there was an air of mystery surrounding what Pascal and his character the Mandalorian looked like. “As the Mandalorian, don’t even get me STARTED. It truly changed the trajectory of the Star Wars franchise. He was amazing. How he managed to be hot while wearing a mask is incredible,” Anderson explains.

Following his role as the Mandalorian, Pascal’s role in “The Last of Us” connects him to an even newer audience. “The Last of Us” is a video game released in 2013 that centers around Pascal’s character Joel Miller, and Ellie, a young teenage girl, as they traverse across a post-apocalyptic United States. With Pascal typecasted as the “grumpy reluctant father figure,” begins Anderson, “‘The Last of Us’ is so good, and it’s partially because [Pascal] is so good as Joel. He’s such a complex character. I never played the game, but I watched a playthrough, and [Pascal] IS Joel but so much deeper and complex.”

As Pascal has gained notoriety with these various roles, the fan edits, beginning with @dvcree’s, have “changed the trajectory of this man’s career,” explained Anderson. “The impact that edit had is insane. I now have a folder on TikTok of 50+ edits. Like, it’s turned into an addiction.” 

Anderson notes the impact of TikTok in the rapid spread of Pascal edits: “I think the platform of TikTok helps because it makes you feel like EVERYONE else is obsessed too, like an echo chamber. There’s definitely something to say about the speed of trends nowadays because it was a matter of days before [Pascal] was everywhere.” 

Hurtt also shares an appreciation for these edits. “I personally love the [number] of edits circling on social media. It’s such a creative way to show your love for an actor by taking time out of your day to edit your favorite moments of them together into a concise video to be widely distributed across the internet. Every time I see one, I feel like the creator of the edit is trying to sell me on him. I love it.”

While hosting SNL on Feb. 4, 2023, Pascal poked fun and communicated his awareness of these fan edits in a skit titled “Fancam Assembly.” In this sketch, Pascal assumes the role of a schoolteacher lecturing students on the ban of fancam edits. As he speaks, the students make fancam edits of him in real-time, leading to an endless cycle of Pascal edits that he cannot escape. Hurtt commented on this satirical self-awareness, “I love when actors acknowledge the existence of edits, especially thirst ones. Nothing motivates the fans to create more edits than the actor themself admitting they’re aware of edits, or even seek them out to watch from time to time.” 

Anderson echoed this appreciation, explaining, “It’s a crazy snowball. I saw one [edit], and then all of a sudden, they’re EVERYWHERE, and there [are] not only new edits but remixes, memes referencing edits and then SNL referenced it. Now people are going back and watching his other shows, like Narcos, because they think he’s hot.”

As edits continue circulating the internet, the growth of the obsession with and fixation on Pascal is tangible. On one end of the spectrum, “it’s created this insane hyperfixation for me,” Anderson concluded. Not everyone who has seen the edits has had to navigate the rocky roads of fan mania, evidenced by Hurtt’s proclamation: “May Pedro continue to be cast in projects in the future so that edit makers may be supplied with new footage.”

Students react negatively to Netflix’s password-sharing crackdown

Netflix began offering streaming content in 2007 and has since remained a top streaming service. Photo courtesy of rawpixel via rawpixel.com.

By Lucy Oster ’23

Arts & Entertainment Editor 

Video streaming giant Netflix has finally followed through with its promise to crack down on password sharing. According to the company’s support website, “[p]eople who are not in your household will need to sign up for their own account to watch Netflix.” 

This development will likely significantly impact how media hosted on Netflix is shared since many people do not pay for their own Netflix accounts. There have been memes proliferating on social media for years about people using their ex’s subscription — in March 2017, the official Netflix Twitter account posted, “Love is sharing a password.” 

Now, Netflix will not allow people access to an account if they are not connected to the Wi-Fi associated with the account. This change will certainly affect college students who use their parent’s account, impacting Mount Holyoke students, where 95 percent of the student body lives on campus. 

Many college students stream movies and television shows to decompress from schoolwork and other stress-inducing activities. Amelia Zamonski’23 described Netflix as “just easy access.” The platform was one of the earlier sites that began offering streaming content in 2007. What helped Netflix earn its definition of ‘easy access’ was the password-sharing aspect. 

Carissa Barry Moilanen’23 uses their parent’s Netflix subscription and shares their password with two other friends. Zamonski uses her mother’s account, and her grandmother unwittingly shares her Netflix account with one of Zamonski’s friends. “One of my friends from home, at least up until recently, still used my grandma’s Netflix account, like my profile,” Zamonski said.

Password sharing kept Netflix competitive. In a world full of, according to Zamonski, “one thousand individual streaming services,” the fact that nearly everyone has access to Netflix and can reference shows and expect people to understand what they mean is rare: this cultural power can be demonstrated by “Stranger Things” boosting a Kate Bush song from 1985 to the top 40 charts decades later. 

The variety of content Netflix offers can be both a pro and a con. Zamonski mentioned that what they liked about Netflix was the breadth of Spanish language content, which seemed lacking on other streaming services. Laura Thornburg’23 said, “I think the problem where you scroll forever looking for what to watch is worse than before because there’s not really an easy, obvious choice anymore. It’s just all crazy stuff.” 

It’s still unknown just how Netflix changing its password-sharing rules could alter the lives of people, on the College’s campus and beyond. “Stranger Things” was the most-streamed show of 2022, but shows on HBOMax that release weekly, like “The Last of Us,” are what’s increasingly talked about online. 

Barry Moilanen shared that they wouldn’t pay for Netflix themselves if the platform kicked them off their parent’s account. “I would just transition solely to Hulu, which has better content anyways,” Barry Moilanen shared. 

It’s possible that as the features that Netflix is known for, like password sharing,  come to an end, Netflix may fade alongside them.

‘Skinamarink’ turns childhood fears into analog horror

Graphic by Gabby Ganon ‘24.

Woodlief McCabe ’23

Staff Writer

Horror movie enthusiasts seem to be polarized by Kyle Edward Ball’s new film, “Skinamarink,” released in theaters on Jan. 13, 2023. For some, it’s the most afraid they have been in a theater since “Poltergeist” in 1982. For others, it’s laughable to even be scared. With curiosity, I visited Amherst Cinema for a nighttime showing. 

“Skinamarink” starts extremely slowly. A long portion is spent on completely nondescript angles of a home, especially the edges and corners of walls and furniture. It appears familiar — it could be anyone’s house, even yours — and yet it’s completely disconnected from how we navigate our living spaces. Through the perspective of the two young children in the home, Kevin and Kaylee, the doors, windows and toilet go missing, one after another, trapping the family. 

For a while, this is the extent of the “horror.” It is simply unsettling, as we wait to know more, powerless to reach out and pan the camera just a few feet. The film dwells in this space of discomfort and anticipation. I was beginning to think that I would be one of those unaffected viewers, that I had conditioned myself too well against the tricks of the genre. Sure, chairs on the ceiling and dolls stuck to the walls are spooky, but no sweat. I was proud of myself, but a little disappointed. 

And then something switched. The suspense reaches greater intensity, and the slowness starts to pay off. This moment for me came during an eerie scene about forty minutes into the film, when Kaylee goes to her parents’ bedroom and finds them sitting on opposite sides of the bed, facing away from her. This is the most interaction we have with the parents. Kaylee hears a voice speaking to her from the darkness and soon, Kevin finds himself completely alone. There is something tangible to be afraid of now. Though it barely speaks, the entity’s power is palpable. Once it appears, the film’s tone is much more sinister.

“Skinamarink” is an analog horror. Borrowing from the “found footage” style of horror popularized by “The Blair Witch Project”, analog is an experimental genre. Its themes and motives are cryptic and unsettling, and it opts for low-quality images and sound. In “Skinamarink,” childhood nostalgia, especially of the ‘90s and early ‘00s, is contorted into potential conduits for torment. 

The camera returns to shots of the television playing 1930s cartoons, playing scenes with eerie similarities to the children’s predicament. The entity that is controlling the home manipulates these images too. A disappearing rabbit plays on a loop over and over again. The repeated image and its corresponding music become overwhelming, almost nauseating. The symbolism can be fairly heavy-handed at times, which is perhaps why the television is a site for conveying information rather than fear. It is a reminder that there is something or someone else in control. The looping television screen is just one way that the film manipulates time. We realize that the children have been trapped in the home for weeks, even months. The horror in the helplessness builds up the anxiety, even when things on screen are tame out of context. 

Though the dialogue is sparse, we hear a mix of eerie unidentifiable noises, sounds of crying and objects breaking in another room. Much like the visual elements that exist just offscreen, the sound is begging its viewers to strain our ears so it can give us another atonal shriek, hum or cut to total silence. 

“Skinamarink” constructs horror from what is not seen. It terrifies by hinting at the unknown rather than explicitly showing, like household items in the corner of the screen, and faces turned away from the camera. That being said, it takes a long time to pay off. Suspenseful as it is, “Skinamarink” is a test of patience. I could not fault a viewer for frustration, annoyance and even boredom, at least for the first half hour. 

If you are hoping for a monster movie or a killer lurking in the shadows, this isn’t that. It is not full of jumpscares or extensive gore, though, for those who might be sensitive to those things, there is implied violence and scenes containing blood splattering. “Skinamarink” plays on the primal fears and anxieties of childhood, especially of the dark and being left alone. The dim light and grainy quality of the image play tricks on us, akin to how when we were children, the shadows of chairs and coats in our dark bedrooms stretched to appear like human figures. 

The film withholds information. The camera avoids the action, keeping it out of frame. It limits dialogue and chooses not to explain anything. It feels like being a child and knowing something is wrong, but as much as you ask, the adults in your life just won’t tell you. Or worse, they ignore the question. Kevin asks, “where did it go?” about the doors. He never gets an answer. 

There are only one or two genuine jumpscares, and I think that’s to the film’s benefit. It requires us to constantly think of what might happen. With an antagonist with no defined physical form and potentially limitless abilities, there is no formula to the fear. I expect that detractors heard it was scary and expected wall-to-wall violence and grotesquery. Niche sub-genre films often experience greater scrutiny, and “Skinamarink” is no exception. 

This film proves that fear can be brought about by tapping into the simplest elements of emotion. We develop a sense of fear in childhood to keep ourselves safe, but what about when we are afraid of something we cannot even name? 

I don’t think making every second of the film nail-bitingly terrifying is necessary. Otherwise, we become desensitized, requiring outlandish methods to elicit a reaction. When “Skinamarink”lets us pause, or even expect nothing to happen, the filmmakers have the upper hand.