作者： mustard

若你正在寻找新鲜的阅读、观看、游玩、聆听、穿戴、品尝或探访之选，无需再寻。以下是我们第八届年度学生评论大赛的入围作品，该活动邀请青少年担任评论家，针对《纽约时报》所涵盖的各类创意表达撰写原创评论。

我们收到了来自世界各地青少年的近4000份投稿，并选出了数十位入围选手。

感谢所有参与者的支持。

The Cafe: Where the Cool Kids Go

Breath of the Wild: A Gamer’s Cookie Jar

‘Samsara’: Look Into a Kaleidoscope and See Yourself

‘Amy and Isabelle’: A Quietly Subversive Masterpiece

Celestial Ceilings, Convoluted Chronicles and Celebrated Cities: Behind the Grand Central Station Constellation Mural

‘Everything Everywhere All at Once’: When Too Much Is Just Enough

Balenciaga’s 2023 Spring/Summer Line: Dull as Mud?

Junji Ito’s ‘The Enigma of Amigara Fault’: Contorted by Conformity

War at Its Most Pointless: ‘All Quiet on the Western Front’

All Finalists

Winners

Amy Liu, 17, Developing Virtue Secondary School, Ukiah, Calif.: “‘Samsara’: Look Into a Kaleidoscope and See Yourself”

Audrey He, 17, Plano West Senior High School, Plano, Texas: “‘Amy and Isabelle’: A Quietly Subversive Masterpiece”

Caridee Chau, 15, Shanghai American School, Shanghai: “Junji Ito’s ‘The Enigma of Amigara Fault’: Contorted by Conformity”

Chloe Shannon Wong, 16, Arcadia High School, Arcadia, Calif.: “The Cafe: Where the Cool Kids Go”

Gabriel Kantor, 15, Jackson Hole High School, Jackson, Wyo.: “Breath of the Wild: A Gamer’s Cookie Jar”

Kaixin Cassie Zheng, 14, Shanghai American School, Shanghai: “Balenciaga’s 2023 Spring/Summer Line: Dull as Mud?”

Orion Elfant Rea, 15, Morro Bay High School, Morro Bay, Calif.: “War at Its Most Pointless: ‘All Quiet on the Western Front’”

Sam Johar, 17, Hunter College High School, New York, N.Y.: “Celestial Ceilings, Convoluted Chronicles and Celebrated Cities: Behind the Grand Central Station Constellation Mural”

Thy Luong, 16, Notre Dame High School, San Jose, Calif.: “‘Everything Everywhere All at Once’: When Too Much Is Just Enough”

_________

Runners-Up

Cheryl Chen, 15, Havergal College, Toronto: “‘Kill Your Darlings’: A Literary and Spiritual Revolution”

Eleanor Loeper-Viti, 16, Tower Hill School, Wilmington, Del.: “‘The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue’: Stunning Writing With Little Depth”

Elisabeth Nelson, 14, The Meadowbrook School of Weston, Concord, Mass.: “No More Teachers, No More Books? Not at ‘Abbott Elementary’”

Gwen Bradwell, 16, The Baldwin School, Philadelphia: “Paradise Lost in a Greying Thought”

Hailey Zhang, 15, Cary Academy, Cary, N.C.: “It’s Chaotic, It’s Relatable, It’s ‘Everything Everywhere All at Once’”

Hannah Morley, 15, Hoboken High School, Hoboken, N.J.: “A Fiddler on the Roof. Meshuge, Neyn?”

Henry Weinschel, 16, Roslyn High School, Roslyn Heights, N.Y.: “Fish!, Borough Market, London”

Josha Partin, 17, Sayre School, Lexington, Ky.: “The Heartwarming Impact of Representation”

Julia Abu, 15, Victory Christian International School, Pasig, Metro Manila, Philippines: “Taylor Swift’s ‘Midnights’ Proves She’s a Mastermind”

McKenzie Shagena, 16, Port Huron Northern High School, Port Huron, Mich.: “‘Boy Erased’: The Realities of Being L.G.B.T.Q. in the South”

Michael Gan, 16, Dulwich College Shanghai Pudong, Shanghai: “Columbia Circle Regenerated — The Timelessness of Architecture”

Pavithra Iyer, 16, Sunset High School, Portland, Ore.: “‘Derry Girls’: An Ardent Celebration of Joy”

Riya Kommineni, 16, Greenhill School, Dallas, Texas: “Sofia Coppola’s ‘The Virgin Suicides’: A Stunning Vignette on Eternal Girlhood”

Tiffany Chan, 15, Botany Downs Secondary College, East Tāmaki Heights, Auckland, New Zealand: “‘The Farewell’: To Tell or Not to Tell”

Vivian Palmer, 17, The Baldwin School, Radnor, Pa.: “‘The Carrying’: ‘Inherently, Wonderfully, Unapologetically Human’”

_________

Honorable Mentions

Alexander Kruschka, 17, Arrowhead High School, Hartland, Wis.: “Frostpunk: A Beautiful Steampunk City Builder”

Amaidhiameya Ilangovan-Arya, 16, West Windsor-Plainsboro High School South, N.J.: “‘The Hurting Kind’: An Unprecedented Triumph”

Amanda Fernandez, 17, Jose Marti STEM Academy, Union City, N.J.: “Motion Picture Masterpiece: ‘The Red Shoes’”

Angelina Xie, 17, The Bronx High School of Science, Bronx, N.Y.: “‘Moxie’: Oh, Girl …”

Charlotte Levy, 15, Mira Costa High School, Manhattan Beach, Calif.: “‘Jeopardy!’: Maybe Your Grandparents Were On to Something”

Charlotte M. Melroy, 15, John T. Hoggard High School, Wilmington, N.C.: “‘Fleabag’: A Desperate Love Letter to Sisters”

Chuying Huo, 16, London Central Secondary School, London, Ontario: “‘Persuasion’ Persuaded Me to Stay Far Away From Netflix’s Austen Adaptations”

Emma Yao, 17, University Hill Secondary School, Vancouver, British Columbia: “Curating Authenticity in the Name of BeingReal”

Emma Yookyung Na, 17, Sage Creek High School, Carlsbad, Calif.: “‘Minari’ and the Collective Memory of American Immigration”

Erin Harding, 16, NUAMES High School, Layton, Utah: “A Hard Day’s (Moon) Knight”

Gloria Badibanga, 13, Roberto W. Clemente Middle School, Germantown, Md.: “‘Everfair’ Makes Its Mark in the World of Steampunk Afrofuturism”

Jeremiah Chung, 18, Hunter College High School, New York, N.Y.: “Novel Tradition: Gaonurri’s Fresh Take on Classic Cuisine”

Kyo Lee, 15, Laurel Heights Secondary School, Ontario, Canada: “‘Jigsaw’: An Ingenious Mélange of Comedy and Commentary”

Lucy Nelson, 16, Glen Ridge High School, Glen Ridge, N.J.: “Rated One Star(buck)”

Mahika Bhatt, 18, Woodgrove High School, Purcellville, Va.: “‘Never Have I Ever,’ and No One Ever Should”

Miller Roberts, 16, Westlake High School, Austin, Texas: “‘Rise’: A Recipe for Scoring in Basketball — Mix Love With Hope and Determination”

Natalie Houlton, 16, Guilford High School, Guilford, Conn.: “Lizzy McAlpine Will Grab Your Attention in ‘Five Seconds Flat’”

Nicola Pak, 15, United World College of South East Asia, Singapore: “The Liar and the Lover: Why ‘These Violent Delights’ Should Be on Your Bookshelf”

Trisha Iyer, 16, The Harker School, Cupertino, Calif.: “In ‘Guo Pei: Couture Fantasy,’ Enter the World of a Fashion Star”

Sophie Zhou, 15, Stuyvesant High School, New York, N.Y.: “New World Mall Food Court: A Chaotic Wonderland of East Asian Comfort Food”

Rajeshwari Rawal, 16, Middleton High School, Middleton, Wis.: “Madeline Miller’s ‘Circe’: A Bewitching Spin on One of Literature’s Most Iconic Tales”

Ryan Choe, 16, Jupiter Community High School, Jupiter, Fla.: “The Idler Wheel Is Wiser Than the Driver of the Screw and a Fiona Apple Re-Listen Will Greatly Service You”

Savina Williams, 17, Coronado High School, Scottsdale, Ariz.: “Insatiable? I’d Rather Be Satisfied.”

Sylvie Schrader, 17, Port Huron Northern High School, Port Huron, Mich.: “‘A Place of Greater Safety’: Six Feet Under, With Your Head in a Basket”

Tara Isabel Dee Lago, 17, Staten Island Technical High School, Staten Island, N.Y.: “‘Koisenu Futari’: An Aromantic Asexual Take on a Happy Family”

William Schreiber, 17, Kirkwood High School, Kirkwood, Mo.: “‘Wednesday’ Is Bizarre Gen Z Bliss”

Yoonsa Lee, 15, Deerfield Academy, Amherst, Mass.: “‘Whisper of the Heart’: Studio Ghibli’s Ode to the Artistic Process”

Yuanheng Yue, 16, The World Foreign Language Academy, Shanghai: “Love Is a Silent Expression”

Yutong Wu, The Experimental High School Attached to Beijing Normal University, Beijing: “Forget Me Not Café: Memories May Be Forgotten But Warmth Not”

Orion Elfant Rea, 15, Morro Bay High School, Morro Bay, Calif.

Felix Kammerer, center, in “All Quiet on the Western Front,” a film that “aims to immerse the viewer in war itself,” writes Orion Elfant Rea, 15.Credit...Reiner Bajo/Netflix

“We have so much to say, and we shall never say it.” — Erich Maria Remarque

“All Quiet on the Western Front” is a film that aims to immerse the viewer in war itself. It is a battle just to keep watching, to continue breathing as each horrible moment unfolds. The soundtrack from Volker Bertelmann, thumping yet somber, mirrors war’s every mood, scream and sneeze. The cinematography, production design, and makeup paint a portrait lined with dull hues and wretched substances: blood, pus, excrement, snot … and then, there is the dirt. An endless supply of every shade and every nationality that never washes away. The viewer must sit there, covered with the stuff, and watch death persevere.

But Edward Berger, a German filmmaker with a fittingly barren filmography, does not simply seek to show the horrific nature of combat, as so many directors have done before him. Instead, he aims to engross the audience with a distinct air of futility. Generals spit in the face of peace, discarding onto porcelain plates delicacies their men haven’t eaten for years. They prolong a war that has no meaning or purpose. Political evils are worse, Berger tells the audience. They control all, they endure nothing; they send a boy where his mother will never see him again.

Berger’s storytelling is not flawless. In tackling these regimes, he tries to capture the cyclical nature of it all, that war will be waged forever and peace will never come. But at some point, a fraction of the on-screen fatalities become gratuitous, and I wonder why Berger did not utilize the unseen to hammer home his message about scheming men, who promote fear yet label it as glory. A commander steals a soldier’s life who dared to question why he must battle again, after suffering for so long. The men never reach that promised glory. They die meaningless deaths, their bodies lying slumped and frozen along the Western Front.

Felix Kammerer and Albrecht Schuch play men who fight not for their country, but for their lives, for the right not to feel the bottom of a grave by day’s end. They convey sorrowful brotherhood, showing respites from these horrors: laughter, color. Their faces are as expressive as clay. Their eyes show more anguish than any words could, flattened by a lust for blood that only man can possess. How glorious would it be, if we could spill a few more drops? Buckets? Monsoons of the stuff, pouring down from the heavens as if God himself has been silenced? Because sometimes, the Western Front can silence even Him. And then, it really is true.

All is quiet.

Caridee Chau, 15, Shanghai American School, Shanghai

Grotesque monsters, jump scares and gut-wrenching gore — the horror genre has long been epitomized by tapping into humans’ innate fears. We’re so accustomed to dramatic silences punctuated by ear-piercing screams, demonic monsters and bloody violence, that we often forget the impact of deeper psychological forms of fear. The author and artist Junji Ito skillfully elicits these primal fear responses through the stationary frames of manga panels. Without the usual sounds, sights and senses typical of other horror genres, his work “The Enigma of Amigara Fault” compounds our fear through grossly disturbing thematic arcs.

The manga is set in a nondescript prefecture in Japan’s countryside near Amigara Mountain, where a fault is discovered near the epicenter of a recent earthquake. The clamor surrounding the incident quickly turns from shock to intrigue, as the fault exposes human-shaped holes in the mountainside that look uncannily like the silhouettes of certain villagers. Witnesses of this strange phenomenon feel inexplicably compelled to visit the fault themselves. Eventually, an onlooker climbs into the hole shaped like his silhouette and disappears, his fate uncertain as rescue workers search for him.

When the villager is found, readers are immediately gripped by the grotesque image of a contorted humanoid. The person who stepped into the hole has bent, stretched and unraveled beyond recognition. The illustration itself was portrayed in sickly vivid detail, and each pen stroke expressed the character’s extreme pain. Beyond the immediate response to the graphic panel, however, the idea of being confined in a claustrophobic space makes readers feel like they are trapped within the tunnel’s restrictive walls.

The chilling image haunts readers long after they put down the manga, and the horrific realization that we are, in a metaphorical sense, contorting ourselves to fit societal expectations every day, is the most psychologically disturbing aspect of this story. We’re left reflecting on our own self-image, contemplating the ways we’ve repressed or changed ourselves to please others. Do we still recognize our reflections? Do we like the people we’ve become? Or, have we lost control over the circumstances around us and their influence on our lives? The manga turns the insidiously gradual loss of identity into a physical manifestation.

By shining a light into the tunnels we dig for ourselves, “The Enigma of Amigara Fault” holds a mirror up to our own lives, allowing us to see the ways we are falling into the holes of our own fate and empowers us to take the reins on reshaping our own futures. The greatest enigma may be understanding the ways in which we trap ourselves and remembering how we can still reclaim control over our lives.

Kaixin Cassie Zheng, 14, Shanghai American School, Shanghai

Balenciaga’s spring/summer 2023 line is “just...meh” says Kaixin Cassie Zheng, 14.Credit...Photographs by Balenciaga

Balenciaga by Demna is accustomed to incorporating the outdoors within its runways. In a 360-degree venue, their autumn 2022 show featured models trudging through snow and gusts of wind. Building on this imagery, their spring/summer 2023 clothing line launch had models strutting through dirt and puddles wearing all-black clothing. The point? To address the stereotypes and malevolence people hold toward others, especially in times of war.

In a post-apocalyptic security uniform, Kanye West (hugely controversial himself) introduced the collection with a stompy stride, and was followed by a swathe of models wearing a number of outfits, from formal clothing to grungy work wear to club gear. They carried dingy gowns, skimpy mesh tops, baggy jeans and “trash bags”— all in black, all of which were stained by the mud as they walked hastily down the runway.

Despite the ambition in the show’s theme, the new line of garments equated to really rather dull, boring clothing. The spectacle of the show? Well — it was just a new version of something they’d already done, but this time, the models (and their attire) sunk deeply into the background, almost unnoticed. Some clothing appeared to be made of rags, and most of the collection was doused in mud, either off the runway or as a result of surface embellishment. Belts and the elastic bands of underwear stood out of proportion to the pants they were fashioned under.

“I hate boxes and I hate labels and I hate being labeled and placed in a box,” Demna once expressed regarding society’s restrictions on individuality. Many other high fashion brands have followed in his stead, shouting about similar topics. The symbolism of Demna’s vision directed our gaze away from the clothes and instead over to society. Ironically, and rather unfortunately, Ye, the artist formerly known as Kanye West, recently being dropped by Adidas for antisemitic sentiments, to some, might have undermined the show’s ambitious message.

Demna’s use of an analogy between the fashion show’s setting and the mass grave recently discovered by the Ukrainian military in Izium, really hit like a bolt from the blue. The mud grave appeared to be so similar to the grave dug by Russian troops, forcing people to be confronted by the dangers of military conflict. Here, we seemed to sit in a dystopian scene of a post-conflict nation, but did this immersive experience enhance our support of the clothing, or indeed, influence our appreciation for the innovation of the textiles?

Balenciaga’s 2023 fashion show was impressive in its thematic intent, powerful in its political audacity and inspiring as a way of integrating social activism in art. But as far as Demna’s new fashion line is concerned … the clothes are just … meh.

Thy Luong, 16, Notre Dame High School, San Jose, Calif.

A Chinese-American woman trying to file her taxes is launched into a multiversal epic involving hot dog-fingered lesbians, a homicidal raccoon chef and philosophically devastating bagels. I hardly predicted that the organized chaos of “Everything Everywhere All at Once” would shake my soul to pieces, but as the film defies classification, it defied my every expectation. Directed by the screenwriter duo the “Daniels,” the film centers on struggling mother Evelyn Wang (Michelle Yeoh) as she tries to save the world from her daughter-slash-antagonist, Jobu Tupaki, or Joy (Stephanie Hsu). But “Everything Everywhere All at Once” isn’t just an evocative family drama. Transcending metaphysical boundaries, it channels its remarkable complexity into a radically simple appreciation for all-encompassing love.

As Evelyn bickers with her husband Waymond (Ke Quan) and Joy in the film’s opening sequence, I was astounded by the familiarity I felt in their cluttered, warmly-lit dining room and their rapid switches from Mandarin to English. The film’s appeal is grounded in the reach of its message: While I empathized with Joy’s struggles with her queerness and culture, my mother chuckled at Evelyn’s judgmental character, a nod to generational trauma. Meanwhile, the symbolism is as multitudinous as the universes Evelyn traverses. Googly eyes represent enlightenment. Bagels equal nihilism. The ordinary becomes extraordinary, shifting simplicity to the profound.

If that sounds too deep for a Friday movie night, you’re in luck — the film is also a visual and auditory feast. Aided by Yeoh’s captivating martial arts skills, colorful and glittery action sequences (featuring weapons like lethal fanny packs and tiny dogs) push the story in wild new directions. Whether through explosive bursts of the Chinese gong or the lilting falsetto of a violin, Son Lux’s maximalist score gives the movie extra oomph. This film’s brilliance, though, lies in its subversion. In a scene where the characters are rocks and communicate in utter silence through subtitles, Joy tells Evelyn to abandon worldly concerns and “just be a rock.”

Aptly, Evelyn and Joy’s messy final battle subverts expectations and happens on two fronts: first, during a heated argument outside the laundromat and second, in a planet-shattering dogfight of massive proportions. Although initially tempted toward violence, Evelyn approaches both battles with empathy, embracing her daughter even as the latter resists. Waymond says, “Be kind, especially when we don’t know what’s going on.” Love, ultimately, is Evelyn’s greatest weapon. By combining stunning artistic expression with a rich emotional core, the film urges acceptance — of family, life’s bagels and our enoughness.

“Everything Everywhere All at Once,” in all its intimacy and absurdity, cannot be contained within a few paragraphs. Yet it most powerfully reminds us to exist — divinely imperfect as we are — and to choose empathy. No matter the universe, we can choose to love unabashedly.

Sam Johar, 17, Hunter College High School, New York, N.Y.

Sam Johar, 17, takes readers behind the scenes of Grand Central Terminal’s celestial ceiling.Credit...Zack DeZon for The New York Times

Any New Yorker walking into Grand Central Station’s main concourse will immediately encounter an unusual sight: gaggles of tourists, phones outstretched, for once looking up — a result of the sweeping gold lines and twinkling stars that adorn the ceiling, turning the terminal into a work of art.

Grand Central’s celestial ceiling is a rare New York City landmark appreciated by tourists and residents alike. The mural invites watching eyes to dart east to west across a tapestry of gold constellations, where many stars are real lights, casting a subtle glow around them. Tourists are often so full of wonder that they block the way of the poor New Yorker running for a Hudson Line Metro-North train (I may be speaking from experience).

Normally, I’m a typical New Yorker about tourists — vaguely fond, but prevailingly annoyed. Here, though, I understand — I’ve been to Grand Central more times than I can count and I still stop. I still take a picture, still find Orion and wish him well.

Grand Central Station’s ceiling is the image that the city shows the rest of the world: a gilded sky of constellations, a future-looking metropolis rising ever upward. Excelsior. However, this surface-level story is incomplete.

For starters, the constellations are wrong. When the mural was constructed in 1913, the astronomer Harold Jacoby consulted Bayer’s star atlas to create a diagram, which was projected onto the ceiling. In the process, the whole illustration was reversed, save Orion. Nobody is sure of the reason for this inconsistency, though it’s speculated that the artists wished to portray Orion facing Taurus.

A closer look at each constellation leads to an interesting discovery — the ceiling actually consists of small square boards, creating checkerboards behind each constellation. Why? It’s not the original. The constellations were originally painted directly onto the plaster ceiling, but, thanks to the leaky roof, the mural was damaged. Rather than restore it, the city covered it up with a less detailed copy.

Despite its history, Grand Central Station’s constellations are undeniably beautiful — the faces turned up in wonder speak for themselves. Ignored, the ruined artwork below wonders, “Did anyone consider the irony of an incorrect map in a train station?”

New York City’s Excelsior motto leaves no room for what we’ve left behind in our climb higher. We’ve tried to bury a darker version of our city to make room for a metropolis that is the nation’s cultural and commercial center. However, as a New Yorker still looking up at Grand Central’s constellations, I have to believe in both New Yorks. There may be a darker truth behind the panels, the constellations may be wrong, but the ceiling is unique in its flaws — acknowledging its history only makes its beauty more striking.

Audrey He, 17, Plano West Senior High School, Plano, Texas

Amid the oppressive heat of summer in a small New England mill town, a young mother and her teenage daughter have fractured. So begins the quietly enthralling saga that is “Amy and Isabelle,” Elizabeth Strout’s debut novel chronicling the forces of love, shame and youth.

Amy Goodrow is 15 when she meets Mr. Robertson, her new math teacher. To Amy, he is wonderfully novel (“‘Was it really Cheerios you wanted for breakfast this morning?’ he asks the class, ‘Or did you eat those Cheerios simply from habit? Because your mother told you to’”), charming and attentive. As the months pass Amy falls in love; slowly, Mr. Robertson reciprocates, crossing the line from affection to seduction.

All of this is unbeknown to Isabelle Goodrow, who works a mundane job as a secretary by day, returning to the home she shares with the daughter she grows more distant from every night (“‘It’s Yeats, Mom. Not Yeets,’” Amy tells her mother, who reels in humiliation: “Here was something new to fear — her daughter’s pity for her ignorance”). When Isabelle discovers Amy’s secret affair, the taut strings of their relationship snap.

“Amy and Isabelle” is not a typical narrative of sexual predation. Amy is her own person, a teenage girl desperate for self-possession (as most teenage girls are), and her relationship to Mr. Robertson is imbued with the thrilling passion of first love: she thinks of his “intimate, wonderful voice” as she does homework; she prepares herself to see him after school as if going on a date, pinching her cheeks in the mirror. It is twisted, taboo, wrong. But Strout writes with a potent compassion that makes it difficult not to empathize.

Yet the book is not really about Amy and Mr. Robertson. It is about the secrets kept between parent and child, the startling intimacy that lies beneath the ordinary, how we cling to wreckage in the wake of devastation.

The titular characters are often cruel (Amy grows annoyed simply at the way “her mother’s face was tilted on the end of her long neck, like some kind of garter snake”). But they are also loving, fierce and brilliant. One night, when Isabelle comes home and does not find Amy (who is still with Mr. Robertson), she fears Amy has been kidnapped: “She felt as though cold water were pouring through her arms, her legs. She went down the stairs, stumbling at the bottom, bracing herself against the wall. This isn’t happening, she thought. This isn’t happening.”

This, Strout reminds us, is what it is to be human.

“Amy and Isabelle” is a triumph, exploring the crevices of the heart, the faults of our interior terrains, with incredible tenderness and nuance.

Amy Liu, 17, Developing Virtue Secondary School, Ukiah, Calif.

“Samsara” interprets its titular Sanskrit word as “the never-ending turning of the wheel of life,” writes Amy Liu, 17.Credit...Internet Video Archive

Tibetan monks creating an intricate sand mandala. The wreckage of a young girl’s bedroom after Hurricane Katrina. Otherworldly Angolan waterfalls and hanging pigs slit in an assembly line — contrasting imagery is the driving force behind the intensely thought-provoking nonverbal documentary “Samsara,” the latest in Mark Magidson and Ron Fricke’s series of meditative films on the human experience.

Captured in 25 countries across five continents, the film interprets its titular Sanskrit word as the cycle of birth and death, the never-ending turning of the wheel of life. With no dialogue, no narration, and no specific social or political agenda, “Samsara” opens discussion on the countless dualities we grapple with every day. The hectic flow of train passengers and the stillness of natural rock formations, both captured in time-lapse; the unsettling mechanical whir of humanoids and the raw depth of a human face; dozens of children and adults scavenging through mountainous dumps of fetid waste and hundreds of inmates performing an energetic dance routine — “Samsara” takes away the clash within these dichotomies to showcase man in nature, the artificial and the natural, the beauty amid the ugly. The wonders, the horrors and the raw truths of the world are all there, in dazzling 8K HD clarity. What you make of them is up to you.

Even on the 10th anniversary of its release in the United States, the film remains a poignant reminder for us to pause in our constantly shifting lives and look around us. The awe surrounding the documentary’s aerial footage and exquisite time-lapse — captured by a camera specially designed by Fricke — may have lessened as drones are now widespread and time-lapse is incorporated into every phone camera. But the slow pans and close-up shots which linger for just a bit longer than is customary and comfortable leave you enough time to not only pause and soak in every detail but also to ask questions and to think. Why do we incessantly manufacture, consume, discard, manufacture, consume, discard? What keeps us going if everything we make or do will be lost to time? What does it mean to treasure the beautiful, the joyous and the vibrant in the face of inevitable disfiguration, destruction and death?

I could describe every scene, list every location, introduce every song in the stirring musical score that accompanies this masterful montage — and still, the film would be a fresh, eye-opening, and deeply resonant experience. Whether the scene is primeval and nostalgic or breathtakingly exotic, you will find a piece of yourself in it. Because more than anything, “Samsara” is about human interconnectedness, showing human nature as it truly is: beautiful, ugly and complex, but never alone.

Gabriel Kantor, 15, Jackson Hole High School, Jackson, Wyo.

You wake up from a 100-year sleep to discover a once-grand kingdom overtaken by nature after some great “calamity” occurred years ago. The camera pans out to unveil an enormous world teeming with ruins, shrines and hostile enemies. This is the great plateau. So great, in fact, that I initially mistook it to be the entire map — it was only one percent. The rest of the world? Snowy peaks, immense deserts, overgrown jungles, smoldering volcanoes and more. You name it, it’s probably there.

I was initially skeptical of how anyone could build a feature-packed game to fit such a large world, especially on something with hardware as limited as a Nintendo console. I was mistaken. The world of Breath of the Wild isn’t just filled, it’s overflowing.

There are eight diverse regions, six cities, four giant mechanical creatures (which you can explore), a treacherous castle and over 120 shrines. Wait, was that a dragon? You can climb any surface, paraglide from any point and even “shield-surf” down steep slopes. The most remarkable aspect, though, is that in the hourlong journey to traverse from one end of the map to the other, there’s not one loading screen, not one interruption from continuous gameplay. Furthermore, there are no restrictions to gameplay. If you wanted, you could finish the entire game in 30 minutes, or explore everything the world has to offer. Besides the main story line, players can tame horses, find Koroks (arguably the cutest creature in the game) or just take in the scenery. Even combat is open-ended. With an expendable weapon system, swords and arrows become rare commodities, forcing more creative decisions. Foes cannot only be taken out with swords and spears, but with bombs, boulders and even high-speed flying magnetic doors.

When you’re young, there’s a certain feeling when you finally reach the cookie jar and are rewarded with a sweet surprise; that’s Breath of the Wild. Whenever I discover some new game mechanic, hard-to-reach area or hidden secret, I feel the delight of a little kid. With little to no instructions, you’re encouraged to explore the world on your own, make your own discoveries and drive your own story. In my over 300 hours of gameplay, I have still to discover everything in the vast world of Hyrule. The plot isn’t perfect and the character design could use some work (I’m talking about you Bolson), but that becomes irrelevant when the player creates the plot. Thousands of video games have been released since Tennis for Two in 1958, but few of them have been open-world, let alone nonlinear. This confluence of openness, freedom and a constant state of discovery defines Breath of the Wild: a sweet treat for any gamer.

Chloe Shannon Wong, 16, Arcadia High School, Arcadia, Calif.

Chloe Shannon Wong, 16, reviewed the lunch at her school’s cafeteria.Credit...Alyssa Schukar for The New York Times

Plastic sporks, waxy red apples and pizza gleaming with enough oil to fill a small car: These are the signatures of Arcadia’s most bustling eatery. Few dining establishments are as benignly mediocre — or enjoy such astronomic popularity. Since August, I’ve eaten here daily, along with 2,000 other loyal customers. But what is it about these state-subsidized meals that leads teenagers to storm the halls at noon? What exactly is the secret to my high school cafeteria’s success?

On the first day of my junior year, I decided to answer that question myself. As a newly-minted upperclassman (short a year of actual school thanks to Covid), I didn’t want to graduate without ever eating in the cafeteria — that staple setting of angsty teen films. I was used to eating with friends in the library, and visited the cafeteria (nicknamed the Cafe) expecting to be repelled by its unrelenting din. Instead, I was pleasantly surprised. Though the Cafe is always busy, it boasts a spacious seating area — and in the back, an organized kitchen, replete with serving stations and fridges stocked with juice. If you have a calculus test fifth period, it’s a great place to fuel your brain with some last-minute carbs and protein. And the options are plentiful: On Wednesdays, the plat du jour is Buffalo wings; on Tuesdays, tacos paired with spaghetti. Monday’s pepperoni pizza is actually passable; the mystery meat with pineapple and brown sauce on Thursdays, less so.

While the menu changes at the Cafe, the service and ambience never do. The queue is often hundreds long, but thanks to a squad of brutally efficient lunch ladies and a rigid system of lines and ladling, you’ll receive your meal faster than at any Michelin-starred restaurant. The apple juice is always cold; the plastic tables, relatively gum-free. When there aren’t enough seats inside, diners spill out into the quad, where dozens of red lunch tables ensure that no customer is left standing. For 40 minutes Monday through Friday, the entire school is united by Go-Gurts, ketchup and Styrofoam trays. Such vitality is a welcome sight — especially after the eerie hush of quarantine.

Even the most consummate school lunch critic can’t deny the charm of my high school cafeteria, which lies not in its forgettable cuisine, but in the community it sustains without fail. It’s in the lunch ladies’ sweet reminders to “Grab an apple, honey!”; the rowdy laughter of the varsity football team; the sophomore couple declaring saccharine love over a shared plate of nuggets and fries. Every day, hundreds of friendships and connections blossom inside the Cafe. And these memories will continue to linger — long after the puddle of chocolate milk by the front door has dried.