“The Florida Project,” one of the year’s critical darlings, immediately places a question in viewers’ minds that remains unanswered by the rest of the film. What exactly is the “Florida Project”?

On Nov. 3, the Amherst Symphony Orchestra staged its performance of acclaimed composer John Williams’ life’s work for a packed Buckley Recital Hall. The tribute came during Family Weekend, and to the delight of students and visiting families alike, the Amherst Symphony Orchestra showcased excellent interpretations of some of Williams’ greatest hits.

Just last month, an adaptation of Stephen King’s “The Dark Tower” came into theatres to no one’s acclaim and Idris Elba’s immediate regret. In true Stephen King fashion, the story follows a middle-class, white, American boy’s journey into the netherworld and adulthood, climaxing in a fantastical battle with Matthew McConaughey where childlike wonder and innocence triumphs adult cynicism. What disappointed was not the destination but the halting, screeching stops and turns it made along the way.

Every three years or so, the world’s greatest invisible actor Andy Serkis decides over morning coffee that the time is ripe to once more pretend that he is an ape. He then contacts director Matt Reeves, and a secret monastic order of computer wizards aid him in his quest. Critics and audience unite in their marvel at Hollywood’s thickening silver screen spellbook and the quiet brilliance of the man behind the monkey. Then, they forget Serkis and his associates, with nary a faux-obituary at the unfailingly disappointing Academy Awards.

Acclaimed director Park Chan-Wook released “The Handmaiden” to great anticipation but somewhat lackluster enthusiasm. The film netted South Korea an invitation to compete in the prestigious Cannes film festival after a four-year drought, and in both premise and presentation it fulfills the promise implied by such an honor. The film finds itself amid the destitution and deprivation of Korea under Japanese occupation in the 20th century, and it follows the ambitious and admirably conceived project of a pickpocket and a conman.

Splashed with a soft, cotton red and superimposed by a lonesome ice skate, the front flap of the 12th issue of “The Common” speaks of a coolly detached professionalism that attends the small, physical body of this publication in sight and feel. It is specifically that misleading nonchalance that may incline the potential reader to think that the skate emblemizes some central mystery that the pages will slowly investigate and resolve. At least, it points to an unrelated but nonetheless unifying ambition that informs the prose, poetry and ponderings contained within.

It is impossible to make a film that accurately portrays the Holocaust as a whole. Its horror is too vast, and its characters too numerous. Cinema’s only available shortcut is to illuminate individual traumas that compose the darkness of the times. Steven Spielberg’s masterpiece “Schindler’s List,” perhaps the most familiar American Holocaust film, fixed its gaze on the struggle of the names written on the infamous List. To a lesser extent, it focused on Oskar Schindler, the brave soul who risked his stature and position to rescue the names.