Durham

Remember When Harold Pinter Wrote a The Handmaid's Tale Movie and They Filmed It in Durham? by Brian Howe

PHOTO BY ALEX BOERNER WITH STEVE OLIVA/DESIGN BY SHAN STUMPF FOR INDY WEEK

With everyone buzzing about The Handmaid's Tale on Hulu, one of our staffers, Allison Hussey, said, "Remember the 1990 movie of it they shot in Durham?" None of us did, so we started shaking trees to learn more about it and find people who were there. The result is one of those stories writers dream of, full of arresting details -- how the dean of Duke Chapel was shocked to show up on Palm Sunday and find a gallows at the church, how much of the film was shot at the soon-to-be-infamous Michael Peterson house. Allison did a terrific job on the story, and that's also her you see in this stunning cover image by Alex Boerner, Steve Oliva, and Shan Stumpf. Yes, we bought her a red cloak off of Amazon (she made the bonnet herself, though) and posed her in front of Duke Chapel (you can compare our image with some reference images from the film in the story). Read it to learn about the missing link between instant-classic book and Hulu hit, and to spot some well-known local landmarks if you're in Durham.

New INDY Culture Column by Brian Howe

Durham, with its famous "Big Box Store," in Champions #6

First let me tell you about the ordeal we endured trying to name this column: However. Howe + Why. The Tao of Howe. Howe Now. And so on. After every possible terrible pun on my name had been dispensed with, we landed on Artificer. It's my new INDY Week arts & culture column, and it begins with a look at Marvel Comics' social-justice experiment by way of Durham's cameo in Champions, a new teen team whose main superpower is hashtags.

Artificer will pop up whenever I have a sincerely contrarian opinion burning a hole in my pocket and there's a hole to fill in the paper; the next one will probably be about why women write better books than men. That should make for a fun time on the internet.

A Durham Story by Brian Howe

Last night I was alone on Parrish Street, waiting. I stood under a streetlamp, yo-yo-ing. It was very misty and cool. Out in the country, the storms had felled trees, but the city just looked washed. Eventually, a couple came walking down the other side of the street. “A guy with a yo-yo,” the woman exclaimed, half to the man and half to me. “That’s so Durham!”

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