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(09/30/21 9:57am)
As the Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU) ushers in a new generation of superheroes, “Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings” offers a unique story entrenched in martial arts and Chinese culture. Just after the film’s theatrical release, the Chinese and Luso-Hispanic Studies departments, together with Asian cultural groups on campus, organized a screening and subsequent discussion panel for the film.
Pim Singhatiraj ’21.5 was one of the organizers of the events, and they saw the panel as a space for professors and students alike to discuss the movie in a casual setting. “It was super wonderful to be in a room full of people who look like me and [talk] about a movie that had a cast full of people who looked like us. It felt like an empowering experience,” they said.
“It was a feeling of awe and nostalgia for something I lacked when I was a kid: Asian-Americans being unapologetically themselves,” said Max Walters ’24, another panelist and organizer.
Following the first Marvel superhero of Chinese descent, “Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings” depicts the origins of its eponymous character, Shang-Chi (Simu Liu), as he navigates family tensions and the burden of heroism thrust upon him. Working as parking valets in San Francisco, Shang-Chi and his friend Katy (Awkwafina) encounter a series of unexpected adventures, leading them to eventually defend Ta Lo, the village of Shang-Chi’s mother, Ying Li, from “soul-suckers” set to consume their spirit guardian.
The film’s settings boast a combination of urban and naturalist scenery for viewers to explore. The majority of the movie is spent in Ta Lo, a hidden, fantastical village inspired by Chinese lore, drawing both praise and critique from the panelists. Although some consider it clever to avoid politicization, others felt that it repeats the age-old orientalist trope that the East is unchanging. The variation of Chinese-inspired elements also sparked a debate of who the intended audience is: some viewers found it difficult to pick up some cultural cues and hidden jokes considering the extensive use of Mandarin throughout conversations within the film.
The casting of Shang-Chi came as a surprise to some. Prior to starring as Shang-Chi, Liu was primarily known for his role in the TV show “Kim’s Convenience” and, before that, even worked as a stock photo model. Together with a cast of veteran actors and recent debuts, “Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings” set the stage for an impressive artistic turnout.
The screening event held at the Marquis theater in town saw an excited crowd gather along the nearby street in anticipation. Asian American and Pacific Islander (AAPI) students were given priority for limited space at the screening.
“I wanted a screening where most of the audience was part of the community,” said event organizer Professor of Luso-Hispanic Studies Enrique García. “It’s not that I’m homogenizing the [AAPI] group — I also [wanted to] see what the reactions of different Asians were for the panel, too.”
Both AAPI and non-AAPI alike found solace in collectively appreciating a landmark film for representation.
Especially today, for Asian-identifying individuals, the issue of representation within film can be a difficult one. As such, however robust the array of Asian actors present in the film, “Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings” cannot individually shoulder the flaws within the greater MCU.
For one, Asian representation extends beyond East Asia. Amina Matavia ’23 shared her experience as a Southeast Asian watching the movie during the panel discussion. “I wish there was a wider variety of stories from all around Asia that’s represented in mainstream Western media because the Asian experience is not a monolith, even though it’s often treated like that [in the United States].”
For another, one-time representation does not rewrite decades of yellow peril or undo racist tropes seen in Shang Chi’s preceding comics. Indeed, the film slightly touches on anti-Asian hate, with Wen Wu (Tony Leung), Shang-Chi’s father and bearer of the ten rings, merely jesting about “The Mandarin”, a supposed terrorist. In this way, the film is both alluding to Wu’s original Marvel comic book character, Fu Manchu, and compensating for Marvel’s problematic past with “The Mandarin.” Considering the redemption of his past depiction’s racist caricature played by Ben Kingsley, students and faculty at the panel alike found issue with said aspects of the film, deeming its efforts lukewarm.
In “Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings,” Kingsley reprised his role as Trevor Slattery, an actor, now being kept in the prison of Wen Wu. With the ability to speak with a mythical creature from Ta Lo, Slattery and the creature play a key role in the plot. Kingsley previously acted as Slattery in “Iron Man 3,” pretending to be “The Mandarin.” As expected, the fact that the masquerade was played by a white man didn’t sit well with some audiences. With that being said, considering the prominent political underpinnings of “Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings,” the film may have been merely working with the hand it was dealt.
When brought into a greater context, the film may seem like any other MCU film, but “Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings” stands as an important release in and of itself. As popular cinema takes more steps towards diverse storytelling, so should viewers’ expectations of the efforts from such large film studios.
Arts & Culture Editor Rain Ji ’23 contributed reporting to this article.
(05/20/21 2:59pm)
Based on the 15th-century morality play “Everyman,” each character in the Middlebury Department of Theatre’s production of “Everybody,” a play by Branden Jacobs-Jenkins, seeks to personify a worldly value. Presented live by a company of actors and dancers, “Everybody” was performed for a limited in-person audience from May 13 to 16, and will be available for streaming until May 21.
At its crux, “Everybody” follows Meili Huang ’23 in the title role (Everybody), on a quest issued by Death, played by Gabrielle Martin ’21.5. In creating a final presentation of their lifetime prior to meeting Death, Everybody aspires to recruit a few followers on the way.
The play begins with Devon Hunt ’23, dressed as an usher and ready to issue your typical pre-show warnings. The kicker is that they punctuate each instruction with a zesty rebuke and remain onstage, just as the “voice of God” comes into play. Here, Everybody takes an early step into the reflexive, ready to confuse and bewilder the audience as they blur the line between fact and fiction. It’s unclear whether Hunt is an usher for the show or in the show, but perhaps that’s the daring charm.
There is no end to the confusion as Everybody continues onwards. We encounter Friendship (Teddy Best ’22), Kinship (Vivian Zagotta ’24) and even Time (Irith Fuks ’21.5). Phenomenal lighting and sound design add to the purposefully vague performances, blending together the dances and monologues of what felt like fifty different voices. Even when the audience is “evacuated” outside due to a diegetic fire drill, the scenes blend seamlessly into one another. Huang stuns in her performance as Everybody, traversing the enthusiasm, confusion and anger that come with dealing with death.
Events come to a head after Everybody confronts Stuff (Katelyn Wenkoff ’24). Stuff best represents the jokingly reflexive nature of this play, criticizing human consumption with hilarious poses and lines. In a frenzy, Everybody grows desperate and breaks down, deciding to go the route alone. At this point, Love (Masha Makutonina ’21) appears. Like much of the cast, Love begins as part of the audience and first breaks her silence by threatening to leave, only for Everybody to earn her back. The trip to Death is now well underway, and the show accelerates rapidly, ascending to an outdoor rendition of the “Danse Macabre.”
In a flurry of neon lights, the cast of “Everybody” makes its rounds outside. Dancers dressed in black spin around the audience. It is never specified whether they are meant to represent life or spirit, but the energy they put off is irrefutable. Bringing vivacity to the piece, the rendition of the “Danse Macabre” is stunningly interpretive. Situated outside, “Everybody” cleverly utilizes its surroundings to craft the story and involve the audience.
When we, the “everybody” of the audience, encounter the big questions in life, accepting universals like death or solitude can be daunting. But the cast of “Everybody,” and its eponymous main character, navigated these questions with ease.
(05/06/21 9:50am)
Inspired by the theme “Back to Baseline,” TEDxMiddlebury hosted a conference featuring six speakers from the campus community on Thursday, April 29.
Each speaker came with their own interpretation of what it means to pull back and reflect, especially during a pandemic. The conference was split into two shows that were available via limited live seating or livestream.
The lineup began with Francoise Niyigena ’21 who examined the impact of education globally and personally. Having grown up in a large family with her mother as the sole provider, Niyigena knew the value of education from a young age. For her, education extended beyond books; it meant opened doors and opportunity. Through scholarships and competitions (“for the money,” she slyly noted), Niyigena earned her way through school. Incredibly personal, with a galvanizing touch, her talk lauded the importance of educational equity.
Next up, Frank Ji ’24 told his story of immigration to the U.S. and related his childhood stressors to those of the past few months. He discussed the effect of past stressors on his current loneliness and on recent experiences with familial tensions, death and a breakup. For Ji, finding himself in tough situations had been out of his control, but he still had the power of his choices. “I chose to stay and hold myself together, no matter how painful [a situation] was,” he said.
Middlebury Director of Athletics Erin Quinn ’86 gave a heartfelt, vulnerable talk about moving through major life changes. Quinn discussed growing up as a child with anger issues and emotional vulnerability, noting the ways he is impacted by them today. Quinn referred to his problems as childhood-onset “energies,” complete with adult-onset “troubles,” pervasive throughout his shifts in career and responsibility. Quinn likened life challenges to swimming like a duck, struggling beneath the surface. Focusing on personal development for the crux of his speech, Quinn emphasized mindfulness in learning to trust in others, finding joy and developing a sense of empathy.
Assistant Director of the Anderson Freeman Resource Center Janae Due spoke about fatness and its interactions with body positivity. Due identifies as a queer and disabled fat activist, and in her talk she highlighted the importance of not only recognizing divergent narratives in activism but the importance of liberation and prevalence of privilege. Her talk was packed with an informative synthesis of recent movements and subgroups in fat activism. Alongside a discussion of how she grew into her own body, Janae provided audiences with an exploration into how we learn to love ourselves.
Usman Ghani ’22 joked about his experimentation with the Middlebury Shooting Sports Club (MSSC) that came about because of a love for archery gone awry. As someone largely inexperienced with guns, Ghani discussed his accidental foray into a different side of shooting sports, connecting the experience to the modern political climate. Ghani’s talk felt relevant as he relayed conversations with close friends, both at Middlebury and back home in Brooklyn, about the way we organize and interpret symbols of violence or sport.
In the final TEDx talk, Omar Kawam explored the influence of faith and spirituality in the way we orient ourselves. As an Interfaith Fellow, Kawam works heavily in his daily life to recognize spiritual differences, seeking to bridge gaps in communication. Kawam noted the invariable divergences of worldview made possible through faith, and how they can make us feel either alienated or secure. Kawam talked about how it is important to recognize diverse practices and voices and provide a platform for understanding and accepting each other as well as possible. In a world with countless spiritual or theological leanings, Kawam pushed the audience to lean into moments of consternation, confusion and even disagreement as we learn to situate ourselves in the lives of others.
Each speaker came with a unique story and speech, from the questions raised by Kawam to the emotions highlighted by Ji. The theme of “Back to Baseline” prompted more than pure reflection; the speakers centered their talks in curiosity and growth.
(03/11/21 11:00am)
The American Dream is often a beacon for immigrants. Yet, time and again, it becomes clear that this dream is only an ideal: what lies beneath the veneer is a story of strife and sacrifice. When director Lee Isaac Chung tells the story of “Minari,” he highlights a long-awaited different side of the American Dream.
Set in the 1980s, “Minari” focuses on a Korean-American family that recently moved to rural Arkansas. It quickly becomes apparent that the Yi family feels displaced: The film opens with derelict scenes of their mobile home and close-ups of their dismayed faces. The landscape is plain and humble, and Monica Yi (Han Ye-ri), the young wife of Jacob Yi (Steven Yeun), is already preoccupied with worry for their son David’s (Alan Kim) health.
To the chagrin of Monica, Jacob — an aspiring farmer who wishes to grow and sell Korean produce — pushes on with his agricultural aspirations even as money gets short, losing sight of his family as the desperation for success inundates his thoughts.
In a conversation with Variety, “Parasite” director Bong Joon Ho describes Han Ye-ri’s performance as “delicate and memorable.” Through issues on the farm, within the house and with her ailing mother, Soonja (Youn Yuh-jung), Monica quietly tries her best to keep the family together. It’s difficult to imagine another approach to this character; her thoughtful silence speaks volumes.
I would be remiss if I didn’t mention child actors Alan Kim and Noel Cho, who played David and Anne Yi, respectively. Though adorable, the on-screen sibling duo captures childhood in as morose a way as I’ve ever seen. Cho mirrors Han in her careful performance of Anne, assuming the role of a quiet older sister weighed down by pressure to grow up too fast. Like any other newcomer in a strange city, she wants to fit in with the other kids, a problem she shares with her brother.
On this note, Kim plays a sullen, conflicted sibling — and a precocious one, at that. Even at such a young age, David is conscious of his cultural differences. He’s beyond obsessed with what a “real” American grandmother looks like, grappling with accepting Soonja as his.
Though it’s heartbreaking to see him refuse to speak to her in Korean, criticize her broken English and glare at her in disdain, Kim’s performance nails the deep-seated desire for cultural assimilation. After all, the American Dream impacts children just as much as the rest of a family. Youn Yuh-jung’s performance is similarly wonderful, acting in opposition to her grandson’s notions of assimilation in her role of grandmother, wherein Soonja keeps faith in David and only wants the best for everybody. When things for the Yi family continue to spiral downward, the importance of family — in any capacity — is highlighted.
When I look back on “Minari,” I feel a sense of bittersweet empathy. Immigration, and assimilation into American life, is far from a monolithic success story, and recognizing diverse experiences and slow progress is important. “Minari” isn’t a feel-good film. For every moment of comic relief or peace, there is a moment of stress or heartbreak. Its balance and growth offer a cautiously optimistic — though no less honest — portrayal of the American Dream in the 1980s.
(03/04/21 10:58am)
The Hirschfield Series kicked off this spring with “Our Right to Gaze: Black Film Identities,” a collection of short films by Black filmmakers. The collection is a collaboration between Full Spectrum Features, Northwest Film Forum, The Luminal Theatre and Circle Collective. A few of the series’ creators, namely Antu Yakob, Zora Bikangaga and Curtis Caesar John, joined the Middlebury community for a post-screening Q&A on Saturday night over Zoom.
“Love in Submission,” directed by Lande Yoosuf and produced by Antu Yakob, was the first of the six short films. It explores a dramatic conversation between two Muslim women shocked by newfound secrets about their connection. The film captures a side of the Black Muslim experience that we don’t often get to see on screen, presenting characters living different lives under the same identity umbrella. Originally an on-stage production, “Love in Submission” underwent serious development to become a short film. Yakob and Yoosuf are currently working on expanding the story once more, this time into a full-length feature.
Following the melodrama of Yakob and Yoosuf, “A Hollywood Party,” directed by Toryn Seabrooks, lends quick comic relief to the series. A young waitress meets her celebrity hero, only to find that he has spit crumbs onto her lip mid-conversation. Seabrooks, starry-eyed and eager to please in her role as waiter, all but falls apart in a hilarious, quivering performance. The scene cuts between her and her famous companion, who prattles on obliviously about the inspiration of Maya Angelou.
The third short in the series, “Nowhere,” directed by Lin Que Ayoung, follows a disheveled and traumatized wife freshly wounded after an episode of domestic violence. She strays into a BDSM club, encountering a world where, to her surprise, control is a choice. Thinking of her violent marriage, she asks a submissive member of the club, “Why would you ever want to be controlled by someone?” in confusion, to which he refutes her judgment by revealing his deliberate preferences. From fear and hesitance, actress Edna Lee Figueroa projects a liberating metamorphosis onto the character of Esther, rewriting her restrictive outlook on sexual diversity and freedom as a couple in the club shows her the ropes.
“The Black Banshee,” directed by John D. Hay Jr. and produced by Kyla Sylvers, follows a group of four partygoers on a night out. Merrymaking is cut short as a friend is overtaken by a vision of police brutality. She foretells a tense standoff between her friends and a few suspicious cops; the conflict escalates to the point of imminent, graphic death. Unfortunately, this is a familiar story, told time and again while the fight for Black lives persists. “The Black Banshee” pays homage to the hardened realities of living while Black in the U.S.; its title acknowledges the impact of spiritual consciousness, sometimes present in the most foreboding of ways.
Next up, “Auntie Zariyah,” directed by Zora Bikangaga, follows a stand-up comedian, played by Bikangaga himself, making his way down to Seattle for a show. He lodges with the eponymous Auntie Zariyah, who is later revealed to be a 12-year-old influencer. The film is topical and fun, and throws a zesty spin on how Bikangaga describes the quintessential “auntie.” Bikangaga credits actress Zariyah Quiroz’s charisma and talent as inspiration. “I didn’t cast it for anyone — I wrote it for her. [...] It became a kind of dedication to the aunties that were important in my life. Aunties are a big part of Ugandan culture, East African culture [and] Black diaspora culture,” Bikangaga said. Lastly, for those wondering: yes, he is technically her nephew. Bikangaga’s on-screen father drawls, “Well, your granddaddy was a rollin’ stone. Rolled all the way to his grave.”
“The Pandemic Chronicles” finishes the lineup. Director Ya’Ke stitches together three perspectives of the past year: the comedic, the desperate and the longing. First, we see a young couple on a date, six feet apart until they close the gap, pressed together without nitrile gloves or 3M masks. Second, we see a tragedy onset by medical insecurity, as the film investigates the discriminant effects of healthcare during this tense time. Third, a family is torn apart in the face of danger, when a husband and wife struggle to connect with a wall separating them.
Overall, “Our Right to Gaze” wholly dedicates itself to showcasing the range of Black identity in art. It provides a necessary space for underrepresented creators, opening doors to diverse work. As Yakob noted, “Blackness does not equal one identity.” “Our Right to Gaze” is an anthology everyone can experience soon, as the series will be made available in the coming months for widespread release.
(02/04/21 10:58am)
When Cho-liang Lin picks up his violin, he brings it to life. Its wooden body transforms into a bright atrium, procuring delicate notes as his bow all but flies across the strings with vigor. Of course, it doesn’t hurt that he plays an 18th-century Stradivarius, but chiefly, having the opportunity to watch and listen to Lin’s playing is a joy in itself.
The Middlebury Performing Arts series hosted a virtual concert last Friday that featured Lin and included a program of three pieces. Each piece within the program was selected from recordings of his past performances, as pandemic limitations have indefinitely postponed his concert route.
Watching a virtual classical performance is certainly strange. I feel a sense of sympathy for the performers — they miss out on the experience of being onstage, and being virtual forms an automatic disconnect between them and the audience. However, from the moment Lin begins to play, you forget all about this flaw.
The show kicks off with Lin’s rendition of Lukas Foss’ “Composer’s Holiday,” a bright and cheery opening enhanced by his charismatic stage presence. Foss’ iconic third movement is a suitable opening for Lin, who has fun with the music, playing each spiccato with great enthusiasm. He flies through this first piece, with accompanist Jon Kimura Parker matching his energy on the piano.
The duo wonderfully work together in Antonín Dvořák’s “Sonatina for Violin and Piano in G major, Op. 100.” With Dvořák’s signature melodramatic tone, the mood definitively shifts from “Composer’s Holiday” into a slower, reflective one expected of “II. Larghetto.” On stage, Lin is one with his instrument, producing only the smoothest, sweetest notes. Cameras capture both pianist and violinist separately and together, highlighting the melodic intricacies of each performer’s instrument. The editing of the concert helps to put viewers in the mindset of being there, fusing close-ups of each instrument with wide shots of the performers onstage.
Ending with Tchaikovsky’s notorious sextet, “Souvenir de Florence, Op. 70,” the show closes on a dramatic note. The last piece Lin performed in person during May of 2020, “Souvenir de Florence” evokes a sort of bittersweet joy in Lin. As a daunting piece that spans over half an hour of melodic dips and swells, Tchaikovvsky’s “Souvenir de Florence” is exhaustive.
It’s enjoyable to see how Lin and his fellow musicians work in harmony, especially during chaotic and vibrant measures filled with a dramatically high tempo. The sextet closes in triumph, following the previous two movements characterized by mellower tones throughout. To prove that I’m not merely laying on the praise, I’ll note that somewhere within the second movement, several of his bow strings snapped from the intensity of his playing.
In watching Cho-liang Lin’s stunning performances, I find his love for the music and the instrument entirely humbling, reigniting my respect for chamber music and the violin alike. Frankly, you don’t need to be a fan of classical music — or even its instruments — to appreciate a performer as delightful as Lin.
(01/28/21 10:56am)
I remember spotting “drivers license” by Olivia Rodrigo on my YouTube sidebar. As musical trends often come and go, I brushed the recommendation off after giving the music video a 30-second try. But two weeks later, it’s still there. In fact, “drivers license” is everywhere. It’s on my friends’ Spotify accounts, viral on TikTok and currently crowned number one atop Billboard’s Hot 100 chart. With the way “drivers license” rose to prominence, I knew I had to go back. Did I overlook a diamond in the rough?
If I’m completely honest, I don’t know if I did. I’m not particularly drawn to the lyrics nor the melodies, and I think the bridge is stiflingly disparate from the song itself. However, in spite of my criticism, I wouldn’t mind another replay. “drivers license” isn’t what I normally gravitate toward, but it’s true to Rodrigo. In “drivers license,” she aspires not to capture her emotions palatably, but accurately. It’s honest, unapologetically plaintive and creates a mood that pulls listeners in — perhaps explaining why it’s so popular.
For starters, listening to “drivers license” is pretty fun. Rodrigo is remarkably good at telling the story, painting a clear narrative of her memories. The song begins with the jingle of keys as you hear a car turn onto a road. Gentle, pulsing noises of ignition blend into the primary beat. Rodrigo then comes in, singing about her newfound independence with the lines, “I got my driver’s license last week / just like we always talked about.” Two common rites of passage for young adults like herself — heartache and obtaining a driver’s license — dovetail in the song, serving as leitmotifs of a simple yet relatable narrative.
Her voice fades out at the end of every line in the first two verses, evocative of a timid, fresh heartbreak. With her rasp, Rodrigo almost seems to speak to listeners rather than sing during the opening verses. The structure of the song helps evoke a picture of her coursing through hills and bends on a long drive. The sounds of driving are lightly interspersed with piano notes and a grooving synth, all of which are layered beneath Rodrigo’s voice. At the song’s apex, her singing deliberately cracks right before she belts, “[Guess] you didn’t mean what you wrote in that song about me.” Rodrigo hits an array of dactylic, satisfyingly high notes, balancing out her previous low, dulcet tones. She proves her singing ability, no problem — not a surprise, given that she stars on Disney’s High School Musical: The Musical: The Series.
“drivers license” is a story that belongs to Rodrigo. There’s substantive personalization, like the reference to a specific blonde girl who makes her insecure and vignettes from her dead relationship. Regarding the former, it should be noted that interest in “drivers license” could be bolstered by the real-life drama between Rodrigo and her co-star ex, Joshua Bassett. All of this results in certain listeners living vicariously — albeit a bit too much — through the artist. The song is unifying, especially with the variable of recognizable celebrities in the mix. Any dive into a YouTube or TikTok comment section proves as much; people are moved by her bluntness and vulnerability. Having others invested in the plot even when the story isn’t theirs is a commendable skill of songwriting. Rodrigo herself acknowledges that her bonding with her audience influenced the process of finishing “drivers license.” She notes how the song’s immediate popularity was unprecedented, crediting part of her writing to having posted a draft on Instagram that was met with widespread support.
With its overwhelming versatility, it’s not surprising to see how taken everyone is with “drivers license.” One one hand, it’s as simple as finding a catchy trend to hop on. On the other, there’s enough melodrama and grit for everyone to enjoy. At a time when we listeners are in isolation due to the pandemic, Rodrigo’s vivid storytelling provides a way out, inviting us to see a part of her memories and momentarily live through her.
(11/19/20 10:58am)
For the semester’s final film in the Hirschfield International Film Series, Middlebury brought “Objector,” a 2019 documentary directed by Middlebury alumna Molly Stuart ’15. “Objector” provides a new view of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, following 18-year-old Atalya Ben-Abba, who faces imprisonment for refusing obligatory enlistment in the Israeli army.
The documentary opens with a conversation between Atalya and her mother, who sits on a couch reading Tolstoy’s “War and Peace.” Familial tension rooted in Atalya’s decision to reject military enlistment drives the story, as the film documents Atayla’s alienation from her extended family, and Israeli society as a whole. As the walls close in from all sides, Atalya finds allies in her brother Amitai and her immediate family.
Amitai Ben-Abba, '15, who is also the documentary's writer and producer, is exempted from joining the military due to health reasons. He sympathizes with and supports his younger sister’s stand, but he doesn’t shy away from voicing his concern over her physical and mental well-being. He shows his support by documenting Atayla's imprisonment in online articles. Viewers learn to understand Amitai’s quiet opposition in contrast to his sister’s fierce determination to have her decision heard.
Every shot in the film is composed with intention, introducing imagery that evokes a sense of deep dissension: close-ups of barbed wire, the way protesters are broken up and scenes that visually emphasize the way Atalya is isolated from and opposed by the community she grew up in. But every so often there are hints of optimism and unity, too: a community of protesters and the bottling of olives as gifts to Palestinians. The mixed scenes of division and reconciliation suggest that resolution is neither impossible nor fully attainable.
Stuart credits her close partnership with Atalya for the noticeable authenticity of the film. Viewers are offered insight into the conditions Atalya endured during her prison sentence. Often narrating her own journey, Atalya reflects on her imprisonment over sallow bedsheets in empty rooms. She discusses her relationships with female inmates, many of whom are conservative but supportive of her regardless.
Within the film, Stuart and Atalya also explore deeply personal, polarized views of Palestinian land. Many members of Atalya’s extended family support a secure and strong Israel and refer to her as traitorous or lost within her youthful naïveté.
Stuart tells a comprehensive and unique story, as she captures the complexities of Atalya’s position. Shot over a span of three years, “Objector” was expanded from a short film to a full-length feature. Viewers can assume that the live footage of protesters they see is but a sliver of the whole situation. Stuart said that there were limitations to filming in Israel and Palestine, and that some things were therefore left to the audience to imagine for itself.
“I think I was the right person to make the film for an American audience. I was certainly not the right person to make a film for an Israeli audience,” Stuart said of her envisioned reception of the film.
“Objector” strives to highlight a budding movement of renewed consciousness, challenging Israeli youth who stand firm in their beliefs on the occupation of Palestinian land. “We want to build a brave generation,” Atalya Ben-Abba said.
(10/29/20 9:59am)
In races as divisive as those in the 2020 general election, professors are faced with deciding whether to broach the topic in the classroom.
This year in particular, the question extends to nearly every academic department. “I think that it is often a pedagogical strategy to think of your course material in the context of what is going on in the world… So if it means talking about the election, then I talk about the election,” said Professor of Sociology Jamie McCallum, who is currently teaching a first year seminar called “U.S. American Left.”
McCallum explained that in the classroom, there is no non-political way to broach the topic. “On one hand, you don’t want to make the lecture into a pulpit. At the same time, I think it’s important to be clear about where you’re coming from,” he said. He explained that some professors may choose not to discuss politics in class, and while he believes that to be a valid approach, it is nonetheless a political stance.
In humanities classrooms across campus, political discussions are an expected part of the package. “I address the election insofar as the various policy positions on each ticket intersect with themes raised in the class,” Professor of History Amit Prakash said. He explained that the past can — and must — be used to understand our experiences in the present. “Otherwise it’s just antiquarianism,” he said.
Jennifer Wang, a professor of English and American literatures, found elections to be equally pertinent in her courses. “Given the nature of what I teach, literature and literary study, I don’t believe I could keep politics — topical, electoral, and otherwise — out of my classroom,” Wang told The Campus. “It’s really not about me, it’s about [my students].”
Meanwhile, in the Department of Film and Media Culture, Professor Jason Mittell takes a different tack. In his current course, he has spent time discussing the connection between television and democracy, as well as campaign ads and the mainstream media. “I acknowledge my positions and beliefs but make it very clear that students will never be evaluated on whether they agree with me or not,” Mittell said.
In his economic statistics class, Professor of Economics Akhil Rao finds that discussing the election allows him to touch on relevant topics like racial inequality, income inequality and public sentiment on climate change, although he does not believe that strictly addressing the election is necessary for his class. “I don't want to go too far afield from the important economic issues at stake,” he said.
For Mittell and many other professors, these conversations are not about disseminating ideology but rather acknowledging the effects of politics on their subjects. “I encourage them to argue for their own positions based on information and analysis,” Mittell said.
Professor Jason Mittell is The Campus’ faculty adviser. He is married to Vermont State Senator Ruth Hardy.
(10/15/20 9:59am)
At a glance, it may seem absurd to have a theatre production remotely — daunting, too. Many questions arise: How will it be screened? How will it be produced? How did people prepare? But at the remote First Year Show, those questions dissipated the second the actors came into frame. Featuring plays written, directed, designed and produced in a 24 hour period and starring actors who have never before performed at Middlebury, the 25th annual First Year Show was aptly titled “Together Apart.”
The festival, which ran 24 hours from Oct. 9 to Oct. 10 and culminated in a livestream of the plays, was full of pep and excitement despite circumstances.
Produced by Julia Proctor ’06.5, the show was written, directed, designed and pieced together in only two days and then livestreamed from the Seeler Studio Theatre in Middlebury. The combination of voices and direction, a compilation of eight new student-written and directed plays, was a valiant effort.
“My favorite part of the process was going through the video footage and getting to see everyone working hard, even though I wasn’t there to witness [it] in person,” said Emma Vallon ’21.5, production help.
“President Jimmy Carter and the Great Toxic Event,” written by Cole Merrell ’21 and directed by Maggie Connolly ’23, kicked off the show with quippy dialogue. As the camera zoomed in on a confused Oso, played by Ethan Fleming ’24, delivering a monologue about his close relationship with President Carter, I couldn’t help but laugh.
Next was a crowd favorite, “Quit Pulling My Leg!” Written by Sara Massey ’23 and directed by Ryan Kirby ’22, the play examined the unlikely duo of an odd girl and post office worker. Really making the most use of a little cardboard box, this scene was as enigmatic as I expected.
I’d be hard-pressed to describe the third show, “The Wormhole.” Another two-person bit, it was one of my favorite monologues. Content warning aside, Lucy and Prudence, played by Kristen Morgenstern ’24 and Maggie Blake ’24 respectively, prattle on about their trauma and experiences with a touch of dark humor.
The fourth play “Antiquated” was the first trio scene of the night. I found “Antiquated” most notable for how well the set was utilized—the scant stage made for interesting directing choices. As Alix (Ashling Walsh ’24), Suzie (Erin Chouinard ’24), and Dylan (Catie Duggan ’24) discuss their tense relationships, the light set the mood cleverly as the three walked around the little square of the stage.
“Come On Aylin'' was likely the most wholesome of the eight. Seeing the dynamic of three actors feigning friends — two of whom despise each other — unfold was gratifying. Ending with cheer to the familiar, upbeat notes of “Come On Eileen,” it was a pick-you-up scene. In “Where do we Go?” the confused trio of Luna, Louis and Naja (Luna Simone-Gonzales ’24, Hunter Newell ’24 and Naja Irvin-Conyers ’24) meandered around the setup. Written by Emily Wight ’24 and directed by Wynn McClenahan ’22, “Where Do We Go?” captured bemused melodrama to a tee.
“Fate on Tape,” the seventh play of the evening, showcased the comical relationship between Thea and Thor (and, as we are constantly reminded, not the Chris Hemsworth kind), played by Katelyn Wenkoff ’24 and Beck Barsanti ’24. Barista Thea feels conflicted after stumbling on a cassette tape recorder that contains her entire life’s history, struggling to decide if she should listen to it. The ending was my favorite, as Thor and Thea freeze in hilarious tableau snapshots, cleverly using blackouts to shift between poses.
The final play,“Time Trials,” written by Ian Hanson ’21, is about two girls who buy a mortar and pestle, only to find that it is a time traveling device. Flitting between the Cretaceous period, volcanic explosions and Middlebury itself, the play is hectic with each transition but ultimately delivers a hilarious performance.
While remote modality may have slowed down some aspects of production, I thought little was compromised in “Together Apart.”
“Any opportunity right now to work [in theatre] is huge,” co-writer of “Fate on Tape” Madison Middleton ’22.5 said.
The show must go on, and it is incredibly rewarding to see so much concentrated hard work pay off — and within 24 hours, too.
(10/08/20 9:59am)
In one image from the historic 1965 Civil Rights march that took place on the Edmund Pettus Bridge in Selma, Ala., the activist John Lewis kneels, pushed to the ground with his hand cradling the back of his head. A state trooper stands over his figure, raising a baton and ready to strike. Looking back at the fateful “Bloody Sunday” the protest turned into, no words could ever do justice to how hard leaders like Lewis have fought for the civil rights we have today. Five decades later, this summer brought forth the sad news of Lewis’ passing. However, Lewis remains with us, remembered as one of the nation’s most influential state representatives and activists who lived through and made history. Such is shown in Dawn Porter’s 2020 biographical documentary, “John Lewis: Good Trouble.”
Let’s begin with the name of the film. Lewis has shown us the virtue in pursuing everything you can, speaking up for any injustice you see. He says, “One day, I heard Rosa Parks — heard the words of Martin Luther King on the radio. And the words inspired me to get in trouble, and I’ve been getting in trouble ever since.” Silhouetted against a projection of scenes in history he himself faced, Lewis’ expression shifts with every moving image as we are transported back in time. His face is determined and optimistic, looking forward to building a better tomorrow.
Lewis grew up in Alabama in the ’50s, picking cotton in the hot sun but enamored with his schoolwork. The film transitions from slide to slide, showing us pictures of the expanses of cotton and interviews with citizens who grew up the same way and with Lewis’ siblings. It’s endearing to see the optimism and love of his family as they discuss his passion for oration. Lewis was determined since his youth, preaching to the chickens in his yard and reading every book he could find.
One of my favorite scenes from the film was when filmmaker Porter follows Lewis around as he visits his sister’s house, talking about growing up in Troy, Ala. He sprays seed and cheeps at the chickens inside the low shed, smiling about his aspirations to preach as a boy. Here, we see Lewis in his own element, a younger version of the formidable political figure he has come to be known as. Lewis remains respectful of his southern roots, the memories of which push him forward.
As one would expect, the documentary isn’t the easiest to watch. As we follow Lewis’s career and civil rights battles, we see difficult interviews with political opponents, and even one of a waitress who refused him service back when Lewis was participating in sit-ins.
Scenes like the sit-in bring us back to those themes of the “good trouble” that Lewis urges everyone to participate in. In a new century, Lewis stresses, “We have to get out and register, get out and vote like we’ve never before. The vote is precious.” Today, good trouble transforms into something else.
Porter has amassed an impressive collection of footage, documents and art to show pieces of Lewis’ history in an honest way. To have a director try to capture such a full life honestly — the difficulties, the long and winding road — is simultaneously harrowing and humbling to see. Porter doesn’t necessarily seek to idolize Lewis. The film instead humanizes him in a way that reminds us of his purpose. Spanning the years of his career, the film also showcases the evolution of protest culture, even as it stretches into today. As modern politicians seek to undo all the legislation pushed forward since the 60’s Civil Rights Movement, Lewis’ impact is not done yet.
As I watched “Good Trouble,” I could not help but feel trepidation about the future, but the documentary has also left me with a unifying sensibility. Porter’s work reminded me that it is not the time to despair, even as so much is on the line. In the words of Lewis, “We cannot give up; we cannot give in. We must keep to faith; we must keep our eyes on the prize.”
(10/01/20 9:59am)
Known for their notable alumni and hand-picked selections, the annual Sundance Film Festival has long established itself as a place to discover up-and-coming filmmakers. This year, the festival’s self-assembled short film tour was virtually presented to Middlebury students by the Hirschfield International Film Series. Going into the tour, I wasn’t sure what to expect, especially with my limited knowledge of short films. Apprehension aside, I sat down, shut off the lights to simulate a theatre experience, and pressed play.
‘Benevolent Ba’
The first of six, “Benevolent Ba” opened up with Michael Jackson’s disclaimer for his “Thriller” music video: “Due to my strong personal convictions, I wish to stress that this film in no way endorses a belief in the occult.” Including the disclaimer was fitting, too: the next shots introduce us to the deeply spiritual and haunting story set on a verdant hillside in Malaysia. The sky is overcast and a family pulls their car to a halt, arguing about sacrificing a goat. Director Diffan Norman creates a film rich with dark humor as the group descends into frenzied discussion, arguing about who will carry out the slaughter. Smooth camera pans expertly utilize the environment’s gloom. In many ways, the film pays homage to “Thriller.” With bated breath and hoarse screams, “Benevolent Ba” creates a sense of sorrow and fear. But where the film hits its stride is precisely where it lost me. In the hodgepodge of offbeat humor, horrific elements and biblical references, I became confused by its direction. While nicely shot and indeed thrilling, “Benevolent Ba” hit the right notes emotionally but left my thoughts overloaded.
‘Hot Flash’
Following the horror piece was the animated short “Hot Flash,” directed by Thea Hollatz. Gorgeously done, this short film jumps from one pastel palette to another, cleverly using minimal, cute figures. We’re following Ace, a weather reporter, who from the start is struck by a sudden and aggressive hot flash. She soon finds herself in the bathroom, airing her privates over a fan. There aren’t many films that show that type of scene, and even fewer animated shorts that do. But I felt that animation was the best medium for its witty and fun elements. For a short, quippy film like “Hot Flash,” watching Ace’s troubles with hot flashes are odd yet fun to see play out.
‘The Deepest Hole’
“The Deepest Hole” is third on the setlist, showing us the lesser-known aspect of a political race between the U.S. and Soviet Union. Can you guess what the race was about? That’s right, diggin’ the deepest hole! Hearing the voice-overs and seeing the animations of drilling, I very much felt as if the era were completely contrived. Voiced by Rosalind Fell, the film chronicles the descent into the race through flashing lights and a theory of discovering hell itself. “The Deepest Hole” is every part as wild as it sounds, so I’d suggest you come prepared.
‘Meats’
Fourth on the list is “Meats.” I’m not going to lie — I spent the first minute trying to figure out where I knew the lead actress from. It turned out to be Ashley Williams, a familiar face from the 2000s sitcom “How I Met Your Mother.” This observation made watching the film all the more interesting. With a different character in mind, I was pleasantly surprised to see Williams, who both directs and stars in the piece, in her own realm. “Meats” focuses on the tumultuous dynamic between a butcher and a pregnant vegan craving meat. The short is honest, not shying away from depicting the reality of butchering in an angry, conflicted monologue presented by Williams. I wasn’t sure if it was trying to be particularly self-aware or satirical, given the stereotypical vegan jokes sprinkled throughout. On the rollercoaster of somber to aggravated, I think the film’s ride does raise a lot of questions and moral dilemmas.
‘T’
“T,” our fifth film, follows several designers and models as they prepare for their annual T Ball in Miami, where costumes are created and worn to honor their dead. This was probably the most emotional film of the lot: topical and beautiful. We see the careful process of creating designs, with one artist recycling numerous chip bags into a beautiful outfit. The viewer is given an artistic glimpse into this world, but the film also jumps into the political rationale behind these events. In a gorgeous transition, a shot of LED lights on a helmet design fades into the glow of cop cars, linking the depth of creation. With personal anecdotes and individual features, we see dimensions of grief felt by the ball’s participants. Shot from within homes, in backyards and even in special display rooms, “T” gives us an authentic look at the experience of honoring the dead through costume.
‘So What If The Goats Die’
This festival closes with “So What If The Goats Die,” a short directed by Sofia Alaoui. This film is on the longer side for a short, but it’s worth every minute. Watching a shepherd struggling with his spirituality while trying to make sense of an extraterrestrial event, we hop into a pretty tumultuous story. The film is set on a mountainside, and the cinematography is gorgeous; we jump from rural to desolate areas that frame the characters in golden hues. Shots of the goats are my favorite — within a mottled sea of fur wades our lead, Abdellah. Light is one of the film’s greatest assets. Whether their faces are aglow in the sunset, the fireside or even by eerie green supernatural light, the images we are left with are immaculate. This film is breathtaking to the point that I’d sometimes forget about the overarching questions of religion and human relationships with which it presents us.
The way I see it, short films have the best of both worlds. They can utilize either a high or low budget, use a variety of mediums and still achieve the stories they seek to tell. Each of these films demonstrates that, in spite of shorter runtimes, short films can still have it all.
(09/17/20 9:58am)
Light drifts over a sea of bright faces, red lanyards and white shirts; you can hear the clash of cymbals, a snare and “Hey Baby” by DJ Otzi. It’s hectic, clamorous but riveting. Everyone wants their voice to be heard. Amid it all, the camera pans to follow gubernatorial finalist Steven Garza walking towards a crowded stage, as if on the way to a boxing match.
This is “Boys State.”
The first feature of this fall’s Hirschfield International Film Series, “Boys State” is directed by filmmaking couple Amanda McBaine and Jesse Moss. McBaine and Moss bring us a punchy, witty and immersive account of a week-long teenage mock political campaign in Texas — territory I wouldn’t expect to enter.
The film opens with introductions of its four central characters, Steven Garza, Ben Feindstein, Robert MacDougall and René Otero, each in their homes just days before the conference begins. The ensemble is a diverse group, with each boy coming forth with a different reason why he wants to serve as governor. Highlighting characters of diverse backgrounds like Steven, whose parents immigrated from Mexico, and Ben, who lives with physical disabilities, “Boys State” shines a light on the wide range of students who flock to the summer conference in hopes of being crowned Boys State governor. With a small feature on each competitor, the film frames the boys almost as caricatured versions of themselves. During their introductions, the boys’ names flash in all caps on the screen, as if each name were a chapter title in a book.
A comical score jumps in and out, and violin pizzicatos punctuate the film’s tongue-in-cheek humor whenever a boy comes on stage to give a speech. We live in a dramatic world, and “Boys State” makes note of that — but this isn’t to say that the candidates are not serious. Silence is effective, and noise is hushed to draw the audience’s attention back to the speaker. Lights illuminate their profiles; their faces are honest.
Frankly, it’s incredibly fun to see how Moss and McBaine communicate the sense of adolescence in this film. It’s not a standard, monochromatic tableau of old white men in politics — this is a different, diverse pool of boys. Boys still in their formative years. Boys rife with strong opinions, trying to navigate politics. Boys who can be petty with each other. Boys who get into deep arguments, learning to weigh political competition with personal moral values. We see this in the dispersion of interviews, turbulent camera pans, audible gulps and the raucous teenage uproar after a divisive speech. Hell, I even commend “Boys State” for capturing meme culture on campaign Instagram pages as leaders engage in political warfare.
While adolescence is excellently portrayed in the film, I’m left feeling like the foci within the program are skewed. When a meme page perpetuated racist rhetoric against René, the Nationalist Party Chair, the documentary almost glossed over it. Even at their young age, the boys succumb to foul play campaign tactics. “Boys State” could have captured the essence of the moment but missed the opportunity to examine its very real-world import. Instead, the annual event is framed as one conducted in a vacuum, where political candidates regularly assure the audience in interviews that they’re just “playing the politics game.”
But even if it’s “just a game” for some, it’s personal too. On one hand, we have Robert MacDougall, a Nationalist gubernatorial hopeful who claims on stage that he’s anti-abortion and pro-choice. On the other, we have René, the Nationalist Party Chair, who comes face-to-face with racism throughout the event, a struggle beyond the “political game” the other boys are playing.
In the choice of glossing over some deeper issues, “Boys State” does its job at documenting teen politics, but could be so much more.
Inevitably, there also comes the question, “what about Girls State?” Sure, the group in Boys State was diverse, but when you have teenage boys debating subjects like abortion, the idea comes to mind. Do we get a complementary Girls State movie? Will people comment on the inherent exclusivity of these events, the exclusion of nonbinary individuals or the mental health effects of that heated atmosphere? The film has some shots of homogeneous crowds and some clever editing, but critical commentary is superseded by the program's portrayal as educational and inspiring.
All things aside, I thought the film was a great time. It’s punchy. But if I had one comment? You may get upset.
(04/30/20 9:57am)
I’m no stranger to the 2 a.m. impulse haircut. I’ve given myself bangs, I’ve chopped 12 inches off my hair. The only thing left would be a shave — which was exactly what a few friends of mine considered, only it was at noon on a regular Thursday in quarantine.
It’s super common for people to feel helpless and twitchy during this time. We can’t help it — as social beings, we find that the transitions from large spaces to isolated ones introduce logistical and personal strain. And when not surrounded by friends or family, spending more time with ourselves can be especially difficult.
So, it’s a good time to find ways to make solitude easier. With a newfound sense of unfamiliarity, coupled with more time to ourselves than ever before, it’s the perfect time to experiment with new ways to self-express and get creative.
As aforementioned, hair has been a fun way to experiment. A couple of my friends have tried dyeing their hair new colors, courtesy of the “nobody will see me if I don’t like it” mentality. YouTubers are posting videos of how to cut hair at home, and some are partaking in buzzcuts. It’s objectively a decent bargain — your hair will love it and you’ll have more than enough time to grow it back. Perhaps it’ll be your new favorite hairstyle, too — something you might have felt too inhibited to try out before. Feeling the urge to let go is definitely a silver lining to the unfolding crisis.
It’s not only with personal appearances that people begin to take risks. Let’s look at how social media has blown up during these past few months. Every day, there’s a flood of new challenges to partake in on TikTok. I personally have two left feet, but it’s pretty inspiring to see dancers, for example, try out unique choreography remotely. Daily memes and commentary are uploaded on YouTube to keep you content, and cooking challenges have never been more creative. Thanks to Bon Appetit, I now have more recipes for pantry pasta in my (albeit otherwise meager) culinary arsenal than ever. Nobody knew just how versatile eggs could be until now.
Of course, to compensate for not being able to see people in real life, we should acknowledge the rising popularity of dating apps, such as Tinder or Bumble. As new routes for socializing, these are interesting ways to dip your toes into the dating pool. It might have been the prime time to shoot your shot in real life during pre-quarantine, but if that wasn’t an objective, you’re in luck! That’s right — to adapt to not meeting people elsewhere and help flatten the curve, perhaps you could even find the person of your dreams by traveling 5,000 miles away, courtesy of Tinder’s complimentary passport feature. Internationalism has never been stronger.
Reflecting on my current vegetative state, I’ve managed to check off a couple of these things. The upgraded ramen, the DIY bangs, the spontaneous Tinder-sponsored trips across the globe. Have these tame independent explorations morphed me into a better person? Arguably ... no. But it’s always a nice surprise to poke around, do things you normally wouldn’t have the time or drive to, and try things out if you can.
(04/09/20 10:00am)
With the chaos of the past months, it’s safe to say we’d all rather be somewhere other than in the midst of 2020. For some, Dua Lipa comes in right on time to fill otherwise stressful weeks with a new album that briefly transports us somewhere else.
Originally set for release on April 3, "Future Nostalgia" — Dua Lipa’s second album — debuted two weeks ahead of schedule due to a leak. Packed with groove and style, the tracklist takes us on her ambitious journey that’s changing the pop scene.
Since Dua Lipa broke into mainstream music in 2017 with her first album, I’ve been a pretty avid listener. With this in mind, I wasn’t entirely sure of what to expect in "Future Nostalgia." In fact, I’m glad I had no expectations. As she sets out to redefine her music, Lipa opens the eponymous lead single with, “You want a timeless song? I wanna change the game. [I’m] Like modern architecture, John Lautner coming your way.”
"Future Nostalgia" consists of 11 tracks, discounting its forthcoming deluxe version. The album is decidedly upbeat and cinematic, with visual and melodic aesthetics reminiscent of '80s film, like the atmospheric silences that begin and end songs like “Future Nostalgia” and “Don’t Stop Now.” Are you familiar with the opening to Michael Jackson’s "Thriller"? That’s almost similar to what “Future Nostalgia” opens on, with an eerie vibe followed by a considerably brighter sound as Lipa comes in. Unleashing an arsenal of catchy and seductive melodies, "Future Nostalgia" builds on her familiar, smooth voice but imbues it with the groove of another time. Powerful bass lines and catchy beats help — songs easily melt into one another, creating an album that makes you want to dance.
Lipa’s sound fits hand in hand with the transformative trip "Future Nostalgia" takes us on. A deliberate track order slots the titular song “Future Nostalgia” first, followed by a collection of fast-paced melodies in “Don’t Start Now” and “Break My Heart,” head-bob-inducing groove in “Pretty Please” and ethereal, spacey notes in “Cool”. Frankly, the tracklist cleverly scatters around just enough diversity to not appear homogeneous. Despite how much I enjoyed listening to "Future Nostalgia," most of its appeal is dominated by its catchy melodies that might overshadow lyrics. Between blatant political commentary in “Boys Will Be Boys” to playful messages of empowerment and sexual freedom in “Hallucinate” and “Pretty Please,” there’s an element of general appeal that makes this album enjoyable.
[pullquote speaker="" photo="" align="center" background="on" border="all" shadow="on"]The album revitalizes genres past with modern innovation.[/pullquote]
To be honest, I’m not entirely sure that “the game” is as dramatically changed as she proclaims. Keeping in mind similarities of '80s music and Lipa’s prominence in modern pop, the album more so revitalizes genres past with modern innovation. It’s not a bad thing, however — rather, it’s what makes me like "Future Nostalgia" even more. The album retains the familiar authenticity and brightness characteristic of Lipa. Her optimistic, colorful vision is what makes her so valued as a pop artist we know and love, bringing a sense of familiarity. When compared to "Dua Lipa," "Future Nostalgia" does have a dramatically different vibe; the only past track I’d think of similarly would be “Blow Your Mind (Mwah).” Whilst "Dua Lipa" was packed with slower, more ambient tracks, the comparatively polished sound of "Future Nostalgia" helps gear her music in a new direction.
Of course, with Lipa's strong foothold on pop music, it’s likely that more people will follow the lead of "Future Nostalgia" with its playful venture into fusing varied music with a bold and flirty appeal. This is a shift I look forward to hearing more of, especially with the creativity and complexities it can inspire in budding artists. Thanks to "Future Nostalgia," I’ve had an eventful week of exploration into this new world. Done with sophistication and style, Lipa's dive into an uncertain future is an optimistic one.
(03/12/20 10:00am)
The longstanding success of Victor Hugo’s “Les Misérables” is, in part, its ability to transport us back in time. It is a triumphant work culminating in closure and French unity. But director Ladj Ly points to another gruesome reality.
Presented to us by the Hirschfield Film Series, “Les Misérables” is a 2019 film that introduces viewers to the modern-day streets of Montfermeil, a scene shared by Hugo’s 1862 novel. Present Montfermeil replaces teetering brick shacks with cheap apartments crammed together in small spaces, surrounded by a landscape of litter. Most individuals are racial minorities, speaking a range of languages from French to Bambara. “Les Misérables” documents the violence, corruption and crime of today. Centered around Stéphane Ruiz (Damien Bonnard), a newcomer to the city and a new recruit of the Street Crimes Unit, or S.C.U., we follow his first patrols with two officers, Chris (Alexis Manenti) and Gwada (Djebril Zonga).
However, as Ruiz quickly discovers, the officers aren’t the dutiful individuals who we expect to defend and uphold the law, but instead its very abusers. Chris is the singular emblem of privilege, standing out like a sore thumb in the community he patrols. Gwada, hardened by growing up on the streets of Montfermeil, turns a blind eye as Chris, nicknamed “Pink Pig” by the mayor and children of the complexes, exploits his authority to frisk young girls. The horror comes to a head as the officers give chase to Issa (Issa Perica), a young boy who stole a lion cub. In a fit of rage, Gwada shoots him in the face with a flare gun. The confrontation is captured by a drone flying overhead, sending the officers into a state of panic. Through his portrayal of police brutality in impoverished areas of France, Ladj Ly points to the ongoing severity of social tension, and Victor Hugo’s century-old stories adopt new faces today.
Almost documentary-style, the film integrates several interesting scenes to tell a story of despair and disparity as Ly captures shaky shots of chases and the raw environment of Montfermeil. The beginning scene of a cheering crowd for the 2018 FIFA World Cup on the Avenue de Champs-Élysées is a portrait of unity — possibly the vision of hope Hugo paints in the final moments of his story. Almost instantly after, we’re brought back to run-down scenes of Montfermeil, where the buildings are cramped and the elevators out of service. Kids hang in abandoned lots, sliding down skate ramps on cardboard for fun. Meanwhile, Chris’ own children squabble not over whether they can afford food, but over turns on a Nintendo Switch, something likely unimaginable for the kids living in the derelict apartments. Capturing the ruptured, unjustly compromised childhood of the kids in Montfermeil, “Les Misérables” heavily juxtaposes our idyllic preconceptions of French life with clever expositions of inequity.
Ly’s decision to film pain and suffering in the city’s children is what hits heaviest. Little Issa, bloody and bruised from a run-in with the squadron, is left unattended. Buzz (Al-Hassan Ly), who filmed the confrontation, is also just a child. Yet, both were chased aggressively by the police. Watching grown men tackle children onto solid asphalt is a hard pill to swallow. As the mayor and even their parents throw them aside and neglect their own children due to the pressure of a dwindling economy, kids are largely left to fend for themselves. The hope in justice falters again and again when officers like Chris abuse their power, claiming, “I am the law!” Inevitably, when options are scant and authority is never on their side, the kids don black hoods and dark outfits and corner the squadron in a stairwell, pelting the officers with random objects and pushing shopping carts at them. The situation is grim and full of aggression. Bearing firecrackers as a nod to the flare gun previously used against Issa, the children improvise their attack to respond to the similar levels of pain and aggression they faced.
The movie ends on a dark note, with a bruised Issa holding up a lit Molotov cocktail in a dark stairwell at gunpoint. As he contemplates throwing the bottle, the screen fades to black. His performance fills us with the overwhelming sense of insecurity and mistrust Issa feels at the moment. The flames flicker, bringing the story to a bleak close.
Touchingly documenting the political discrepancies imbuing daily life in Montfermeil, “Les Misérables” rewrites the common misrepresentation of violence amongst minorities, who are often unfairly cast as scapegoats for the larger political structures that oppress them. It is difficult to confront the hypocrisy of institutions people come to trust, but Ly’s story narrates this inequity in an incredibly raw and touching way.
(03/05/20 11:00am)
Mafia movies have a unique reputation. On one hand, you may think of popular films directed by Coppola and Scorsese like “The Godfather” trilogy and “Goodfellas.” On the other, you might recall the wide assortment of parodied mafia tropes; everything from crude accents to dramatic chase scenes. Corneliu Porumboiu brings “The Whistlers,” a modern take on the genre, to the Hirschfield series. Packed with undertones of comedy and social commentary, “The Whistlers” delivers a curiously self-aware film with a dynamic cast and captivating set design and cinematography.
Set in Romania, the movie centers around Cristi (Vlad Ivanov), a police officer who also serves as a whistleblower for the mafia, providing them with police intelligence. Eying a hidden stash of 30 million euros that only fellow mafia member Zsolt knows the location of, Cristi and the mobsters work to free Zsolt from prison. To learn the mafia’s ancient language of whistling, Cristi goes to La Gomera, part of the Canary Islands. Under the tutelage of Paco (Augustí Villaronga), with much difficulty, Cristi learns to whistle with — and for — the gang.
The whistling language is seamlessly interwoven with a plethora of other languages in the film — English, Spanish and Romanian — to dramatize the different relationships between Cristi, the mob and their surrounding world. The blend of languages is particularly clever as characters in his orbit adopt different languages to convey different tones and emotions. For instance, while bird calls and whistles are wistful and bright, English is tense and jerky. Linguistically nuanced, “The Whistlers” provides viewers with a new approach to audio-visual storytelling.
Throughout the film, tension builds as Cristi’s fellow police officers grow increasingly suspicious of him, and he begins to crack under the pressure of looming interrogations. They set up cameras in his home, following him around through hidden lenses. Even at the start of the movie, Cristi has an inkling that his fellow police officers are suspicious of him. In a meetup outside his apartment, he informs Gilda (Catrinel Marlon), a fellow member of the gang, of his suspicions and the two take measures to be inconspicuous. Rather comically, Porumboiu sets up a scene in which Gilda demands Cristi to play along and act as if she were a “high-end prostitute” he hired, tauntingly staring into the hidden cameras as the cinematography allows the audience to dance along with the two. Integral to concealing their mafia connections, both are remarkably good actors, something even Cristi’s employer at the police department remarks.
A rather fascinating part of the movie is its set design and cinematography. Split into various acts, the film cuts between scenes with bright headers announcing the names of characters from whose perspective the scene is told (think Wes Anderson). From “Paco” and “Gilda” to “Mama,” the list goes on. These vignettes weave into one grand heist, eventually leading into Cristi’s story.
As interesting as the divisions were, they were used at the cost of effectiveness. Bright, neon colors, like those used in the character title cards, typically hint at a more upbeat film. Albeit occasionally humorous and tongue-in-cheek, the film was not quite dramatic enough to warrant the choice, disrupting its visual consistency. Between sparse humor and traditional thriller traits, the movie falls a bit short of balance.
Apart from these cutscenes, the film is gorgeous. “The Whistlers” employs an impressive array of scenery and contrasts it with the harsh reality of a police chase. The sound design is beautifully incorporated. By the seaside, in gardens and around plenty of nature, the language of the mob is almost beautiful as it blends into its natural surroundings. Bird calls bring a melodious and complex undertone to the relationships between mafia members, highlighting their complex group dynamics and showcasing a different side of the harsh tropes we’re used to seeing. With numbers such as Offenbach’s Barcarolle and Can-Can, the film’s deliberate musical decisions soften the image of our main characters. Especially within this genre, the push to create a new, offbeat tale is understandable. Despite compromising its consistency with experimentation, “The Whistlers” presents a commendable effort with a dramatic take on crime.
(02/27/20 11:01am)
Amidst frigid temperatures on campus last Friday, Las Nietas de Nonó delivered a beautifully heartwarming performance titled “Manifestaciones en Periodo de Caza” (“Demonstration During Hunting Season”). A duo from Puerto Rico, sisters Mulowayi and Mapenzi Nonó discussed the economic, social and political aftermath of Hurricane Maria, which devastated Puerto Rico in September of 2017. Presenting chiefly in Spanish, the sisters cooked, performed and chatted with a small crowd gathered in the Coltrane lounge.
Upon entering, the aromatic fragrance of sizzling food greeted the audience. The sisters offered drinks alongside fried cassava cakes topped with a rich sauce made from vegetables and peanuts. Immediately, the room became more intimate as a warm, welcoming ambience flooded the room.
After Mulowayi turned off the stove, the mood changed suddenly as the room drew to a soft hush. Sounds of a waterfall echoed in the background as Mulowayi Nonó entered, carrying a potted plant. Mapenzi, standing to the side, uttered, “espacio para la planta” (space for the plant), telling audience members to move aside and let Mulowayi through. The waterfall served as a symbol of home and of Puerto Ricans’ sense of ownership of their natural homeland.
Weaving quickly through the crowd, Mulowayi entered dressed in bright linens aflutter and a mask on her face. At that moment, Mulowayi's graceful movement dispersed the grid of previously neatly-seated audience, demonstrating the displacement of Puerto Ricans after the devastation left behind by Hurricane Maria.
Mulowayi highlighted the pain caused by natural disasters midway through the performance by pulling on a sheet and huddling herself in the corner of the room, in stark contrast with the confidence displayed earlier in her walk. In describing their performance, the sisters emphasized Puerto Ricans’ cultural displacement in the aftermath of the hurricane. The mask Mulowayi donned was made of coconut shell, a reuse of existing materials which represents the community’s resourcefulness in a trying time.
Following the performance, the sisters presented videos of individuals affected by the insufficient relief provided by the U.S., showcasing the political implications of food and resource scarcity. For months, the sisters explained, Puerto Ricans lived merely on military food, and even potatoes were precious commodities. As Mapenzi describes the push for “la cultura sostenible” (sustainable culture), the words take on a new meaning as viewers learned how a modified way of living could not only use resources to a fuller extent but also bring people closer together. In describing iguanas in Puerto Rican culture, for example, Las Nietas de Nonó shed fresh light on how a modern culinary adaptation impacted local culture: these recipes were developed to incorporate the reptile’s body into food and its skin into art. In the words of Mapenzi herself, “food is always a reflection of what happens in Puerto Rico politically, socially [and] economically.” The performance shows exactly that, giving voice to a struggle with sustenance.
As the session drew to a close, Las Nietas discussed their future aspirations, engaging in a direct conversation with the audiences. Their interactive, multimedia performance is an ongoing project that continues to be adapted and developed as it is performed. It will come to completion in a few months as the sisters work on building their story to spark appreciation of, contributions to and support for marginalized culture. The project will culminate in a final performance in Puerto Rico this summer.
(02/20/20 11:00am)
In “And Then We Danced,” the Hirschfield Series’ latest politically-charged love story, Swedish director Levan Akin tells the story of a dancer navigating a career-defining audition and his struggles with his own sexuality.
Set in Tbilisi, Georgia, “And Then We Danced” interweaves poverty, art and love. Played by Levan Gelbakhiani, the main character Merab’s affection for Irakli (Bachi Valishvili), a new member of the dance troupe, serves as motivation for him to persist in his dance auditions despite heavy stigmatization of homosexuality in Georgia. From the start, Akin emphasizes heterosexual norms as dancers are heard gossiping about Zaza, an unseen character who is sent off to a monastery due to his homosexuality. Linking tradition and sexuality through the community of dance, the film highlights the internal, and often overlooked, discrimination in the industry.
Akin pushes for emotional honesty and aptly achieves it with poignant reflection. Through Gelbakhiani’s intimate performance, it’s easy to throw yourself into the turbulence of Merab’s world.
Merab’s love for dance is apparent as he jumps and spins, catching his breath every few seconds as the class watches on. The dance studio, old and worn with a patchy floor and mirrors taped together, reminds the audience of the characters’ impoverished state. Merab dances both for pleasure and out of financial and familial necessity.
Merab continues to be criticized for his dancing as the film progresses, with the dance director emphasizing traditional masculinity through the technical intensity and rigidity of Georgian dance. This added pressure magnifies the competition between Merab and Irakli as the latter is praised in the studio as an impressive and talented dancer. Merab’s self-confidence teeters as he simultaneously meanders through poverty amidst dinners of restaurant leftovers by candlelight after his serving shift. Dance acts as a way for the youth in the film to dream of living lives beyond their struggles.
Dance partners Mary (Ana Javakishvili) and Merab frequently discuss their aspirations on the steps of the studio. The film isn’t nearly as dreary as it could be in a commendable effort in raising heavy topics — from lusting after luxury cigarettes to lusting after Irakli, these details serve as lighthearted reminders of young adulthood. Moments of emotional and social tumult are even more pronounced in comparison. Gelbakhiani shows us the isolation and difficulties Merab faces in the studio as he grapples with his feelings of insecurity and love for Irakli through a personal, boyish portrayal.
Following reflection upon reflection, “And Then We Danced” presents a thought-provoking take on the bildungsroman. Akin holds back when portraying the dilemmas point-blank. The film puts a filter on fully confrontational drama as characters dance around the ostracism, and mellows down on its manifestations. While gossip circulates and characters are jeered — and are even thrust into fights — the film touches on the realities of discrimination in a way that keeps the dream of art and acceptance still intact. This decision works in the film’s advantage as Merab, learning to be himself, grows from the physical pain of dance and the pain of losing Irakli to reality as he decides to become engaged to a woman. The film in its final scenes questions the constraints gender norms impose, ultimately presenting us with a new question: when we are diminished to insignificance, where does our significance lie?
The answer is in the title. A precipitous dance comes full circle as Merab defies expectations of tradition: he frenetically spins, giving a dazzling performance on the dance floor and creating a dialogue of his own. Gesturing to the unknown, the film suspends us in the moment. We hang off of his breath; Merab pirouettes with confidence a final time, eyes gazing up.
(11/21/19 11:02am)
To top off an incredible carnival filled with food and games from across the globe, the International Students’ Organization (ISO) organized a showcase packed with performances highlighting the vibrancy of cultural diversity.
The week’s festivities were all part of the ISO Carnival, a celebration of student diversity and the melting pot of culture on campus. The carnival was sponsored by a host of cultural student organizations, including Project Pengyou, South Asian Student Association (SASA) and Korean American Student Association (KASA). Throughout the week, students partook in activities ranging from experimenting with Chinese calligraphy to visiting the KASA x ISO market, which served Korean delicacies. Culminating in the showcase on Saturday, Nov. 16, students joined together to cultivate a wonderfully diverse range of culturally invigorating performances.
The show opened with a quirky narrative voiced by Warrd Nour ’23, Arthur Araripe ’22.5 and Nhi Do ’22, who zipped through a time machine, traversing the globe in confusion as they were faced with performance after performance from different destinations. The narration — or, “flimsy plot,” as Arthur quipped, to the audience’s enjoyment — playfully investigated the diversity of culture as we seek to fit ourselves in a puzzle of interwoven identities.
In the wide variety of performances, each drew the audience in further. Beginning the showcase with an interpretation by Vietnamese Student Association (VSA) of traditional Vietnamese dance, students circled the stage as they gracefully waved fluttery, bright fans, coming together in a gentle take on youth. The theme of community came together especially well throughout the showcase — most performances were group dances that celebrated and amplified the ambience of any given identity onstage.
Large dance numbers definitely amped up the mood. UMOJA, Middlebury’s African Student Organization, livened up the stage wonderfully as bright, bouncy music worked in sync with students who came together in an energetically choreographed group dance. The energy paralleled that of the Pakistan dance, Midd Masti’s Bollywood and Kollywood dance, or the Hopak, where cultural vitality was truly amplified in the music, colors and large community spirit. South East Asian Society’s (SEAS) TraditionalxHipHop dance was similar in some respects as well, where the group melded together traditional dances with more modern sequences, much like Soran Bushi did. The similarities and discernible differences between all performances joined the audience and dancers together cohesively, unifying all.
The show fluctuated between lively dances, beautiful solos and slow pieces. Transporting students to Europe and Asia, the audience heard a passionate interpretation of Chopin’s Nocturne No. 1 by Scott Li ’23 before cheering on the KASA in “KASA GoGo!” where a take on BTS’ song worked to hype up the crowd. Hopping from one nation to another, following the performance was Kexin Tang ’22 performing on the Guzheng, a traditional Chinese folk instrument. With a piece highlighting the technical complexity and beauty of its music, Tang brought forth an immersive experience as audiences were plunged into her impressive rendition.
Among the countless expressive pieces throughout the program, the crowd was especially moved by Muévete Jevi as their program brought to us the Bachata and Reggae dances, sensual and energetic pieces that made sure to shift the atmosphere with cool lighting effects and passionate music. “BSU Steps Up” provided a similar energy in atmospheric group dance, where students created impressive rhythm themselves, clapping and stomping as the mood amplified, all the while interspersing their sequences with comedic narration through a drill sergeant.
This weekend, ISO truly worked to unify all students across different backgrounds and the efforts definitely paid off — not only was the show stunning, but all performances and collaborations also provided everyone with a holistic perspective of culture around the world. Be it alone or together, through dance or through song, we’re here to discover more of this unraveling global story. As per the words of Nour in the final moments to close the show, “Whoosh!” And we’re off again.