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6A — Monday, March 21, 2016
Arts
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
S
omewhere in a closet
in suburban Chicago,
there’s a hole-punched
dossier containing 13 years of
my private history. Growing
up, at the
beginning of
every school
year I had
the privilege
of filling out
the “about
me” book
my mom so
presciently
put together
for my future
perusal.
The book
documented what sports I pre-
tended to like that year, what
milestones I reached — what
kind of little person I was
becoming. If you were to flip
through the book, you’d see
13 sets of the same questions
scribbled on the record: Who
are your best friends? What
music do you like? Who do you
want to be when you grow up?
The last one, especially, had
some embarrassing answers.
In fourth grade, I thought “ice
cream taste tester” would be a
hilarious thing to put down. At
age nine I wanted to be a “pop-
star,” a job that I think I’d excel
at to this day. In kindergarten,
I wrote that I wanted to be the
first female President.
I knew who Hillary Clinton
was at that point, because it
was 1999 and she was all over
the news. She was the news.
Five-year-old Chloe knew that
Hillary was the President’s
wife, which was really cool,
because she got to live in the
White House and visit schools
and wear pretty dresses. Hill-
ary was also beginning a politi-
cal career of her own, which
I was vaguely aware of and
found even more impressive
than the dollhouse life she
was leading in the wake of her
husband’s fame. Hillary was
the coolest person I’d heard of
aside from my mom and Brit-
ney Spears, and I wanted to be
just like her.
Somewhere, unwritten in the
pages of my “about me” book,
Hillary became uncool. As an
ambitious woman, I’d always
admired her career and sympa-
thized with her stances, but as
we both got older I gravitated
toward supporting other politi-
cal figures. In 2008 and 2012
I appreciated the inspiration
Barack Obama brought to every
TV debate, my state senator
galvanizing the masses with
unabashed calls for reform. A
year or so ago I decided Bernie
Sanders’s focus on environ-
mental issues was imperative
enough to get me to ignore
other voices. Clinton spoke
with solidity and experience,
but I was secretly all about the
flash and coolness factor Ber-
nie always brought. What can I
say? I was a weirdo millennial
girl, and I liked my presidents
how I like my popstars: punch-
ing with panache, the coolest
people I’ve heard of aside from
my mom and Alex Turner from
the Arctic Monkeys.
Today, I pride myself on
pragmatism and informed deci-
sions. I may have flip-flopped
on my preferences since last
year, but my own political
beliefs aren’t the point. I am
a TV columnist, and I’m not
here to convince you to support
one Democratic candidate over
another. This column is usu-
ally a space for me to show my
readers what’s cool on TV and
point them toward interest-
ing discussions. Do you know
who was really cool on TV
last week, to my surprise and
delight? Hillary Clinton.
Clinton’s public persona is
built on steadiness and solid-
ity. She is a Serious Candidate,
the one many Republican vot-
ers are afraid of, all power
suits and codified plans. But
she’s also a little too solid and
steady, according to her detrac-
tors, some of whom hold a
candidate’s coolness in highest
esteem. Can you picture Clin-
ton smoking a joint, letting her
hair get frizzy in the summer
heat or letting out a cathartic
yas kween? Is she passionate,
does she yell at the podium
and throw her hands around
like she owns the air in the
debate room? No. She stands
tall, speaks her mind, delivers
her message without adorn-
ment or coolness. When she
does attempt youthful flair, as
she did with her timely “may
the force be with you” closing
statement in the Dec. 19 debate,
she is mocked for trying too
hard to be down with the
young people. Trying too hard
isn’t cool.
When I first heard that Hill-
ary Clinton would be guest
starring on “Broad City,” I
figured this move might be
a genius fix to her perceived
dearth of coolness. In 2014,
“Broad City” debuted on Com-
edy Central to the highest rat-
ings the network had ever seen
with viewers aged 18-34. The
show is still among the most
relevant and beloved series on
the air among people my age;
nearly all my friends are fans of
the show.
Prior to the Clinton episode
of “Broad City” airing, star and
co-creator Abbi Jacobson said
at SXSW that the politician’s
appearance was “not trying
to make a statement.” “Broad
City” is a TV sitcom, and it’s
not here to convince you to
support one Democratic can-
didate over another. But even
if the statement the show is
making isn’t overtly political,
there’s still a statement to be
made. Hillary Clinton is cool.
Clinton’s name doesn’t make
an appearance in that “Broad
City” episode until the last
eight minutes of the episode,
but as soon as her name is
uttered, the episode shoots
off into total nutso territory.
When Ilana finds out she’s not
just delivering a package to
an office building, but Hillary
Clinton’s campaign offices and
that she could work here, Ilana
loses her shit. The conveniently
placed eagle poster behind
her soars, a heavenly chorus
sings and Ilana salutes the desk
receptionist as her hair blows
back.
Hillary Clinton is momen-
tous, the very picture of Ameri-
can patriotism. She wins the
admiration of Ilana, another
ambitious child of the ’90s
who grew up hearing Hillary’s
name and thinking of female
American badassery and honor.
The camera cuts away from the
close-up, the music cuts out
and it turns out some interns
are just moving the poster past
Ilana’s head — but the state-
ment has already been made.
Ilana freaks out to the secre-
tary with her signature weird
diction: “Ilana Wexler and
Hillary Clinton? Two powerful
whemen wherking as whon?!”
Even if this whole episode
has a surreal, dreamlike feel
and there’s no possibility of
Ilana and Hillary ruling the
world together, the show draws
a parallel between our favorite
weed kween and the dignified
woman campaigning to lead
our country. Two powerful,
cool women working as one.
In a later scene, Ilana and
her new campaign co-workers
list off all the demographics
Clinton appeals to and her
policies would benefit: a vote
for Hillary is “a vote for the
working class,” and she is the
candidate who best represents
people of color and LGBTQ
voters. So obvious in its politi-
cal stance, there’s no way this
scene isn’t meant to be another
moment of serendipitous sur-
realism. After all, this is the
same episode where Abbi farts
during a chiropractor visit and
he kisses her on the forehead
like a kind grandpa. Hillary is
cool with being the butt of a
joke or two, especially in her
brief cameo scene at the end of
the episode.
When Clinton finally
appears, she walks out in slow
motion, staring at the camera
like a boss lady who doesn’t
give a fuck about a male gaze.
Abbi and Ilana shake their
heads with mouths agape. Stop
what you’re doing, it’s Hill-
ary Clinton! Clinton winks,
and there’s a ripple across the
screen and some sparks go
off behind her ear. Ilana can’t
do anything aside from yell
“YASSS.”
Of course, Clinton’s main
TV experience is standing on a
stage with cameras trained on
her, keeping a rehearsed smile
and planning everything she is
going to say — it’s not surpris-
ing that her comedic perfor-
mance is a little awkward. But
“Broad City” downplays that
by grounding her appearance
in the kind of weirdness that
viewers have come to expect
from “Broad City,” the cool
surrealism that draws young
viewers like myself and my
friends to this show like moths
to a flame.
Hillary Clinton is no
stranger to using celebrity to
spotlight her campaign. There
are countless photos, most of
them heavily documented on
my Twitter account, featur-
ing Clinton standing with TV
actresses like Anna Gunn and
Padma Lakshmi and popstars
like Britney Spears. But per-
haps the coolest move of all is
guest starring on a show that
would put her face on every
young person’s laptop screen
and remind them that she’s not
just a powerful whoman and a
role model — Clinton can have
fun and be weird.
Gilke is currently employed
as an ice cream taste tester. To
apply for an internship with her,
e-mail chloeliz@umich.edu.
TV COLUMN
‘Broad City’ reminds
us Clinton is cool
CHLOE
GILKE
LÉON is the electro-
soul singer you need
By CATHERINE BAKER
Daily Arts Writer
As Spring Break depressingly
came to a close, I realized that my
cheerful and upbeat playlists just
weren’t doing it for me anymore.
With the return to school and the
unhealthy number of essays I had
looming over my head, I went on
the hunt for a more appropriate
sound. This long and winding road
led me straight to LÉON.
Self-proclaimed as “indie-pop/
soul/whatever,” LÉON was born
and raised in Stockholm. Born into
an extremely musical family, her
mother is a symphony cellist and
her father is a conductor/compos-
er. While music has always been a
large part of LÉON’s life, her debut
EP, Treasure, wasn’t released until
recently, on Dec. 3, 2015. The most
popular song, “Tired of Talking,”
received widespread success and
currently sits with just under 16
million streams on Spotify.
The opening track, aptly named
“Treasure,” starts us off with
a dense drumbeat and sensual,
heavy breathing before introduc-
ing LÉON’s vocals. It combines
electronica elements like sound-
boards and artificial background
vocals with LÉON’s original, uned-
ited voice. With unusual sounds of
chains and clicks, she speaks of
lost love and defeat, singing, “All
of the times that you fucked my
head / Go and do it with another
instead.” It’s a strong start to the
EP and begins a story that LÉON
continues throughout the piece.
“Tired of Talking” begins slow-
ly, showcasing LÉON’s vocals with
background snaps and electric gui-
tar riffs. One of my favorite musi-
cal elements of the EP comes right
after the chorus, when the sweet
whistling moves to the forefront.
It’s simple and used sparingly, but
adds just the right amount of senti-
ment to an otherwise quick-witted
song. LÉON sings, “I’ve been noth-
ing but good to you / Your howling
into the night won’t do,” focusing
on moving on from a past love and
rebuilding again.
Bringing in a more electronic
vibe, “Nobody Cares” deals with
mistakes and running away. In
the most cynical song on the EP,
LÉON brings her narrative of
being wronged full circle when
she sings, “Nobody cares about us
/ Guess you can know that I still
do.” With more echoes and fewer
traditional instruments, the bridge
sounds subdued and muted, like
the listener is getting into LÉON’s
mind.
“LÉON’s Lullaby,” my personal
favorite track, slows things down
and shows off LÉON’s vocal range.
It’s simple and mature, with just
her electric guitar and soothing
vocals. She sings, “My friend / Take
me to a place I know that I have
never been before / My love / You
take me to the place I’ve only heard
of.” The song is a longing, power-
ful and deeply personal account of
asking someone to stay. While the
chorus is bluesy and soulful, laced
with desperation, the bridge plays
with distorted and darker instru-
ments to create an ethereal piano
and circus-like sound. It’s a poi-
gnant and elusive way to end the
EP, leaving the listener with the
feeling that something is not quite
right and not quite finished.
LÉON may be most well-known
for “Tired of Talking,” but Trea-
sure has some hidden gems just
waiting to be discovered. With a
consistent storyline and experi-
mental techniques, LÉON’s EP is
just the beginning of her journey.
FILM REVIEW
Righteous anger, loss
fills ‘No Más Bebés’
By HAILEY MIDDLEBROOK
Daily Arts Writer
Imagine you’re in a hospital,
about to deliver a baby. You’re in
labor — the pain is excruciating.
You’ve
been
told that you
need a cesar-
ean section, so
you’re
pushed
into the sterile
hallway on a
gurney, a team
of masked med-
ical
residents
rushing around
you.
One
of
them
holds
a piece of paper in one hand, a
syringe in the other.
He offers you the shot: it’ll take
away the pain. Before he injects
the numbing medicine, however,
he pushes his paper under your
shaking hand, demanding that
you sign the consent form first.
You can’t read the paper; it’s
written in a foreign language and
your eyes are blurred from labor
anyway. You sign on the line; the
pain lessens.
Then you’re wheeled into the
room where you’ll unknowingly
deliver your final child.
Such was the harrowing expe-
rience of hundreds of poor, pre-
dominantly Mexican-American
mothers at the Los Angeles Coun-
ty Hospital in the 1970s. “No Más
Bebés” (or “No More Babies”), a
documentary released last June
and shown at the 2016 Ann Arbor
Film Festival this month, tells the
story of 10 women whose fallopi-
an tubes were cut without their
consent after giving birth in L.A.
The film follows the 1975 lawsuit,
Madrigal v. Quilligan, in which
the women sued L.A. doctors for
forced sterilization — a landmark
case in reproductive rights for all
women, regardless of race or eth-
nicity.
“No Más Bebés” begins where,
for too many women, their story
ended: in the maternity ward of
the now-abandoned L.A. hospi-
tal. Maria Hurtado, one of the
original plaintiffs, surveys the
room quietly and says, “I’m not
one to show a lot of sweetness or
tenderness. Or pain … but inside I
feel pain, remembering.”
Remembering what happened
in the ’70s — and accepting it —
was one of the most difficult chal-
lenges for the women in “No Más
Bebés.” When Oscar-nominated
director
Renee
Tajima-Peña
(“Who Killed Vincent Chin?”)
started what would become a
six-year project, she had only a
handful of aged court documents
to locate the women — and even
if she found them, many didn’t
want to revisit such painful
memories in an interview.
Some
women,
including
Hurtado and four fellow plain-
tiffs in the case, did tell what
happened in the hospital, the
courtroom and amid the after-
math of the court ruling. Each
shared a similar story: they
were poor, young (in their early
20s and 30s), married Latinas
who had dreams of raising large
families. In their culture, they
explained, a woman’s role was to
be a mother; if she couldn’t repro-
duce and raise children, she was
“no longer a woman.”
As one woman heartbreak-
ingly said after her sterilization,
“Now, my song is finished.”
Sadly, many women didn’t
know they’d been sterilized until
Antonia Hernandez, their law-
yer, showed them confidential
hospital records of the steriliza-
tions, which she gathered from a
brave medical resident who had
carefully documented the acts.
Realizing their condition, many
of the women bore the knowl-
edge of their sterility alone, fear-
ing their husbands would leave
them or they’d be shamed by
their communities.
A question undercuts the film:
why did it happen? Racism, elit-
ism and sexism all played a role
in the horrific acts. In the ’70s,
fear of overpopulation was ram-
pant in the U.S. — Paul Ehrlich’s
“The Population Bomb,” which
forecasted the end of humanity
due to overcrowding, was a 1968
bestseller — and the government
began funding hospitals to con-
trol population growth.
America’s
prime
targets
for population control? Poor,
non-native or illiterate moth-
ers. Women who couldn’t read
or understand what they were
agreeing to: one woman, hear-
ing the word “sterilize,” thought
the doctors were simply cleaning
her reproductive system. Women
who had babies already, who
were told, “Don’t cry, it’s best for
you not to have any more chil-
dren.”
Tajima-Peña
told
the
Los
Angeles Times that she only
makes films when something
makes her mad. “I thought that
these mothers had a right to be
heard,” she said in her interview.
“No Más Bebés” represents the
mothers beautifully, giving their
voices center stage; there’s no
narrating voiceover. Rather than
clever recreations, the story is
shot in present time, in the moth-
ers’ kitchens and living rooms.
Each scene echoes with some-
thing lost — an empty space
where a child should be, a sad
smile — but it reverberates
with something else: the sheer
strength of the women who won’t
be silenced, not in the 1970s and
not today.
COLUMBIA
That accent aigu is totally annoying, right?
MUSIC NOTEBOOK
A
No Más
Bebés
Directed by Renee
Tajima-Peña
Ann Arbor
Film Festival