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HIRING FOR SPRING AND SUMMER EDIT & BUSINESS DEPARTMENTS jobs.tmd@gmail.com 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