The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
the b-side
Thursday, January 19, 2017 — 5B
President-elect
Donald
Trump’s unique penchant for
tweeting — and his distinct,
brash style on that platform
— has proven to be ripe for
parody. But unlike that of
Alec Baldwin on “Saturday
Night Live,” which requires
excellent acting in real time,
plus all the production that
accompanies
it,
Trumpian
parodies
on
Twitter
are
essentially
democratic;
they
only
require
an
internet connection and a
working knowledge of pithy
exclamations.
During
and
after
the
election,
when
it
seemed
Trump’s
tweets
alone
gained
as
much
media
attention as all his opponents
combined, Trump parodies
and
complements
became
something
of
a
cottage
industry.
Not all parody accounts,
though, are created equal.
Many that have spread virally
are steeped in pop culture,
and film in particular.
For
Jimmy
Lynch,
a
32-year-old
cycle
courier
from London, Trump’s tweet
this past December attacking
the magazine Vanity Fair
after it negatively reviewed a
restaurant in one of his towers
spawned the creation of @
Trump_Is_Hip. The account
has over 5,000 followers and
has provided Trump-esque
criticism of various facets of
pop culture.
“I think parody accounts
help people laugh at the
absurdity and hypocrisy of
politics,” wrote Lynch in a
private message on Twitter.
The most popular tweet to
date from @Trump_Is_Hip
was posted on January 4:
“People say the movie E.T. is
a classic but he entered the
country
ILLEGALLY
and
also wore a child’s dress! Not
good!”
Lynch uses his Twitter
account to project an image of
an “uncultured” Trump. He
revealed, “I thought tweeting
about pop culture as Trump
would be funny because he’s
soon to be president, he’s mad
as fuck, and I thought it would
be funny if all he did was
tweet about films and books
and bands, mostly because
I don’t imagine he has any
interest in that stuff.”
Twitter parodies serve as a
potentially powerful form of
modern political discourse.
The details of politicians’
personal lives used to be
concealed behind front-facing
policies. Now, they’re not
only widely discussed, but
often used by voters to make
their choices as well. Lynch
embraces the role his account
may play.
“Copying
Trump’s
style
of tweeting means that it is
hard for people to tell which
account is actually him when
they’re
scanning
through
their timeline,” Lynch wrote.
That
conflation
of
parody and truth — and its
accompanying power — is
troubling
for
Tom
Hunt,
a
25-year-old
aspiring
lawyer
who
created
Emperor
Trumpatine
(@
RealTrumpatine)
with
his
friend, Daniel Bogre Udell,
also
25,
and
director
at
Wikitongues, which serves
as
a
platform
for
global
languages.
The
account
depicts the arch-villain in
the “Star Wars” anthology,
Emperor
Palpatine,
as
a
Trump-like figure. One was
visiting the other during the
primary season last spring
when they began recognizing
similarities
between
the
candidate and the character.
“I
don’t
think
parody
accounts should play any role
in shaping anyone’s politics,”
Hunt wrote in a private
message over Twitter. “The
parody account is just that
— parody — and anyone who
uses it to inform themselves
of actual news I think is doing
themselves and the country a
disservice.”
Bogre Udell disagrees. The
type of parody the two create
“can play a role in political
discourse — in pointing out
hypocrisies, highlighting the
absurd, and speaking truth
to power,” he wrote. “As the
saying
goes,
‘good
satire
punches up.’”
For Hunt, his parody is less
political than his peers.
“Some people might read
into it that we’re trying to
deliver
some
subliminal
message that Trump is going
to be an emperor or dictator,”
he wrote. “That’s not how I
see it at all.”
Hunt
and
Bogre
Udell
believe
that
mimicking
Trump’s defining brash tone
is key. According to Hunt,
Trump’s
“brashness
and
constant need to respond to
critics add to the absurdity
and humor of this evil Star
Wars villain acting similarly
brash and ‘sensitive’ if you
will.”
The duo is particularly
adept at copying that style.
When
Trump
started
to
appropriate the term “fake
news” (see his January 12
tweet: “.@CNN is in a total
meltdown with their FAKE
NEWS because their ratings
are tanking since election and
their credibility will soon be
gone!”), their account tweeted
later that day: “Jedi Council is
in total meltdown with their
FAKE PROPHECIES because
their
powers
are
tanking
(clouded)&their
credibility
will soon be gone!”
The mass appeal of the
“Star Wars” franchise, Hunt
and Bogre Udell wrote, is what
makes their form of parody
so popular. Its followership
is bipartisan and its world-
construction is “sprawling,”
allowing an endless supply
of material so long as Trump
keeps being Trump.
Ironically,
one
of
the
most popular of the Trump
parody
accounts
is
@
ArtHouseTrump, with over
24,000 followers, in which
Donald Trump participates in
rather niche film discussion.
The account is run by David
Johnston, who after starting
in March has since ceased
tweeting. @ArtHouseTrump,
which didn’t respond to a
request
for
an
interview,
gained traction during the
2016 Toronto International
Film Festival last September.
It’s
unambiguously
entertaining for film fans,
perhaps because of a jarring
juxtaposition
between
the
populist brand that Trump
exuded during the campaign
and the elite circles that
typically enjoy the films in
question. In fact, when other
similar parodies began to
appear, modeled on other
candidates
like
Jill
Stein
and Hillary Clinton, they
didn’t have the same bite or
familiarity. In other words,
Ted Cruz’s Twitter cadence
isn’t particularly distinctive;
Trump’s is.
Take,
for
instance,
a
criticism of the Democratic
Party’s donkey logo rooted
in a reference to Robert
Bresson’s 1966 French drama
“Au
Hasard
Balthazar:”
“What does it say about the
Democratic Party that they
would steal Balthazar for
their main symbol? I don’t
know, folks! But it’s not right!”
Like
the
“Star
Wars”
account,
@ArtHouseTrump
is particularly at successful
at translating Trump’s own
talking points into thematic
tweets. For instance, Trump’s
criticism of coastal media
elites is transformed into
disdain
for
high-minded
critics who are disconnected
from the common filmgoer.
The parody Trump even
replicates
its
namesake’s
tendency to respond over
Twitter to criticism. When
actress
Jessica
Chastain
tweeted
negatively
about
Trump’s tax policy history, in
which
the
then-Republican
candidate for president said
in a debate that he was smart
to
avoid
paying
taxes,
@
ArtHouseTrump
responded
by tweeting, “To be fair, you
owe the American people for
Interstellar!”
These
three
parody
accounts are engaged in a sort
of blurring of popular fiction
and populist free thought.
By
juxtaposing
Trumpian
rhetoric with a niche topic
like
film,
the
parodies
equalize the president-elect
with more familiar faces: the
critical co-worker, the space
opera super villain or that one
annoying guy in your friend
circle. Sad!
DANIEL HENSEL
Daily Film Editor
Not all parody
accounts, though,
are created equal
Trump parody accounts
link politics & Hollywood
Arthouse accounts use classical film as a way to target Trumpisms
FACEBOOK
President-elect Donald Trump
Last year was one
of romantic chaos for Keh-
lani — the singer-songwriter
found herself in the middle
of a love triangle with ris-
ing R&B stud
PARTYNEXT-
DOOR
and
NBA star Kyrie
Irving, with the
media-hyped
aftermath
reportedly
pushing her to
the brink of sui-
cide — but 2017’s Kehlani is
an artist chomping at the bit
to separate this past with her
career. So far she’s worked
quite successfully toward
a
musical
vindication.
Released Jan. 13,
“Do U Dirty,” essentially an
emotionally-turbulent kick-
back, is extremely promising
in light of her Jan. 27 album
SweetSexySavage. It makes
its stake not in creativity
but consisten-
cy,
utilizing
straightfor-
ward
synth
and
snare.
OVO-esque
sound is fitting
considering
her PartyNext-
Door ties; the
ambience of the harmonic
background vocals comple-
ment her persona. “Sign
the deal and then they cut
the check / And ever since,
my color’s showing,” she
claims. “Change the scene,
the things are better now
/ And you know the wave
is never slowing, the wave
is never slowing,” as her
explosiveness is surrounded
by an echoing hook, revolv-
ing around Kehlani and only
Kehlani,
further
provid-
ing a spotlight to punch as
much as she feels necessary.
At times it sounds
like Keyshia Cole 2.0, which
isn’t at all a bad thing. Sim-
ple yet nuanced, Kehlani
delivers further justifica-
tion of her somewhat low
key foray into an infrequent-
ly penetrated gold mine of
sound. Few have succeeded
in establishing a Drake-like
sound; this comes close.
— JOEY SCHUMAN
SINGLE REVIEW
“Do You Dirty”
Kehlani
Atlantic Records
ATLANTIC RECORDS
The secret happiness in
the unhappy ending
COMMUNITY CULTURE NOTEBOOK
Writer Eli Rallo talks about the satisfaction and contentment she finds
in unhappy endings, savoring their authenticity and appeal to reality
There is so much to be
said about the happy ending.
The
attentive
reader,
the
seasoned moviegoer, the overly
optimistic Netflix aficionado —
they all crave the happy ending.
It’s Dorothy finding home at
the end of “The Wizard of Oz,”
it’s Ferris Bueller somehow
making it back from Chicago
unscathed in “Ferris Bueller’s
Day Off.” It is a monster that
looms under our bed, that
happy ending; it often feels
forced or expected, however,
we ignore these notions and
accept it. The protagonist ends
up with the love of their life,
they get the job, they beat the
odds, they save the day and
they are the hero. We watch
an entire movie, read a book,
obsess over an entire series
of television just to know the
ending. And secretly the entire
time, deep down, we silently
beg for that ending to be happy.
We as the audience are so
incredibly
attached
to
the
happy ending. I’ve thought
about the happy ending a
lot.
Unfortunately,
because
I
overanalyze
every
book,
movie and TV show I come
in contact with, I’m prone
to questioning the ending. I
like happy endings. They are
pleasant, they make us feel
satisfied. I always want the
main character to succeed,
and I am happy that Blair and
Chuck end up together, or
that Regina George can live in
harmony with the rest of the
high school world, but I wonder
if this is how it would really
be. I imagine every Nicholas
Sparks couple springing to life,
and I cannot fathom that they’d
all end up together. That every
couple would be happily eating
dinner on a sailboat, or getting
married in a barn surrounded
by a field of wildflowers. I’m
sure sometimes it would work
out that way, but realistically,
life doesn’t always work out as
such.
We’re attached to the happy
ending because it brings us
hope. It shows us that in our
fictional worlds, the ones we
use to terminate the fears and
stress that come up in our
realities, things turn out all
right. It gives us a tiny grain of
something to hold on to, that in
our lives if things aren’t going
how we planned, somewhere
far, far away (like Monica’s
apartment
in
“Friends”
or
Elsa’s
castle
in
“Frozen”),
everything turned out just fine.
I
find
myself
rejecting
that artificial or unrealistic
happy ending, so I also think
about the unhappy ending. In
famous literature, well-known
movies and popular TV shows
we’ve all seen the successful
execution
of
the
unhappy
ending — the no resolve, the
vague cliffhanger, the lonely
protagonist.
Something
not
our
typical
cathartic
and
beautiful, but that redefines a
beautiful resolve. Something
that drags us out of our
fictional worlds and forces
us to think. Something that
asks the constantly reiterating
question: Why did the author
or director do this to us?
Society
often
complains
about that “unhappy ending,”
and yet, audiences still return
to it over and over again.
“The
Fault
in
Our
Stars”
is so successful because it
mirrors real life. Sure, it’s
heartbreaking, and I sat in a
comfortable
movie
theatre
chair
sobbing
over
John
Green’s decision to end his
characters’ stories the way
he did. But there’s a catch to
the whole thing. I went back
and saw it again because it’s
real, honest and painful, but it
bleeds truth.
Jojo Meyer’s “Me Before
You” is another example of
the unhappy ending. After I
finished the book, I still went
to the movie theatre to see the
film. It shocked me that Meyer
would end her enticing story
the way that she did, and I was
drawn to it. Part of me wished
that she would have ended
the story with an intricately
described wedding, something
stunning that I could picture
perfectly
in
my
romantic
head. But relationships in life
don’t always end with a lovely
wedding, so there’s not a reason
for every romantic novel to end
that way either. All that does
for an audience is constantly
provide unexpected realities.
There
are
many
more
unhappy endings. “My Sister’s
Keeper,” “Marley and Me,”
“1984,” “One Flew Over the
Cuckoo’s
Nest,”
“Titanic,”
“Saving Private Ryan” and
the list goes on. We return
to these movies, we return
to these books, despite their
unhappy
endings,
because
they are wonderful. They are
magnificent and they are real
and they provoke us to think
about reality through the lense
of fiction. However tough or
scary they may be, they give us
something to hold on to when
we feel like there is nothing
else. This is what the story aims
to do. Not to provide the world
with the idea that everything
always goes our way, but to
be there for us once we’ve
accepted that not everything
can go our way, just as it
didn’t for many of our beloved
characters.
These
difficult
endings
are
so
tragically
alluring that we return to it in a
myriad of mediums, constantly
in our everyday lives.
There’s something to be said
about all endings. They’re put
in place because our favorite
books and movies and TV
shows unfortunately don’t last
forever. The unhappy ending
knocks
the
reader
or
the
audience unconscious from its
element of surprise. It puts the
world in prospective. It speaks
truth and honesty, it proves
that things go wrong in the
world all the time — every day,
in fact. It’s our job as humans
to take a deep breath, just as
many of our fictional heroes
had to, and carry on. I’d like to
stand by the unhappy ending. It
gives us a blissful piece of truth
to hang on to. It proves that not
everything can go our way. It
shows a reality about the world
that is often shadowed by the
happy endings that we have
become so reliant on. It boils
down to a simple dichotomy:
the person who turns to fiction
to escape versus the person who
turns to fiction for catharsis. I
don’t turn to fiction to escape
to another place, I turn to
fiction to help me make sense
of the world I’m in. And that
to me is the happiest ending of
them all.
ELI RALLO
For the Daily
We watch an
entire movie, read
a book, obsess
over an entire
series of television
just to know the
ending
FILM NOTEBOOK