to an ever-growing, ever-
diversifying platform of the
future.
Elaine was the second Black
editor-in-chief
in publishing
giant Condé Nast’s history, and
was their youngest editor-in-
chief yet, at a mere 30 years
(she’s now 31 — happy belated,
boo!). As a white woman, I know
I will never fully comprehend
the
impact
of
selecting
a
woman of color to a position
of power, but I do know that
Elaine understood better than
anyone before her — and likely,
most after her — that diversity
is
crucial
to
any
credible
publication,
especially
one
geared toward impressionable
young people, many of whom
want to learn about worlds
outside of their own. She opened
the doors for new conversations
in the public sphere. Lauren
Duca’s
fearless
political
commentary provided us with
a new lens from which to view
our country. The Teen Vogue
YouTube
channel
reminded
us of some tragic truths, like
the origins of Thanksgiving.
The website’s Wellness section
offered more comprehensive
sexual education than most
schools nationwide.
First Teen Vogue cut print.
Now, Elaine is leaving (she
recently
signed
with
the
Creative
Artists
Agency).
Everyone is thinking it: This
feels like the beginning of an
untimely end.
According to Women’s Wear
Daily, Condé Nast does not plan
on replacing Elaine. It makes
sense enough, given that her
primary role involved editing
the magazine’s now-obsolete
print issues. And then again,
nobody could replace Elaine
Welteroth.
But we can continue where
she left off.
Margot Robbie shines in
unusual biopic ‘I, Tonya’
Tonya
Harding
is
remembered less for her brief
but influential time in the figure
skating world than for her
involvement in the infamous
attack against fellow skater
Nancy Kerrigan. But newly
released
biopic
“I,
Tonya”
seeks to reclaim her narrative
by telling Harding’s (Margot
Robbie, “Suicide Squad”) life
story as a bold
and unorthodox
skater. The film
complicates
Harding’s
cultural
legacy
by
exploring
her life in and
around
skating
from the age of
four,
bringing
to light the emotional weight
that contributed to whom she
became as a skater and as a
person. With a bright, punchy
tone that reflects Harding’s
infectious persona, the film is a
hilarious, gripping and nuanced
portrayal of a controversial pop
culture figure.
For a movie that deals so
heavily in the movement of
figure skating, “I, Tonya” does
a remarkable job designing
static
scenes.
The
film
is
peppered with retrospective,
mockumentary-style interviews
of Harding and the people in her
life. The stylized framing and
set design of these segments
evokes the small-town America
that Harding and company
embody. The film also screams
’80s culture, from the pulsing
’80s soundtrack featuring bands
like Dire Straights and Violent
Femmes to the vibrant jewel
tones of Harding’s costumes,
makeup and scrunchies. Tonya’s
look, her frizzy bangs and gaudy
outfits, loudly clashes with the
refined stuffiness of the figure
skating elite. But her unique
style and unapologetic attitude
makes Harding an extremely
likeable hero, and we root for
her as she ignores convention
and proves herself as one of
the most technically proficient
skaters in the league. The
skating scenes themselves are
the most visually stunning parts
of the movie — as
Harding performs,
the camera whirls
around her as if it,
too, is on skates,
creating
this
swirling
circular
movement
that
heightens
the
suspense and the
artistry
of
the
moment.
The brilliance of the film
lies
in
its
performances.
Margot Robbie is incredible
as Harding — she’s crude
and unpolished, but with an
innocent sincerity that makes
her a natural underdog. The
characters
around
Harding,
who are notoriously abusive
and problematic figures, are so
well-cast that it makes disliking
them next to impossible. Allison
Janney (“Tallulah”) dominates
in a stand-out role as Harding’s
jagged mother, who routinely
beats and verbally abuses Tonya
in ways that clearly reveal her
own lack of self-worth and
deep-rooted
unhappiness
in
life. She is eclectic, weird and,
honestly, disturbing at times,
but
Janney’s
performance
leaves you eager for more screen
time. Sebastian Stan (“Captain
America: Civil War”) rounds out
the main trinity as Harding’s
husband Jeff Gillooly, who is
infamous for the climactic hired
assault
of
Nancy
Kerrigan.
Gillooly is shown and described
repeatedly
as
an
unstable
and abusive husband, beating
Harding and then manipulating
her every time she tries to leave
him. But Sebastian Stan is just
too goddamn charming to be a
villain taken seriously.
That’s one of the major weird
and maybe problematic parts
of the movie — the tone is a
confusing mix of hilarious dark
comedy and genuine physical
and emotional abuse. Harding is
surrounded by people who take
advantage of her and beat her
down (literally and figuratively).
But immediately after every
instance
of
this,
the
film
switches to a campy breaking
of the fourth wall and a wise
crack about rednecks. The only
thing standing in the movie’s
way, besides its slightly lengthy
run time, is that it doesn’t seem
to know exactly what it is — the
movie is hilarious and fun, but
also tragic and stressful. And as
a result, the moments that reveal
the hardships that may have led
to Tonya’s inevitable crumbling
are rendered disingenuous or
superficial by the ever-present
thread of humor.
“I, Tonya” is as unorthodox
as its protagonist, the unlikely
but passionate underdog that
continues
to
surprise
and
impress. It tackles the Tonya
Harding story with verve and
sincerity, giving voice to a
figure who has been largely
disregarded by pop culture but
whose talent and perseverance
marked her as one of the most
formative skaters in the history
of the sport. She’s insane, she’s in
your face and she’s sensational.
SYDNEY COHEN
Daily Arts Writer
“I, T
onya”
NEON
State Theater
NEON
Courtesy of Elaine Welteroth
Recently, my friend sent me
a surprise gift in honor of the
new year. The gift was Ocean
Vuong’s new book of poetry,
“Night Sky with Exit Wounds.”
I’d spent maybe 45 minutes
back in December raving to this
friend about how much I loved
Ocean Vuong, both as a writer
and as a person, so she must
have taken the hint.
In
the
poem
“Notebook
Fragments,” there’s a line that
goes like this: “When the prison
guards burned his manuscripts,
Nguyen Chí Thien couldn’t stop
/ laughing — the 283 poems
already inside him.” Vuong
explains this in the back of the
book, clarifying that Nguyen
Chí Thien was a Vietnamese
dissident poet who spent 27
years in prison as a result of his
writing.
I had never heard of Thien
before, but this instantly seized
my
interest.
Twenty-seven
years just for writing. I looked
him up, and sure enough, it was
true — and what’s more, the
more I read about Thien’s life,
the less I was able to believe it.
The first time Thien was
imprisoned, it was for teaching
a high school history class
in which he contradicted the
government’s account of how
Japan was defeated in World
War II. He spent three and a
half years in reeducation camps,
where he began composing and
memorizing poems with no
pen or paper. He was released
briefly in 1966, then sent back
to jail again for his “politically
irreverent” poetry. He spent
another
11
years
and
five
months in labor camps, until
1977, when he was released to
make room for officers of the
Republic of Vietnam.
He used this opportunity
to write down every single
poem he’d composed in prison,
which until now had existed
only in his own memory and
in the memories of some of
his fellow prisoners. Many
of them were poets as well,
and had taken up a similar
practice of memorizing their
poems, sometimes counting the
beats on their fingers to keep
track. They would recite their
poems to one another and to
themselves, just to make sure
not to lose them.
In 1979, Thien ran into the
British
embassy
in
Hanoi
carrying a manuscript of 400
poems and a cover letter written
in French. (He had originally
intended to take it to the French
embassy, but was unable to do
this due to the heavy security).
British diplomats couldn’t give
him asylum, but they promised
to get his work out of the
country, and he was arrested
and imprisoned again without
trial as soon as he left the
building.
He spent the next 12 years
at
various
prisons
around
northern Vietnam, including
nearly eight years in solitary
confinement. While he was
in
prison,
his
manuscript
was published under the title
“Flowers of Hell,” and he was
awarded
the
International
Poetry Award in 1985. He
learned of his success only
when a prison guard waved a
book in his face, attempting to
taunt him, and the book turned
out to be his own.
There are some schools of
thought out there that say
that you shouldn’t need any
context in order to appreciate
what makes literature good.
You shouldn’t need to know
anything about the writer, or
the historical situation in which
they were writing. But I don’t
understand how this argument
makes sense when you think
about someone like Thien, or
really about anyone. Often,
you’re missing out on half the
literature — half the beauty, half
the poetry — if you miss out on
the incredible story that it took
for that writing to make its way
to you. Thien’s poetry by itself
is striking, but I’m also stricken
by the strength, determination
and creativity that tied him to
that poetry within his own life.
I think that, historically,
I have a bit of a tendency to
aestheticize literature. Take
Ocean Vuong, for instance; I
love his poetry, but I also love
his Instagram page and the
cover of his book and the fact
that it seems like he’s always
going to Iceland. And that
might be a bad thing — that
I tend to fixate on aspects of
writing that seem to have to do
with everything but the writing
itself.
But I don’t think that’s true. I
think that writing, like any art
form, is just a way of teaching
ourselves to better understand
and appreciate the millions of
stories, thoughts and emotions
that make up the world. And the
facets that make up somebody’s
life, the decisions that they
make, have just as much to
teach you as the words that they
choose to write down. If I’m in
awe of Nguyen Chí Thien’s life,
it’s because he knew who he was
and what he wanted to be in the
world, both on the page and in
practice. There was no divide;
it was all inside him. That’s the
kind of writer I want to be, and
that’s the kind of person I want
to be. Besides, a real role model
isn’t simply somebody you can
look at and say that they wrote
something well, or that they
mastered a certain poetic form.
It’s somebody who affects the
way that you think about other
people and the way that you
want to live your life. For me,
Nguyen Chí Thien has done
that; the story of his life is the
story of a hero of literature, of
Vietnam and of humanity.
Prison poet & hero Thien
DAILY LITERATURE COLUMN
LAURA
DZUBAY
Elaine Welteroth and me
The Teen Vogue Editor-in-Chief revolutionized what teen
magazines look and sound like. Now she’s stepping down.
Continued from p. 5A
Elaine was the
second Black
editor-in-chief in
publishing giant
Condé Nast’s
history
STYLE NOTEBOOK
FILM REVIEW
6A — Tuesday, January 16, 2018
Arts
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com