By Tyler Lian and Jeff Chen
©2019 Tribune Content Agency, LLC
02/05/19
Los Angeles Times Daily Crossword Puzzle
Edited by Rich Norris and Joyce Nichols Lewis
02/05/19
ANSWER TO PREVIOUS PUZZLE:
Release Date: Tuesday, February 5, 2019
ACROSS
1 Ring ref’s
decision
4 Hindu division
9 Rig up
14 Hankering
15 Aquaman’s realm
16 “Grey’s Anatomy”
staffer
17 Immigrant’s ID
19 Extend the library
borrowing term
20 Tries to hit
21 Low singers
22 Blackjack elevens
23 Not fitting
25 Title for Jose or
Diego?
27 Tuition-paying aid
32 Rude and crude
34 “Begone, feline!”
35 Unsubscribes,
with “out”
36 Jazz trumpeter Al
37 Indian prime
minister mentored
by Gandhi
38 Eric Carle’s
“The __ Hungry
Caterpillar”
39 Viral internet item
40 Improve text
41 Porto-Novo’s land
42 Competitive
swimming venue
45 Cul-de-__
46 Sniffling maladies
47 Mother’s Day gift
holder
49 Old phone
company
nickname
52 Biblical opening
55 Food recall culprit
56 Emmy-winning
reality series for
entrepreneurs
... and a place
for the ends of
17-, 27- and
42-Across?
58 Biblical verb
59 Fictional Swiss
miss
60 “Excusez-__”
61 Frankfurt’s state
62 How ballerinas
dance
63 Sinus doc
DOWN
1 Rapper whose
name sounds like
an endangered
cat
2 “The Americans”
co-star Russell
3 Many an action
film hero
4 Admit
5 Greet
aggressively
6 Burn a little
7 Road covering
8 Conclude
9 Fascinated
10 The Roots’
frontman on
“Late Night with
Jimmy Fallon”
11 Big coffeepots
12 “Noted”
13 Church rows
18 PC panic key
21 African
language
group
23 Tracking
implants, for
short
24 A few feet from
25 Blockhead
26 Princess who
gives up her
voice to be
human
28 Vintage music
purchase
29 Magical access
words
30 Glass-roofed
lobbies
31 Timberlake’s
former band
33 Biological
building blocks
37 Sam of “Peaky
Blinders”
41 Tot’s comforter,
affectionately
43 Not at all
32-Across
44 Work too hard
48 Opposite of rise
49 Screen door
material
50 Aleve target
51 Jungle
squeezers
52 Canter or
gallop
53 A party to, as a
private joke
54 Classroom
acting
56 “Shameless”
network, briefly
57 Egg layer
6 — Tuesday, February 5, 2019
Arts
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
When the Academy of Motion
Picture Arts and Sciences says
to a movie, “You are the best
picture of the year,” what are
they really indicating?
The Academy itself explains,
“We recognize and uphold
excellence
in
the
motion
picture
arts
and
sciences,
inspire
imagination,
and
connect the world through the
medium of motion pictures.”
This lofty mission statement
is worth unpacking, and, with
the Academy Awards coming
up this month, worth testing.
Controversial
Best
Picture
nominee “Green Book” gives a
perfect occasion for such a test.
In the context of Best Picture
nominations, recognizing and
upholding “excellence,” implies
that the Academy just wants
to honor the most remarkable
film of the year. But this is
an annual award, so there is
no such thing as an isolated
incident in a yearly contest. By
design, the Academy is always
in the process of scribing and
publicizing its own history.
So this year’s nominations do
more than tell us that each
movie is one we should have
seen this year or that it stands
out at a particular moment in
time. With the force
of history behind
the
nominations,
the
Academy
indicates to us: This
is a movie that tells
you something you
need to hear, and
you probably have
not heard it before
— at the very least,
you’ve never heard
it in such articulate
terms.
“Green
Book”
wants to be just
that:
a
unique,
articulate entry into
the canon of Best
Picture nominees. It
wants to be thought
of as progressive,
as a story which
rewrites the long,
disturbing
history
of race relations in
American
history.
But it is none of these things.
It is the story of a historically
unlikely
friendship
that
emerges in the 1960s between
a Black pianist and his white
driver and bodyguard as they
venture into the Deep South.
The two men
learn
from
each
other,
but
consider
what audience
members
learn
from
their
dynamic:
That
white
men
will
respond
to
the
realities
of racism by
fighting
for
rather
than
with
Black
men.
In
other words,
that even in
supposed
narratives
of resistance
to
racism,
white
men
will be billed
lead
actor
and Black men will remain
members of the secondary,
supporting cast. At least, this is
how “Green Book” understood
it; Viggo Mortensen (“Eastern
Promises”)
is
the
lead
to
Mahershala Ali’s (“Moonlight”)
supporting role.
Beyond what the film tells
us by itself, what are we saying
when we reward it? What do
we reward when we reward
“Green Book”?
We saw a preview of the
answer at the Golden Globes,
where “Green Book” took home
Best Motion Picture – Musical
or
Comedy.
Particularly,
we
watched
“Green
Book”
screenwriter Nick Vallelonga
take the stage for the second
time
(after
winning
Best
Screenplay
for
the
same
film). Nick Vallelonga, one
of
multiple
filmmakers
involved with “Green Book,”
unsurprisingly
attracted
advancing problematic rhetoric
outside of the film. Though
he has since deleted the tweet
and
apologized,
Vallelonga
retweeted President Trump’s
claim that he saw Muslims in
New Jersey celebrating the fall
of the Twin Towers on Sep. 11,
2001. In some ways, “Green
Book” is just like Vallelonga’s
Twitter scandal: a statement
that recirculates sentiments
adverse to social progress in the
United States. The difference is
that Vallelonga was pressured
to apologize for the damage
his Twitter post did. Despite
its problematic content, award
shows continue to commend
him for “Green Book.”
If we reward “Green Book”
a Best Picture prize for the
second time, we continue to
curb momentum. Slow down.
Pipe down. Back down. It tells
white people there is no need
to use their racial privilege
to work against the system
of
privilege
itself;
rather,
it is enough to reconsider
prejudices and wage quiet,
halfhearted resistance. It tells
Black people it is their job
to teach white people about
racism — but that white people
will remain the protagonists,
the
main
characters,
the
saviors
in
any
subsequent
struggle
for
equality.
We
gesture toward the myth of a
post-racial
America
instead
of confronting the continued,
urgent realities of racism.
Wanting to be progressive
isn’t
enough.
Rewarding
fraudulent
progressivism
is
threatening. I hope we set our
sights higher.
What we reward when we
celebrate ‘Green Book’
FILM NOTEBOOK
UNIVERSAL PICTURES
I am the Lord thy God
I. Thou shalt have no other
Gods before me
— and I promised You there
wouldn’t be. I’m not sorry.
II. Thou shalt not make unto
thee any graven image
— but she ironically wears this
cheap plastic cross necklace that
she won at a claw machine in the
arcade downtown. When she
hovered over me, it kept tapping
my nose and we both couldn’t stop
laughing. I was so happy. I’m not
sorry.
III. Thou shalt not take thy
name of thy Lord in vain
— but, oh my. God, it is so
unfair of You to create someone
that thinks it’s cute (!?) when my
palms get sweaty, and then tell me
it’s a sin to want to hold her hand.
I held her hand. I’m not sorry.
IV. Remember the sabbath day
to keep it holy
— but how could I possibly
remember anything when she
keeps
texting
me
restaurant
recommendations and photos of
her aunt’s cat? I couldn’t focus
on You with the excitement of
my phone buzzing, and her name
shining brightly on my screen.
She put a sparkly heart emoji next
to her contact. I’m not sorry.
V. Honor thy Father and thy
Mother
— can I still honor them, even
if I keep the most vital parts of me
locked away in a crimson chest
beneath the dirty dresses in my
closet? I don’t think so. (I am a
little sorry about this one.)
VI. Thou shalt not kill
— but I just want the secret
online chat rooms, the rainbow
pins, my daydreams of Kristen
Stewart, the way I felt when she
remembered my favorite song, to
die. I want to kill it. I want to bury
it beneath the ground and let it
rot amongst the tombstones of my
ancestors, never to see the light of
day again. This is Your fault. I’m
not sorry.
VII. Thou shalt not commit
adultery
— but everytime my new
“boyfriend” grabs my thigh, I look
down and wish his nails were
painted that dark shade of purple
that was always a little bit chipped
on hers. I wish he was wearing far
too many rings for his fingers and
that wristband from the Vampire
Weekend concert she went to
three years ago that she refused
to take off. I’m disappointed when
he tells me he loves me. I’m not
sorry.
VIII. Thou shalt not steal
— but I can’t stop stealing
glances at her in class as she
scribbles
out
all
her
words
because she thinks erasers are
lame. She puts her hair up in
a ponytail. She always said it
“helped her concentrate,” but I
lose my train of thought as the
circular red marks down her neck
are quickly revealed. I can’t help
but wonder if the perpetrator of
this skin-sucking made a map of
the freckles down her torso that
leads directly to home, like I did.
I miss her. I’m not sorry…
IX. Thou shalt not bear false
witness against thy neighbor
— but it’s so hard to say
anything besides “I’m okay,” when
the words “I loved a girl” don’t fit
right in my mouth. And when my
mom tells me I’m wasting water
by constantly washing all my bed
sheets, I don’t tell her it’s because
I can’t seem to get the rosy scent
of that expensive perfume my
ex-girlfriend stole from her sister
out of my blankets. I say I spilt earl
grey tea, and the stain just won’t
wash away.
And when I lie in bed at night
and my mind drifts to the thought
of long eyelashes and soft lips and
curves, I tell myself that this is
what every girl does. This is what
every girl does. I’m not weird. I’m
not sorry.
X. Thou shalt not covet
— but I envy everyone who’s
never met her, and I envy everyone
who will ever get to meet her for
the first time. I envy those who
can follow You blissfully because
I have sinned in more ways than
one. I have bent down on my
knees for all the wrong reasons,
but You have to understand that
she was the only one who ever
showed me any faith. God, I don’t
really believe in you, but I can’t
believe myself. I guess maybe I’m
the one I should be apologizing to.
Talking with Ten
Commandments
Junior year fall break I
spontaneously decided to go
on a road trip to Montreal
with a few friends. It was
an ambitious decision that
entailed driving nearly 20
hours within a four-day span,
but I found myself packing up
a small suitcase anyways. I
didn’t even particularly care
about seeing Montreal, but it
was junior year and I had an
itch to leave Ann Arbor and
never look back.
The trip itself was a blur.
Montreal was too cloudy and
supplied too much alcohol
for me to remember much
of
anything.
There
was
only one moment that has
remained crystal clear within
my mind: driving back from
Montreal at the break of
dawn, horrifically hungover
and weighed down with a
bone-deep fatigue, playing the
entirety of Vampire Weekend’s
Modern Vampires of the City
from start to finish as the
barren Canadian countryside
sped past our windows. As
momentous memories go, this
one is particularly nondescript,
but I close my eyes and there
I am: hands curled around
the steering wheel, all other
passengers passed out in near
comas, half crying but also half
smiling because even though
Montreal took more out of
me than I thought it would,
the way this small, ragtag
collective
of
polo-wearing
preps infused charisma and
hope into their distinct blend
of indie pop made even the
churning unknown of lands
outside of Ann Arbor seem less
imposing.
Vampire
Weekend
has
always been with me, even
before
the
unfortunate
Montreal trip. High school
was soundtracked by the
whimsical Afro-pop of their
first self-titled album, by the
shameless
eccentricity
of
Contra, by the slightly more
serious overcast of Modern
Vampires. The inside of my
friend’s car always hummed
with “Unbelievers”’s bouncing
optimism on the way back from
school. The summer before
I left for college, “Hannah
Hunt” put a gossamer tint over
the sky; I would tilt my head
back against the low arc of
the setting sun as the delayed
tempo change pushed the song
into motion and be filled with
a
nearly
incomprehensible
serenity.
Vampire Weekend emerged
from the shadow of a post-
Strokes New York — leather
jackets were traded in for boat
shoes, the sweaty raucous
of
hole-in-the-wall
venues
at the heart of the city were
replaced
by
manicured
lawns and the crisp prestige
of Columbia University. On
paper,
Vampire
Weekend’s
clean-cut
pretentiousness
seemed to pale in comparison
with the grimy authenticity of
their predecessors, yet as the
post-9/11 alternative rock era
of New York City started to rip
itself to shreds, they emerged
like a beacon of light, quiet
and sincere in their mission
to make music that not only
reached far past the bounds
of the city itself but also never
took itself too seriously.
The
main
appeal
of
Vampire Weekend was in their
playfulness. Even the band’s
name came from the title of a
short film project lead vocalist
and guitarist Ezra Koenig
created sometime during his
early years at Columbia about
a man who traveled to Cape
Cod in order to warn the
president that vampires were
attacking the United States.
The project was abandoned
in record time, but that initial
spurt of juvenile creativity was
never lost, resulting in albums
that tiptoed the line between
exuberance and childishness.
There was always an air of
lightheartedness
around
Vampire Weekend, one that
allowed you to listen to their
music over and over again
without getting bored.
This past week, Vampire
Weekend dropped two new
singles in preparation for their
upcoming album, Father of the
Bride. The songs “Harmony
Hall” and “2021” came after
nearly five years of complete
silence. The buzz the singles
created was real and tangible,
as people found within the
plodding melody of “Harmony
Hall,” in the drawn out notes
of “2021,” an opportunity to
relive the rosiest parts of their
youth.
And yet, I couldn’t help but
be disappointed, at “2021,” at
“Harmony Hall,” at Vampire
Weekend
themselves
for
re-emerging with the blandest
possible
version
of
their
infamous early 2000s sound.
Carefree no longer, there is
a certain anticlimax within
these two songs. Ezra Koenig,
weighed down by the passage
of time, is at his most serious,
his most mature, as he turns
back to look at the legacy he
created. “I don’t wanna live
like this but I don’t wanna die”
he says in “Harmony Hall,”
echoing a line from Modern
Vampires of the City, but rather
than sound nostalgic he just
sounds regretful, pushing to
once again embody a vivacity
that has long since died out.
Has Vampire Weekend
always been dad rock?
MUSIC NOTEBOOK
COLUMBIA RECORDS
ALIX CURNOW
Daily Arts Writer
CULTURE NOTEBOOK
SHIMA SADAGHIYANI
Daily Arts Wrtier
If we reward
“Green Book”
a Best Picture
prize for the
second time, we
continue to curb
momentum.
JULIANNA MORANO
Daily Arts Writer