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7 person house for Fall
2 bath, 7 parking spcs
nice house
1 block from CCRB
$5,895 plus utilities
(734)646-5548
By Joseph Ashear
©2019 Tribune Content Agency, LLC
11/14/19
Los Angeles Times Daily Crossword Puzzle
Edited by Rich Norris and Joyce Nichols Lewis
11/14/19
ANSWER TO PREVIOUS PUZZLE:
Release Date: Thursday, November 14, 2019
ACROSS
1 Co. with brown
trucks
4 Fearsome
Tolkien beasts
8 Run off at the
mouth
14 New Deal prog.
15 Guthrie genre
16 Unprincipled
17 Rapper __-Z
18 Fireplace outlet
19 Accompany
20 Yellowfin tuna
21 Great quantity
22 Highest-ranking
elected woman in
U.S. history
23 McConaughey
of “True
Detective”
25 Nickname
for Israel’s
Netanyahu
26 Sported
27 Beach in a 1964
hit song
31 Start of a Poitier
film title
34 Author/aviator
__ Morrow
Lindbergh
36 Film crew
member
37 V-formation flier
38 ’90s game disc
39 Pipe up
40 __ the finish
41 Snapchat’s ghost,
e.g.
42 Shoes with
swooshes
43 Color from a
bottle
45 British WWII gun
47 Magician
Weasley and
anchorman
Burgundy
48 Have
52 Like some
wedding photos
55 Hook or Cook:
Abbr.
56 Quid pro __
57 Maryland state
bird, e.g.
58 Dos cubed
59 Lines at a
checkout
counter?
60 Money maker
61 Not nice at all
62 Bother a great
deal
63 Great times
64 Uruguay’s Punta
del __
65 __ de deux
DOWN
1 Clear, as a
printer
2 Czech Republic
capital, to Czechs
3 “Don’t beat
around the
bush!”
4 A bit out in the
ocean
5 Painter’s tool
6 ... in a board
game
7 Present in a
biased way
8 Reed instrument
9 Pond protozoan
10 ... in a ball game
11 Gusto
12 Back muscles,
briefly
13 K-12 appropriate
24 ... on a game mat
25 ... on a game card
28 Actor Estrada
29 “Dibs!”
30 Long-limbed
beasts
31 “So ready for the
weekend!”
32 Chaplin
named for her
grandmother
33 Relax in the hot
tub
35 Yuletide libation
39 14 British pounds
41 Big name in
advice
44 __ training
46 Tails partner
49 Furnish with
gear
50 Sporty Toyota
until 2002
51 Laundry day
casualties
52 Rooster topper
53 Seed covering
54 Jazz singer
Simone
55 Show up
FOR RENT
6 —Thursday, November 14, 2019
Arts
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Growing up a hopeless romantic and a movie buff, I’ve always
been in love with the idea of love. At nine years old, I swooned over
the connection between Eliza Doolittle and Henry Higgins in “My
Fair Lady;” at 11, I watched “Romeo + Juliet” religiously, and when
I was 13, there was nothing dreamier than the cuttable tension and
crude banter between Claire and Bender in “The Breakfast Club.”
In my eyes, these couples were idealizable. I never considered that
Professor Higgins had to transform Eliza in order for her to be lovable,
that Romeo and Juliet’s bond was solidified more by lust than love
or that the basis of Bender and Claire’s relationship was essentially
verbal harassment. Considering this pattern, I started to wonder:
Did every romantic relationship in film merely include the good and
gloss over the bad and the ugly without a second thought? In order to
tackle this question, I decided to reassess some of my favorite movie
couples from my teenage years, Edward and Bella in “Twilight,”
J.D. and Veronica in “Heathers” and Holly and Kit in “Badlands,”
to come to grips with my and society’s
potentially problematic romanticization of
these on-screen relationships.
The “Twilight” series was one of my first
loves and, as an angsty fifth grader, Bella and
Edward’s moody, supernatural and iconic
courtship was PG-13 gold. My infatuation
started with the books, which I devoured in
a frenzy as a tween. There was something so
entrancing about the tale of a paranormal
romance shared between two wandering
souls who met in a high school biology class.
Thankfully, the end of the four-part saga was
only the beginning for the franchise. In 2008,
three years after Stephanie Meyer released
the book, “Twilight” went to the silver screen,
and a whole universe was created filled with
adoring fans, future sequels and promises of
memes, fanfiction and “Twihard” fan-clubbing
for decades to come.
For anyone who somehow managed to avoid
the “Twilight” fever that swept our generation,
I’ll give a brief synopsis. Bella Swan, a 17-year-
old, semi-reclusive girl moves to the tight-knit,
drizzly town of Forks, Wash., to live with her
estranged father. Life in Forks looks unpromising and monotonous
until a gorgeous, mysterious boy named Edward Cullen catches
her eye. Long story short, Edward is revealed to be a vampire, the
chemistry Bella and Edward share is otherworldly and by the end of
the film, there is no doubt in their minds — or the audience’s for that
matter — that they are soulmates.
Since its release, my appreciation for “Twilight” has been
unwavering, strengthened each year by annual rewatches and replays
of the iconic soundtrack. Nevertheless, “Twilight” has always been
divisive. For millions of young girls, teenagers and moms, “Twilight”
was a pop-culture revolution, a rebirth of the romance novel that
was desperately in need of revival. Not everyone shared this same
optimism. For some, “Twilight” and its sequels prompted criticisms
of poor acting, mockeries of ridiculous dialogue and a whole lot of
flack for sexism.
As a die-hard fan throughout middle school, “Twilight” could
do no evil in my eyes. But I had also never viewed it through
an analytical lens. After recently rewatching the saga with my
roommates, I felt my 11-year-old blinders begin to fall, and I finally
began to digest the criticisms. Was Bella giving women a bad name by
coming off as “weak?” Was Edward’s temperament swoon-worthy,
or paternalistic and condescending? Could I forgive these flaws, and
most importantly, if loving “Twilight” was wrong, should I want to
be right?
The first criticism that I aimed to address was the one proposed
about Bella’s fragility, and the overall representation of female
dependence on men. In an article for The Atlantic, Ashley Fetters
quotes Guardian writer David Cox, who bluntly labels the franchise
as one that “‘ate feminism.’” Though a bold claim, Cox’s assessment
cannot be swept under the rug. Fetters argues that the question of
what exactly “Twilight” was trying to get at is still open for debate,
elaborating that Edward and Bella’s romance could be interpreted by
both “a cautionary tale about the dangers of unbalanced relationships,
or as a commentary on the virtue of an unswervingly committed
partner.” Such commentary reflects on Edward’s tendencies that
skirt the line between creepy and protective, i.e. watching Bella
while she sleeps without her knowing, scolding her for being clumsy
and reaffirming her lack of power by vowing to always “protect” her
from harm’s way. While I had always perceived Edward’s attention
toward Bella to be affectionate and pure, perhaps his influence on
her is more controlling than considerate.
Without Edward, Bella is portrayed as lost, thrown into a
new school in a new town with a father she barely knows. All of
Bella’s relationships before Edward are unfulfilling: Her mother is
preoccupied with her younger boyfriend, her father feels like more
of a stranger than a family member and her new friendships serve
more as placeholders than genuine connections. Edward’s entrance
into the picture represents a shift for Bella — an awakening from
monotony, so to speak. But instead of functioning as an addition to
her life, he becomes the center of it and a reason for living where there
was, apparently, not one before. Bella’s growing desire is not only
directed at Edward, but also at the world he belongs to. Her world is
composed of divorced parents, ditzy friends and aimlessness, but his
world is one filled with a loyal family, ageless beauty and unearthly
powers. His is a world that Bella can only be a part of by association,
which she soon realizes will never be enough. It is this realization
that seduces Bella, the idea that Edward’s life of magnetism, beauty
and strength is not quite hers, but eventually could be if she became
a vampire.
Bella’s goal of immortality would arguably be less worrisome if
it weren’t for the fact that the person who dictates its fulfilment
is Edward. He holds the power to change Bella, a reality that he
continuously reminds her of, and objects to her wishes to be “turned,”
justifying his reasoning with the logic that he wants to save Bella’s
soul, since he no longer has his own. By practically eliminating
Bella’s ability to exercise choice, Edward governs the path that her
future will follow. Though it pains me to admit it, Edward’s initial
refusal to change Bella may not be entirely motivated by authentic
concern and adoration, but also by a concealed impulse to feel power
over her.
The more I mulled it over, the more I began to realize that “Twilight”
wasn’t the first time I’d kept my blinders on. Two of my favorite film
relationships, J.D. and Veronica in the cult classic “Heathers” and
Holly and Kit in “Badlands,” were also of questionable standing.
While these two films differ from “Twilight” in their maturity levels
and their much more obviously toxic romances, there is no doubt
a pattern of illusory female control and real male power that runs
between all three films.
In the world of film, there seems to be a recurring tendency to
romanticize relationships that revolve around violence, deception
or infatuation, and to pass these relationships off as exceptional
portrayals of love. The toxic and sinister relationship that director
Michael Lehmann displays between charming-yet-psychotic J.D.
and brilliant, quirky and fierce Veronica is one that sometimes comes
off as romantic. When I first saw this film, I was wooed by J.D.’s bad-
boy, carefree attitude and, because of this, was partly able to set aside
the fact that he murders his classmates and is completely deranged.
Though obviously diverging into a much darker genre than
“Twilight,” J.D.’s allure for Veronica is much like Edward’s for Bella.
Both boys extend the opportunity for an escape from the mundane
pattern of high school life. Like Bella, Veronica
finds herself immersed in J.D.’s world, which
puts her further and further out of touch
with her own (and her sanity). His coaxing
brings out a different, sinister side to her and,
for a while at least, she embraces it. Though
Veronica eventually gets a grip and, remembers
that murder is wrong, she has to break away
from J.D.’s control in order to do so.
We can compare these relationships to
that of Holly and Kit from “Badlands,” the
1973 Terrence Malick movie. Holly, the
female protagonist in “Badlands,” goes on a
murderous escapade across the country after
the male lead, Kit, kills his girlfriend’s father.
Kit is trigger-happy, killing without real
motive and still somehow charming audiences
both within and outside of the film. Similar
to “Heathers,” “Badlands” paints an oddball,
disturbing romance in which an attractive
couple gets caught up in crazy, violent antics
that yield disastrous results yet remain
bizarrely romantic.
Though all three of the aforementioned
films vary considerably, the common thread
of idealized, unrealistic and perilous romance remains consistent.
From Romeo’s impulsive murder of Tybalt, to J.D.’s obsession
with eliminating Veronica’s friends, to Kit’s insensitivity towards
violence in general, these depictions have lead me to believe that the
idealization of destructive and twisted teenage “love” is something
deeply ingrained in the culture of film.
Now comes the big question: Are films responsible for showing
realistic exemplifications of “young love” instead of illustrating
ridiculously unhealthy relationships? Or is there an artfulness
and beauty to idealized, over-dramatized and often dangerous
romantic depictions? Films have an undeniable power to shape our
understanding not only of the world around us, but about ourselves as
well. In the midst of a rising demand for more diverse, well-rounded
and realistic roles for women in film, it is essential to consider the
repercussions that films can have on a young girl’s confidence in
her sexuality, awareness of herself worth and conception of what a
healthy relationship looks like.
Perhaps the problem is not that films like “Twilight,” “Heathers”
and “Badlands” present young, heavily female audiences with
risqué, dark or destructive relationships, but rather that there is
no dissection of these contentious themes in the films. Blindly
romanticizing relationships filled with drama, instability and
immorality will understandably confuse young viewers, taking away
the message that something as serious as murder and suicide can be
taken lightly if it is a labor of love.
Bad romance and teen nostaligia: A ‘Twilight’ deep dive
FILM LONGFORM
SAMANTHA NELSON
Daily Arts Writer
TV REVIEW
It all starts with a robbery. A thief in all black
swings down through the clouds on an umbrella,
like a criminal Mary Poppins. The thief swings over
the gates of the Glurfsburg Zoo, past a distracted
security guard, past the various animals. Stopping
in front of a cage, the thief comes face to face with
a dark, growling mass. The alarms go off. Sounds
of crashing. When the security
investigates, the cage is busted
wide open, the animal gone.
For those of us who grew
up through the rhymes of the
pseudonymous doctor, the story
doesn’t sound like any Dr. Suess
book we’ve ever read. His rhyming
picture books have sustained
through the cultural imagination
since they came out in the ’50s and
’60s. Every few years or so, we get
yet another attempt to reinvent
his books for the big screen, even
though it never quite captures
the original magic. Netflix’s new
attempt at “Green Eggs and Ham” may be simple, but
to its credit, it’s also interesting and fun.
The story this time around follows Guy-Am-I
(Michael Douglas, “Wall Street”), a grumpy, failed
inventor who turns out to be the only inventor not
chosen to go to Meepville to present his invention.
He also does not like green eggs and ham — not that
he’s ever tried it. This is information given to Sam-
I-Am (Adam DeVine
“Workaholics”),
a
happy-go-lucky
inventor.
It
turns
out
the
latter
is
also the thief from
the
beginning
having
stolen
the
Chickeraffe,
a
dangerous
animal
that the police now
believe on the loose in the streets of Glurfsburg.
Only it isn’t. It’s in Sam-I-Am’s briefcase. But when
Sam and Guy accidentally swap briefcases at a diner,
things get a little tricky.
One of the most remarkable things about this
show is the cast and crew. Michael Douglas and
Adam DeVine aren’t the only big names. Diane
Keaton (“Annie Hall”) also voices a character known
as Michellee, an overprotective mother of a very
spunky daughter. Daveed Diggs (“Hamilton”) even
voices a French mouse. However, the true star of the
show is Keegan-Michael Key (“Key and Peele”), who
voices the narrator. For all the show’s attempts at
reinvention, Key’s confused, rhyming narrator is by
far the best addition. Here, he’s both
funny and charming, managing not
to overwhelm the story, but keep it
fresh and upbeat.
The original book is 72 pages in
length, often with one, maybe two
sentences on each page (usually
concerning
where
one
might
eat green eggs and ham, with a
bold refute). The fact that Netflix
managed to turn the story into a
13-episode series says a lot about just
how much the streaming service
added to its story. The inventor plot,
thus far, seems to work well enough.
It’s a very simple story but, then
again, so is the original “Green Eggs and Ham,” so it’s
hard to complain about that.
Something I particularly admire about this
adaption is the animation. There have been a number
of animated adaptations in the past twenty years,
such as “The Lorax” or “Horton Hears a Who.” But
Netflix’s “Green Eggs and Ham” appeals to the older,
hand-drawn animated specials from the ’60s and
’70s. There’s a kind
of nostalgic charm
in seeing such a fun,
relaxed application of
a very old animation
style.
All
in
all,
the
original plot of “Green
Eggs and Ham” works
much the same way
other Dr. Suess books
have: It is a framework onto which larger, entertaining
stories can be told. I can’t say it’s the most sophisticated
show or even the best offering for younger audiences,
but it does appeal to nostalgia. It may even be good.
I’ll try ‘Green Eggs & Ham’
MAXWELL SCHWARZ
Daily Arts Writer
Green Eggs and Ham
Series Premiere
Netflix
Streaming Now
NETFLIX
YOUTUBE