6A — Wednesday, December 4, 2019
Arts
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com

By Jeff Eddings
©2019 Tribune Content Agency, LLC
12/04/19

Los Angeles Times Daily Crossword Puzzle

Edited by Rich Norris and Joyce Nichols Lewis

12/04/19

ANSWER TO PREVIOUS PUZZLE:

Release Date: Wednesday, December 4, 2019

ACROSS
1 Retina 5K 
computer
5 Pet collar clip-on
10 Theme park 
with a geodesic 
dome
15 Bite
16 Bête __
17 Place to get 
clean
18 Medication unit
19 Crooner who 
co-wrote the 
“Chestnuts 
roasting ... ” 
song
20 Swim events
21 Holiday song 
whose first line 
ends, “come 
sailing in”
24 Pooh’s dour 
friend
25 Leader with a 
dot-edu 
address
26 Brief “If only I 
could unhear 
that ... ”
29 2018 US Open 
winner Osaka
32 Inductee
34 Personal
37 Marathoner’s 
woes
40 One for the 
road?
41 Holiday song 
first recorded by 
Gene Autry
45 “The Nutcracker” 
skirt
46 Like some owls
47 Cottonelle layer
48 Jumps in
51 Apply to
53 Nonprofit aid gp.
54 Opera set in 
Egypt
57 Curtains
61 Holiday song 
based on a 
traditional 
German folk 
song
65 Storybook 
pachyderm
67 Pens
68 __ Kong
69 “Home Alone” 
actress 
Catherine
70 Line dance
71 French friend
72 Area component
73 Ready to pour

74 What 21-, 41- or 
61-Across is ... 
and, phonetically, 
a curiously apt 
common feature 
of those answers

DOWN
1 Many a low-
budget flick
2 Reindeer cousin
3 Analyze
4 Ponder
5 On paper
6 Spot for a wreath
7 Hankook product
8 Like bodyguards
9 “Six __ 
a-laying ... ”
10 Valuable fur
11 Sound often not 
allowed?
12 Celebratory 
gesture
13 Granola kernel
14 MLB playoffs 
broadcaster
22 Stretch of land
23 Holiday roast
27 Heavy __
28 Wry twist
30 “Do the __!”
31 Texting qualifier
33 Gaping hole
34 Quite a lot
35 Squeezed (out)

36 Decently
38 Where the 
Amazon begins
39 Nine-digit IDs
42 Mystery writer 
Grafton
43 Rush job phrase
44 Fragrances
49 Really spirited
50 Title for Patrick 
Stewart
52 Eponymous 
hot dog guy 
Handwerker

55 Summer 
songs?
56 __ Martin: British 
car
58 Ad
59 Choice start
60 Jason of “The 
Muppets”
62 E-commerce 
icon
63 Color variant
64 Huge opening?
65 Present prettifier
66 Sashimi choice

Christopher Street in Manhattan’s West Village was covered in 
romantic mood lighting. A long time ago, I saw a man, Ben, sitting 
there looking sickly and unable to move. Now, he sat in his rocking 
chair looking out the window of his first floor apartment. My 
highschool friend, Taco, and I clung to the outside window ledge just 
as I had when I was young.
The string lights made a beautiful archway from Hudson Street to 
Bleeker. He has had the same first floor apartment at Christopher and 
Bedford for almost 50 years, from the afterglow of Stonewall to the 
AIDS epidemic. Ben lived through existing as a gay man in the South, 
being shunned by his parents, then moving to New York City alone, 
and living there from 1970 until he died. He had two or three partners. 
None of them I knew. 
I’ve spent summers living with Uncle Ben since I was 10 years old, 
while I was working with American Ballet Theater. He would take me 
to five dollar massages after class and draw baths for me with epsom 
salt. I always loved how his bathroom window stood about 20 feet 
away from the backstage of the Off-Broadway Lucille Lortel Theater. 
I was surprised by many naked introductions with actors performing 
there. 
Taco, Ben and I skipped up Christopher Street. He danced through 
the twinkling lights like a puppet and seemed to barely stay tethered 
to the ground. Taco and I held a blueish, heavy orb in our hands. It 
was going to cure Ben’s cancer. We smiled as a horse carriage trotted 
down from Central Park and stopped right in front of us. 
It was almost evening, everyone just leaving their nine-to-five jobs. 
They waved and smiled at him as his puppet body jumped into the 
carriage overflowing with a bed of roses. All the restaurants that had 
closed down opened again. The Peruvian place, Hudson Deli, the 
Lucille Lortel Theater was overflowing with patrons. Diane Keaton 
was there. He called it his sleepy little village. 
The streets were full. Uncle Ben laughed and wiggled his frail, 
puppet body. So happy was this man who had survived so much. It 
was almost like a concert. People danced through the streets while 
they went on their way, no doubt to find their own families. Maybe 
that’s why Ben was so happy, knowing he was not alone.
We gave Ben the orb. The heavy nature of it weighed him down. 
His puppet arms hung low from his shoulders. He smiled at us, but he 

was confused. Because he had seen so much death, he didn’t think it 
would ever happen to him. 
“You’re my last roommate,” Ben said to me. One year before, I 
walked out on him because he was mad I left my t-shirt on the TV 
box. He had a peculiar and sad look on his face. 
After one long last look around, he let the orb roll back down the 
roses, out of the carriage and into a gutter. Taco and I scrambled to 
catch it. By the time I turned back around, the carriage was gone. The 
lights and the roses were gone, the patrons were replaced by people 
wearing felt hipster hats. It was all gone. Taco was even gone. His real 
name was Zachary.
Night replaced twilight. I looked at my phone, expecting to see 
notes of condolences, but he had no one. His community was swept 
away in the ocean of AIDS. His existence was an afterthought of 
tragedy.
When I was small, he bought 
me a bubble blower. I’d send the 
bubbles out onto Christopher 
Street late at night from his first 
floor window. People would 
gather below. I’d laugh with 
delight as all walks of life poked 
at the bubbles. Uncle Ben sat in 
the corner, drinking Two-Buck 
Chuck, laughing with me. 
When Uncle Ben was dying, 
he said to be by my grandmother, 
his big sister. He said there’s 
something I can’t understand, the 
death of a sibling. When Ben and 
my grandmother were younger, 
their little brother died — run 
over by a drunk driver. Their 
little brother was six. I have one 
brother. Siblings are the closest 
thing to you that you will ever get.
I didn’t know what to say to 
“There is something you can’t 
understand.” I’m 20. He’s 70. I’m 
sure there are loads of things he 
understands that I won’t for a 
very long time. 

Love and loss in the age of forgetting

COMMUNITY CULTURE NOTEBOOK

NATALIE KASTNER
Daily Arts Writer

People have been writing murder mysteries for years. One of 
the most common murder mystery tropes is to limit the possible 
suspects to a small group of people in a small, enclosed location. 
It happened with “Clue,” with “Murder on the Orient Express” 
and now it’s happening again, with Rian Johnson’s (“Star Wars: 
The Last Jedi”) “Knives Out.” Only this time, the pool of suspects 
is made even more interesting because it’s limited to the victim’s 
money-hungry family. 
In the film, Harlon Thrombey (Christopher Plummer, “Sound 
of Music”) is the family patriarch found dead, presumably killed 
by 
one 
of 
his 
many 
shady 
and 
suspicious 
family 
members, 
most 
of 
whom 
stand 
to gain from his 
death. There’s his 
daughter 
Linda 
(Jamie Lee Curtis, 
“Halloween”), 
who wants her father’s mansion, his son-in-law Richard (Don 
Johnson, “Django Unchained”), who’s having an affair, Joni (Toni 

Colette, “Little Miss Sunshine”), his widowed daughter-in-law 
who tries to leech off of him and his college-aged granddaughter 
Meg 
(Katherine 
Langford, 
“13 Reasons Why”), to name a 
few. All stereotypical suspects 
for a somewhat stereotypical 
mystery idea. Daniel Craig 
(“Casino Royale”) plays Benoit 
Blanc, 
the 
odd, 
Southern-
accented detective trying to 
find the killer.
The idea behind “Knives 
Out” was foolproof — from the 
trailers and pictures, it seems 
that the whole film is supposed to be about 
finding out who killed Harlon Thrombey. But 
the problem is that what the movie claims to 
be is different from what it actually is. It’s 
marketed as a “whodunnit,” but it isn’t quite 
that. 
Frankly, the best parts of the movie were 
three of the most important characters in it: 
Harlon Thrombey, Ransom Drysdale (Chris 
Evans, “Captain America: The First Avenger”) 
and Marta Cabrera (Ana de Armas, “Blade Runner 2049”). Plummer 
captures the role of quirky, slightly senile billionaire incredibly 

well. There wasn’t a scene with him where I doubted his portrayal 
of the character. He clearly cared about his family and felt genuine 
compassion towards his nurse, 
Marta. Chris Evans, despite 
only really appearing halfway 
through the film, was one of 
my 
favorite 
performances. 
In an incredibly un-Captain 
America-like role, he plays the 
initially jerky, spoiled grandson 
of 
Thrombey. 
He 
provides 
sorely 
needed 
comic 
relief 
and quickly becomes a fun, 
favorite character. De Armas, 
in a dramatic opposite to Evans, plays a genuinely compassionate 
and doting nurse to Thrombey. The movie primarily follows her in 
her attempt to help Blanc discover the truth behind Thrombey’s 
death. 
I enjoyed watching this film, but I wouldn’t say it was what 
I expected by any means. I expected a traditional, enclosed 
murder mystery with some unexpected twist. Instead, I got an 
untraditional half-mystery with an unconventional “twist” that 
I somehow both wasn’t expecting and saw coming a mile away. 
It was still fun, just not the kind of fun I thought I’d be getting. 
“Knives Out” isn’t what it claims to be, so don’t be disappointed 
when it’s different from what you expected.

‘Knives Out’ isn’t traditional, but isn’t disappointing

FILM REVIEW

SABRIYA IMAMI
Daily Arts Writer

Knives Out

Michigan Theater

Lionsgate Films

Back in the day, one of the benchmarks for being a great 
rapper was the ability to tell a 
story well. The ability to paint a 
vivid picture of life made some 
rappers into either mainstream 
icons 
or 
underground 
legends 
that inspired the icons. It could’ve 
been a story about anything. On 
“Da Art of Storytellin (Pt. 1),” 
Big Boi and Andre 3000 recount 
their individual experiences in 
the pursuit of women. Raekwon 
and Ghostface Killa’s “Heaven 
and Hell” tells the story of the 
duo’s experiences on the block 
in 
Staten 
Island. 
Organized 
Konfusion’s “Stray Bullet” follows 
the harrowing journey of a stray bullet after it leaves the barrel 
of a gun. On “Morals and Standards,” Mac Dre recounts a story 
of betrayal and vengeance between former friends. Big L’s 
“Casualties of a Dice Game” details just that — the casualties of 
a corner game of dice. These songs are just a handful of visceral 
and vivid examples of the power of storytelling in rap; the list 
could go on forever.
Despite a rich history of storytelling across rap’s many regions 
and subgenres, somewhere along the way the art of storytelling 
was lost. Rappers are still telling stories, but storytelling is no 
longer the main measure of a rapper’s skill. However, every so 
often, the art of storytelling re-emerges, and this is usually a 
good thing. In the past 10 years, there have been several attempts 
to bring back storytelling from figures like Kendrick Lamar and 
J. Cole, and the end product has been good. The series of songs 
from Meek Mill and Speaker Knockerz are examples of what and 
what not to do to properly execute the art of storytelling.
Meek Mill’s “Tony Story” series (part one released in 2011, two 
in 2013 and three in 2016) and Speaker Knockerz’s “Rico Story” 
series (all three installments released in 2013) both recount 
similar stories. Speaker Knockerz, over a series of icy trap beats 
similar to those of his hits like “Dap You Up” and “Lonely,” 
tells the story of a man down on his luck named Rico who, after 
attempting to rob a bank with his girlfriend, is sent to jail and 

meets a man named Pedro who introduces him to the dope game. 
Things quickly spiral out of control, Rico kills his girlfriend 
who turned out to be an undercover cop, Pedro shoots Rico in 
the head, the two reconcile and eventually succumb to their 
fast lifestyles. Similarly, Meek Mill, aided by a set of cinematic 
and hard-hitting instrumentals, 
tells the story of two friends, Tony 
and Ty, who eventually turn on 
each other, resulting in the deaths 
of Ty at the hands of Tony and of 
Tony at the hands of Ty’s cousin 
Paulie. The “Tony Story” continues 
as it follows the rise and fall of 
Paulie, ending as Paulie is shot 
and arrested by the police after 
shooting his pregnant girlfriend 
who alerted the police of Paulie’s 
crimes. Both stories are deeply 
sad and urgent accounts that delve 
deeper into the problems within 
the system of America. Importance 
aside, the “Tony Story” is often considered one of the best 
modern examples of storytelling 
while the “Rico Story” is nothing 
more than a few deep cuts from a 
promising young artist who died 
way too soon.
This raises one question: How 
are two series with similar stories 
regarded 
so 
differently? 
Both 
series tell heart-wrenching stories 
that continue to be written in cities 
across America, yet one stands 
full-bodied and the other falls flat. 
It comes down to storytelling. 
Speaker 
Knockerz 
tells 
his 
story 
point-blank, 
using 
only 
the occasional adlib to provide 
variation. He seldom attempts to 
rhyme more than the last word 
of each line, and there is little 
wordplay. Outside of the heavy, drowning autotune and the 
occasional “Damn” and “Oh my God,” the Columbia, South 
Carolina rapper shows little emotion. He tells a heartbreaking 
story, but instead it sounds like he’s slick-talking. Simply put, 

there’s no vividity. There’s very little variety. Speaker Knockerz 
tells a story, but he is not storytelling. 
Meek Mill, on the other hand, is a storyteller. The Philadelphia 
rapper isn’t always known for being the most poignant or 
insightful rapper, often falling prey to classic hip hop tropes, 
but the “Tony Story” series is different. Not an anomaly, but not 
commonplace either. He tells us every little thing about Tony, 
Ty and Paulie. Each song in the “Tony Story” series perfectly 
describes every scenario and situation. It’s like listening to an 
audiobook — that’s how much detail there is in these songs. “Tony 
Story 2” is especially vivid as Meek explains, through his words 
and his robust delivery, the paranoia induced in Paulie due to his 
lifestyle and choices, rapping, “And Paulie he ain’t slipping, yeah 
he got that thang on / You know what he did to Tony, he won’t get 
the same song so / When he hit the crib he spin the block before 
he park it / Paulie ain’t bitch he just cautious / But little did he 
know n***** in the streets talking / And out his rearview its like 
he seen a reaper walking.” Meek’s rhymes aren’t otherworldly, 
but they’re still complex, using end rhymes and internals as he 
carefully explains Paulie’s every move. He still has the modern 
rap prerequisite slick talk, but it doesn’t hurt the songs. Instead, 
it adds to them, perfectly accenting the more substance-heavy 
lines. Meek is so specific with his 
imagery and emotional with his 
delivery, it’s almost like listeners 
are watching every event unfold in 
real-time through the entire series 
is. It’s masterful.
The difference between Meek 
Mill and Speaker Knockerz is 
clear. Each song from the “Rico 
Story” series feels like reading the 
newspaper, matter-of-fact and to 
the point. With each song from the 
“Tony Story” series, though, Meek 
paints a full picture, mincing no 
words in the process, and that’s 
what 
storytelling 
is 
supposed 
to 
do. 
That’s 
the 
difference 
between simply telling a story 
and storytelling. There’s emotion, 
imagery and insight when someone is storytelling; none of that 
is there when someone just tells a story. On the outro of “Tony 
Story 3,” Meek exclaims that “Tony Story 4” is going to be a 
movie. As if the previous three installments were not.

Modern rap storytelling: What it is and what it takes

MUSIC NOTEBOOK

JIM WILSON
Daily Arts Writer

ATLANTIC RECORDS / YOUTUBE

Despite a rich history of 
storytelling across rap’s 
many regions and subgenres, 
somewhere along the way the 
art of storytelling was lost.

People danced 
through the 
streets while 
they went on 
their way, no 
doubt to find 
their own 
families. Maybe 
that’s why Ben 
was so happy, 
knowing he was 
not alone.

It’s marketed as a 
“whodunnit,” but it isn’t quite 
that.

