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.