Last week, Mickey Guyton made 

history as the first Black woman 
to perform solo at the Academy of 
Country Music Awards. She sang 
to an empty Grand Ole Opry house 
where lights lined the pews instead 
of people. The audience watching 
from home was largely unfamiliar 
with Guyton or her music — her 
debut “Better Than You Left Me” 
peaked at #34 on the Billboard 
Country Airplay Chart in 2015, her 
highest-charting single to date. 
Nonetheless, Guyton made the most 
of the moment. Her performance of 
“What Are You Gonna Tell Her?” 
unflinchingly addressed why it’s 
taken so long to break the double-
layered race and gender barrier in 
country music. 

“What Are You Gonna Tell Her?” 

is one of six songs on Guyton’s 
latest EP Bridges, and it pulls no 
punches. The piano ballad is a stark 
contrast to the sparkly girl-power 
anthems that are typically enlisted 
to address inequality. Instead, 
Guyton zeroes in on these anthems’ 
aftermath, asserting that the belief 
that “dreams” and “hard work” 
will be enough just isn’t the truth. 
The topics she touches on include 
racism and homophobia and reflect 
the same harsh reality. 

But Guyton doesn’t stop there — 

the majority of Bridges addresses 
social justice issues. Her current 
single, “Heaven Down Here” was 
written after Guyton watched the 

video of George Floyd’s murder. 
“Black Like Me,” which has gained 
some traction on TikTok, was 
written long before this summer’s 
protests, but hadn’t had much 
of a chance of being released. It 
challenges what so many country 
songs take for granted: Americans’ 
freedom. “If you think we live in the 
land of the free you should try to be 
Black like me,” Guyton contends on 
the piano-driven track.

Even 
Guyton’s 
lighthearted 

songs are meant to flip the script. 
The playfully woozy “Rosé” finds 
Guyton unabashedly singing the 
praises of her drink of choice — 
something that’s old hat for the 
men of country music but far less 
common in songs by women. “Salt” 
is a twist on Carrie Underwood’s 
“Cowboy Casanova.” This time 
the girl in the “look-at-me dress” 
is the “snake” and the star of the 
slide-guitar-laden Wild West show 
she’s been written into. Despite 
these playful asides, Bridges is 
overwhelmingly a call to action. 
Contrary to many country artists’ 
responses to the social justice 
movement, the title track asserts 
that “We’re gonna need more than 
prayers and wishes.”

In its own way, Apple Music 

has attempted to rise to these 
challenges Guyton points to in the 
industry. The streaming platform 
launched 
the 
“Apple 
Music 

Country” radio station this August 
— simultaneously recognizing that 
“radio is part of the fabric of country 
music culture” and that the way 
people listen to music is changing. 

The station boasts five daily on-air 
hosts, including a show by Black 
country singer-songwriter Tiera. 

It’s also home to shows curated 

by a diverse array of artists. 
BRELAND, 
Willie 
Jones 
and 

Rissi Palmer have all been tapped 
to contribute. While terrestrial 
radio has embraced the sounds 
and stylings of hip hop for years 
(hello Sam Hunt), it’s only been 
considered 
“country” 
if 
the 

“inspiration” shows up in music 
by white people (hello “Old Town 
Road” controversy). “Apple Music 
Country” is a step toward changing 
that. By acknowledging country 
music’s increasing diversity and 
reaffirming Black artists’ place in 
the genre, Apple Music is providing 
opportunities for Black artists to 
gain a foothold.

Again and again, the country 

music industry at large has shirked 
this same responsibility. While 
plenty of listeners hadn’t heard from 
Guyton’s perspective before “What 
Are You Gonna Tell Her?” on the 
ACMs, industry insiders have. In 
fact, when Guyton debuted the song 
in February to an auditorium full of 
radio executives, she got a standing 
ovation. But nothing changed — the 
song wasn’t picked up by enough 
radio stations to start charting. 
Guyton has been signed to Capitol 
Nashville since 2011 and was 
nominated for an ACM in 2016, but 
she still hasn’t been able to release a 
full-length album.

The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Arts
12 — Wednesday, September 30, 2020

Controversial ‘Cuties’ isn’t 
what Ted Cruz thinks it is

The backlash is bipartisan: 

both Sen. Ted Cruz and Rep. Tulsi 
Gabbard have called “Cuties” 
child porn. Following the release 
of the film’s trailer and (an ill-
conceived) poster, daily Netflix 
cancellations surged 5x, and a 
Change.org petition has over 
750,000 signatures calling for “the 
investigation of the parents, staff, 
director and especially Netflix.” 
Oh, 
and 
the 
#CancelNetflix 

hashtag was born.

What’s strange is that the 

film community’s reaction was 
overwhelmingly positive when 
“Cuties” debuted at Sundance in 
January. So, what went wrong?

Richard Brody of the New 

Yorker states, “I doubt that the 
scandal-mongers have actually 
seen ‘Cuties,’ but some elements of 
the film that weren’t presented in 
the advertising would surely prove 
irritating to them: it’s the story of a 
girl’s outrage at, and defiance of, a 
patriarchal order.” For starters, 
this film, as a social critique, is 
impossible to summarize in 94 
seconds (the length of the trailer, 
which is consequently the 44th 
most disliked video on YouTube), 
which means it is even more futile 
to attempt to convey the thesis in a 
single image. Even so, there were 
less offensive possibilities for the 
movie poster. Just as you don’t 
understand Yorgos Lanthimos’s 
“The Lobster” from a poster or 
trailer, to presume to understand 
“Cuties” from its trailer is unfair. 
Even a review you read in The 
Michigan Daily can’t tell the 
whole story. But I will try to cut 

through the noise and elucidate 
the social implications of this 
important film. 

“Cuties” is a story about modern 

girlhood in the age of Instagram, 
TikTok and “WAP.” The film also 
navigates the challenges faced 
by immigrants to adapt to a new 
culture without losing their roots. 
It follows 11-year-old Ami (Faitha 
Youssouf) as she desperately 
tries to find independence from 
her religious family through 
friendship and community. Ami’s 
first friends are four classmates 
who are practicing to compete in 
a dance competition. Before Ami 
ingratiates herself, these four 
girls bully her for her understated 
outfits. Herself unable to dance, 
Ami is unable to curry favor as a 
troupe-mate, and finds that she 
must dress like her new friends 
to be accepted. This means 
baring skin, which makes Ami 
uncomfortable: She hides her 
midriff with a hoodie when older 
boys leer at the girls. Ultimately, 
she chooses to sacrifice her own 
comfort for the sake of popularity. 

Ami’s 
family 
is 
beyond 

uncomfortable with midriffs and 
tight skirts. Devoutly religious, 
Ami’s mother and aunt make it 
very clear that they think Ami 
is dressing (in their words) like a 
“whore.” The disapproval of her 
family only fuels Ami’s drive for 
independence and her desire to 
learn how to dance like her friends. 
Previously 
only 
the 
troupe’s 

filmographer, when the friend 
group ousts one of their dancers 
only days before the competition 
try-outs, Ami volunteers to step 
in. She’s been practicing and 
“studying,” and even adds to 
the routine by teaching her new 

friends how to twerk. 

Wait – isn’t Ami 11? And her 

friends too? This is why Ted Cruz 
is mad. There is a lot of twerking 
in this film. There are very tight 
outfits. And the camera doesn’t 
hide any of it. This fact makes 
“Cuties” very challenging to watch 
at times. Director Maïmouna 
Doucouré 
(“Maman(s)”) 

acknowledges the discomforting 
nature of certain scenes, but 
retorts by saying, “if one really 
listens to 11-year-old girls, their 
lives are uncomfortable.” 

Ted Cruz’s anger and my 

discomfort come from two places. 
First, there is the very sound 
belief that young girls should not 
be sexualized in this way. And 
Doucouré herself agrees. Her film 
does not romanticize, but rather 
documents, lived reality. Having 
interviewed 
over 
a 
hundred 

Parisian 
preteens, 
Doucouré 

reports that “they saw that the 
sexier a woman is on Instagram 
or TikTok, the more likes she gets. 
They tried to imitate that sexuality 
in the belief that it would make 
them more popular.” But neither 
this film, nor my review of it, is 
a condemnation of social media. 
Ted Cruz wouldn’t say it is, either. 

I believe, and this is the second 

source of discomfort, that this 
film critically illuminates the 
fetishization, objectification and 
sexualization of women’s bodies 
at any age. If Doucouré argues that 
Ami twerks for popularity because 
she saw it online — well, the 
problem is not that Ami saw it, or 
that Ami wants to be popular. The 
problem is how our patriarchal 
society evaluates women based on 
sexual desirability. 

The discomfort I felt while 

watching this film was due to 
the inappropriateness of young 
girls behaving sexually. That 
dissonance is legitimate, but when 
I tried to investigate further what 
I was feeling, I had to ask myself: 
Why should wearing a tight skirt 
equate to “behaving sexually?” 
Our society has firmly linked a 
woman’s body with her sexuality, 
and subsequently with her worth 
as a person. That is the problem. 
If a woman of any age wishes to 
wear certain clothing, it is not for 
society to conflate her outfit with 
her sexual availability, just as two 
shirtless men playing catch in the 
street are no more sexual objects 
than they would be if they were 
fully clothed.

But I can’t close without 

clearly identifying and addressing 
the cause of mass outrage: the 
very 
real, 
not 
suggested 
or 

euphemized, 
sexualization 
of 

11-year-old 
characters 
(played 

by 14-year-old girls). There are 
plenty of examples of when the 
on-screen depiction of something 
socially 
grotesque 
conveys 
a 

powerful 
message 
about 
its 

depravity. Some directors like to 
push the envelope (Gaspar Noe’s 
“Irréverisble” comes to mind). 
But this film walks a very fine 
line, and seems not to know that 
sometimes it is best to describe, 
rather 
than 
depict, 
certain 

depravities. Doucouré defends 
her directorial choices by assuring 
viewers that “a trained counselor 
was present on set” and that “the 
project was even approved by 
the French government’s child 
protection authorities.” But, that’s 
akin to saying a veterinarian was 
present on the set of “Ben Hur.” 
Harm done is harm done, even if 
the “actors in the film had already 
seen these types of dances and 
more.” Many scenes are quite 
exploitative, and there is really 
no excuse for that. Monica Hesse 
of the Washington Post wrote, 
“Healthy adults won’t see the 
characters as sex objects; they’ll 
see them as children and they’ll 
see the dancing as disturbing.” I 
would reflect on this statement 
by saying the reason “healthy” 
adults will be disturbed is because 
the children are portrayed as sex 

objects. And that is not okay. 

In short, Ted Cruz missed 

Doucouré’s message. But when 
it comes to the images on screen, 
Cruz’s 
criticism 
has 
merit. 

“Cuties” illuminates real issues 
in our society. Foremost, that 
young girls have internalized 
an 
association 
between 
self-

worth and sexuality. Moreover, 
this association is founded on 
the 
patriarchy’s 
devaluation 

of women and fetishization of 
women’s bodies. These issues 
must be addressed and resolved. 
But the way to criticize the sexual 
objectification of young girls is not 
to take part in that exploitation. 
I fear that this film may pave the 
way for other directors to test 
what is acceptable in the realm of 
criticism-through-exhibition. 

For those who want to read 

more about this film, I highly 
recommend the Washington Post 
op-ed written by Doucouré, from 
which I pulled some of the above 
quotes.

Daily Arts Writer Ross London 

can be reached at rhorg@umich.
edu.

ROSS LONDON
Daily Arts Writer

BAC FILMS

Novel-in-verse ‘Punching’ 
takes on the carceral state

Award-winning author Ibi Zoboi 

and prison reform activist Yusef 
Salaam of the Exonerated Five 
joined forces to write their newly 
released novel-in-verse “Punching 
the Air.” In 1989, Yusef Salaam was 
one of the five boys wrongfully 
convicted in the “Central Park 
Jogger” case, which forced them to 
spend between seven and 13 years 
in jail until they were exonerated 
in 2002. Since being released, the 
five have received a multimillion 
dollar settlement from the city of 
New York, and their story has been 
documented in the 2012 film “The 
Central Park Five” and the 2019 
Netflix documentary series “When 
They See Us.” 

Zoboi writes that the wrongful 

conviction of the Exonerated Five 
awakened her and many others, “to 
the injustices of their country and 
of the world.” Having met Salaam 
two years after he was released 
from prison, Zoboi was a college 
reporter anxious to investigate the 
case and share Salaam’s story. Now, 
nearly 20 years after their first 
encounter, Zoboi brings Salaam’s 
perspective to light once more. 

In the novel, the fictional Amal 

Shahid is a 16-year-old Black 
Muslim poet and artist who is 
convicted of a crime he didn’t 
commit. Amal’s story begins in 
the courtroom, where he awaits 

his verdict. Though Amal’s story 
is inspired by Salaam’s, it is not an 
exact replica: “We decided that we 
had to make Amal a 2020 version 
of 1989 Yusef, and that is a boy who 
is incredibly self-aware,” Zoboi 
shared in an August interview 
with NPR. Infused with Salaam’s 
wisdom, perspective and even 
some of the poetry he wrote while 
incarcerated, Amal’s truth comes 
to life on the page. 

Amal’s life dramatically changes 

after one intense night when he is 
accused of assaulting a white boy. 
When he is found guilty, he is sent 
to a juvenile detention facility. An 
echo of Salaam, Amal is simply a 
boy who was in the wrong place 
at the wrong time; all the while, 
Amal is continuously referred to 
as “the defendant” and portrayed 
as a fully-grown man rather than 
the young boy he is. We follow 
Amal as he flashes between the 
past and present, wondering what 
his future will bring. His shifting 
emotional 
states 
are 
notably 

interwoven with recurrent motifs 
like stones, dust and butterflies, 
striking accompaniments to the 
verse that establishes an intimate 
and emotional connection between 
the reader and Amal. 

Throughout the novel, Amal 

transparently 
expresses 
his 

experiences in jail, which mostly 
confine him to his cell — four small 
corners. Alone, Amal is trapped in 
his own mind with his explosive 
thoughts. To escape and to express 

his anger and pain, Amal looks to 
art and poetry as outlets. When 
able, he attends poetry workshops 
(rewards for good behavior) and 
draws with broken crayons in his 
free time — “I didn’t know that 
/ I could hold this little / bit of 
freedom in my hands.” In addition 
to artistry bridging Amal and 
Salaam, Amal too has the support 
of his visiting family and friends, 
who bring him letters and books. 
They do not let Amal forget who he 
is as he battles in a setting designed 
to drain him of everything.

Through the use of verse, Zoboi 

illuminates the power of art and 
words that saves Amal from the 
sinking despair and rage that 
nearly swallow him whole, while 
detailing the unjust systems that 
have placed Amal in this position in 
the first place. This chiefly includes 
the judicial and prison systems in 
America that disproportionately 
fail and oppress Black people. One 
motif Zoboi and Salaam use is blind 
justice, invoking Lady Justice to 
give voice to this truth: “because 
where I come from / jail or death / 
were the two options she handed to 
us / because where he comes from 
/ the American Dream / was the 
one option she handed to them.” 
This sentiment is reiterated by the 
imbalanced structure of the verse, 
calling to mind the tipping scales 
Lady Justice holds. 

LILLIAN PEARCE

Daily Arts Writer

HARPERCOLLINS PUBLISHERS

CAPITOL RECORDS NASHVILLE

The racial and gendered 
barriers in country music

KATIE BEEKMAN

Daily Arts Writer

Read more online at 

michigandaily.com

Read more online at 

michigandaily.com

