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Arts
Wednesday, March 17, 2021 — 9
Remember the “Cheese Touch”?
You know what I’m talking about.
It was 2011. You were nine years old.
You were on the bus ride back home,
settled into your assigned seat and
beginning to zone out, dreaming
about your 30 minutes of allotted
computer time on Poptropica that
night.
Suddenly, you felt a violent jab
into the back of your arm. A smug-
sounding classmate then shouted
“Cheese Touch!” in your ear, their
voice dripping with ridicule, plus an
undertone of relief. “Crossies!”
Panic sets in. You turn around to
view the offender, and they hold up
their crossed fingers to your face to
prove their immunity. The middle
section of the bus explodes with
laughter. You quickly search around
to see everyone’s faces. They taunt you
by rapidly holding up their crossed
fingers, laughing. Desperate to get rid
of the Cheese Touch, you scan the bus
for any unsuspecting bystanders on
which to pass off your deadly touch.
Remember that nightmare? Well,
we have one person to thank for
that. Surprisingly, we have the same
person to thank for your 30 minutes
of allotted time on Poptropica: Jeff
Kinney.
Initially a newspaper cartoonist
in college, Jeff Kinney’s comics were
criticized for looking too much like
those of a “seventh-grader.” Citing
the Peter Principle, Kinney decided to
lean into his (perceived lack of) style.
Now, Kinney is the author of “Diary
of a Wimpy Kid,” one of the world’s
most widely consumed children’s
series, and the creator of Poptropica,
the incredibly famous role-player
gaming website for kids. He also owns
a bookstore in Plainville, Mass., with
his wife Julie. Talk about range!
Kinney’s work is far-reaching — his
series can be found at any book fair.
However, children’s media experts
and English teachers rarely seem to
hold it in high regard. In fifth grade,
my favorite English teacher Mr.
Jonathan bemoaned the members
of our class (including me) who read
“Stick-Man,” as he called it. Too
often, “Wimpy Kid” is seen as too
“low-brow” to engage with (without,
at least, some semblance of shame).
However, I disagree: I think the
“Wimpy Kid” series is a masterpiece
on many levels.
Let’s not put on airs: we read
the book for its humor (mostly
situational
comedy,
with
a
tasteful sprinkle of barf jokes).
Greg, a tween assured of his
own greatness, regularly tries to
manipulate others, like his best
friend Rowley, as well as his family,
into doing his bidding. He fails a lot.
Greg pretends his arm is broken to
get sympathy, ridicules Rowley and
concocts schemes for his crush,
Holly Hills, to pay attention to him.
These behaviors indicate a healthy
dose of adolescent narcissism —
Greg is manipulative, selfish and,
honestly, kind of a jerk. However,
anyone who remembers the ordeals
of middle school knows what it feels
like to fight their way through these
grades — to tweens, this behavior
might even seem normal.
“It really captures the struggle of a
child that age trying to figure out what
it means to be a person,” Dr. Joshua
Sparrow, a psychiatrist at Harvard
Medical School, said in an interview
with the New York Times. Greg
definitely isn’t the best role model.
He can be ridiculously terrible, yet, at
times, relatable.
However, it brings the unreliable
narrator trope to mind: If Greg cannot
be trusted, can his storytelling? Upon
further examination, Greg’s problems
seem very obvious to everyone except
him. His accounts of constant jealousy
of his younger brother, Manny (who
represents everything Greg hopes to
be), his desperation to play the victim
when speaking to his older brother,
Rodrick (who really didn’t do much
wrong) and his constant dismissal
of both Rowley and his mother (who
make efforts to bond with him) feel
one-sided. Greg, trapped in a prison of
his own mind where he tries and fails
to manipulate others, would do well to
care about those around him. Maybe,
were he to gain empathy for the
people in his life, Greg’s never-ending
cycle of manipulation would end, and
he would finally graduate middle
school. Kinney’s characterization of
Greg feels simple and complex at the
same time.
In elementary school, I ran to the
Scholastic Book Fair during lunch to
read the latest release. Today, “Wimpy
Kid” still enthralls kids. It’s rare not to
see a Wimpy Kid book at the top of the
Children’s Bestseller List. Jeff Kinney
might not be a household name, but
Greg Heffley certainly is.
Less people know about Kinney’s
involvement
with
Poptropica,
launched in 2007, the same year the
first “Wimpy Kid” was published in
print. Many people are surprised to
find out Kinney is the developer and
creative director, despite spending
countless hours on the website in their
childhood. If “Wimpy Kid” feels like
the continuation of one long story,
Poptropica is the opposite: users jump
from island to island, each containing
its own interactive story that involves
a quest, many of which are written by
Kinney.
Poptropica’s
iconic
character
design, for which characters’ faces are
sideways ellipses, with large blinking
eyes, one slightly larger than the other
depending on which way the camera
is facing, is recognizable anywhere.
Poptropica continues to live in a
nostalgic class of online media for
many late millennials and early Gen-
Zers, alongside websites like Webkinz
and Club Penguin. In the ultimate
super-mega
nostalgia-extreme
crossover of the decade, Kinney even
created two “Wimpy Kid” islands
within Poptropica, with storylines
based on helping Greg babysit Manny
and other cool, fun stuff.
I have many fond memories of
playing
Poptropica,
specifically
the Greek Mythology island which
coincided with one of my other
childhood interests: the children’s
book series “Percy Jackson and the
Olympians,” written by Rick Riordan,
with whom Kinney happens to be
friends. It took me two years (and a
lot of online tutorials) to get past the
Underworld in Greek Mythology
Island — this is not something I
admit freely. Embarrassingly, over
quarantine,
I’ve
started
playing
Poptropica again, and I’m still
struggling with completing many of
the quests.
Kinney’s work isn’t without its
faults. One wonders if Kinney has
anything to gain artistically from
continuing to publish seemingly
indiscernible
stories
of
Greg.
Additionally, no one can forget
Chirag Gupta (personally, my self-
insert character), the only person of
color in his books, who was literally
gaslighted into believing he was
invisible and then deaf (I can’t make
this up). Despite these flaws, Kinney’s
varied body of work somehow has a
kiddish, comfortable charm to it — it
feels safe.
To discuss the topic of evolution,
it’s essential to note Kinney’s relative
consistency after creating Poptropica.
Kinney has been publishing the
“Wimpy Kid” series since 2007 — of
which there are 15 books (Yes! 15!).
Greg and company have stayed in the
same suburban middle school for 14
years now. In Poptropica, while new
islands and an app have been released,
the overall feel has stayed the same.
In an extremely short period, Kinney
went through an intense multimedia
ideation period that spawned cultural
touchstones. Since then, Kinney
hasn’t created any new franchises;
with
two
long-lived,
financially
lucrative projects, he stays busy.
However, to call him stagnant
would
be
unfair.
Within
his
established projects, he continues to
expand worlds familiar to us. He’s
created new story-based islands in
Poptropica. He’s made a Rowley
spin-off series within the “Diary of a
Wimpy Kid” universe. It seems to be
what Kinney does best as an artist:
create an immersive world that is
untouched by the passage of time, and
flesh it out for years to come.
A few weeks ago, I was listening
to music with my roommates on a
Friday night. Much to their chagrin,
I ended up controlling Spotify and
turned on a playlist with some of my
favorites. My close friend stopped me
as Lauryn Hill’s “Ex-Factor” started
and said, “This is from a Drake song!”
Drake, who in 2012 called himself
“the first person to successfully rap
and sing,” was borrowing from one
of the unsung pioneers of the hip-hop
genre. It saddens me that most of us
know Hill from her samples on tracks
written by those who benefit from the
style of hip-hop she pioneered.
Lauryn Hill, whose work precedes
that of artistically acclaimed rappers
like
Kendrick
Lamar,
is
often
overlooked as the originator of the
hip-hop/soul genre, with beautiful
instrumentation, impressive vocals
and amazing flow. Her work seems
to have been lost in the ’90s, when
The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill was
released. So how did this example of
sweeping range that revolutionized
hip-hop get lost?
Hill rose to fame through her 1992
band The Fugees, which she formed
with Wyclef Jean and Pras Michel.
The band found immense commercial
success and critical acclaim with
the release of their 1996 sophomore
album The Score. Hill, specifically,
was praised for her interpretation of
Roberta Flack’s “Killing Me Softly
With His Song,” which blended
hip-hop,
reggae
and
Caribbean
influences while at the same time
maintaining elements of the original
soul. Additionally, Hill showed her
versatility with her verse on “Ready
or Not,” in which she showcased her
hip-hop credentials by rapping along
to Jean. Overall, the band showcased
a new neo-soul sense that blended
Jean’s Jamaican roots with Hill’s vocal
abilities and hip-hop background, but
Hill specifically began her journey as
a versatile artist.
The Fugees disbanded in 1997
due to internal strife between Jean
and Hill. This separation would
bring Hill’s greatest work yet, in
the form of an album and style
that would revolutionize the music
industry. In 1998, Hill released The
Miseducation of Lauryn Hill, her
debut and only solo album. The
album opens with audio of a school
bell, and we hear conversations
about love between the “students.”
Every track ends with audio from
one of these conversations, which
describe the experience of love as
a Black woman. Presumably, Hill
herself is one of the students, getting
“re-educated” after her titular
“miseducation” about love.
The album’s opener, “Lost Ones,”
shows Hill’s rap prowess right out of
the gate, establishing her abilities in
the more traditional hip-hop genre.
However, as we move through the
album we hear Hill mix genres that
she’d never fully dipped into during
her time with The Fugees. Her range
starts to shine through on “Ex-Factor,”
where she pairs beautiful rhythm and
blues vocals and instrumentation
with rap.
“Ex-Factor” is the type of track
that blends so many genres it feels
like you’re listening to every song
on a diverse album, but the blending
is seamless. Hill incorporates the
guitar skills of artist Carlos Santana
on “To Zion,” an ode to her firstborn
son, incorporating Latin jazz into her
style. Arguably her most famous song,
“Doo Wop (That Thing)” showcases
her rapping and singing prowess in
another genre-mixing song, filled
with the warnings of things that she
was never warned against in her
“miseducation” on life and love.
We do see Hill divert into the “true”
genres that she utilizes, specifically on
her ballad track “The Miseducation
of Lauryn Hill,” her R&B anthem
in “Nothing Even Matters” and her
more pure rap style on tracks like
“Every Ghetto, Every City.” Hearing
the record takes the listener across the
entire musical spectrum, yet it always
comes together thanks to a touch that
is distinct to Hill.
Women
are
often
dismissed
in the hip-hop world due to their
gender, and it can feel like they have
to choose their styles very explicitly.
Women in hip hop who write about
sexuality, like Cardi B, are dismissed
as cheap shots despite men rapping
about these same topics for decades.
Hill’s range on Miseducation goes
beyond musical range: She addresses
a variety of topics related to her
experience as a Black woman. Hill’s
decision to mix styles and messages
changed what it means to be a hip-
hop artist — a woman in hip-hop —
and these changes are still felt today.
Consider Kendrick Lamar’s To
Pimp a Butterfly from 2015: Mixing
jazz instrumentals with a spoken-
word style of rap and featuring
artists from a variety of backgrounds
felt revolutionary and fresh because
of how well it was executed. But
after listening to Miseducation, one
quickly realizes that it all started
with Hill’s style and fearlessness in
mixing and mastering a spectrum of
themes and disciplines.
Understanding
the
influence
of Lauryn Hill on the music
industry and the groundbreaking
impact of her debut album is key
in recognizing the development of
music at large. So the next time you
listen to modern hip-hop and enjoy
the now-popular style of blending
vocals and rap, don’t forget the
artists who started it.
Lauryn Hill’s legacy deserves to
be one of an artist who pioneered a
style years before it caught on and
beautifully
mastered
individual
disciplines across an immense
range.
Basement Arts has a longstanding
reputation
for
showcasing
the
talents of University of Michigan
actors and directors; it occupies
the upper echelon of student-run
theater
organizations.
Basement
Arts’s collaboration with Blank Space
Workshop, a student organization
dedicated to showcasing the work of
emerging playwrights, has been much
anticipated. Unfortunately, the debut
performance of this collaborative
effort, “SHE,” fails to measure up.
Devised and directed by Music,
Theatre & Dance junior Claire Vogel,
Basement Arts’s short film “SHE” was
conceived with one purpose in mind:
To create a feminist play. Narrative
and characterization are left by the
wayside in favor of neon lights and
funky eyeshadow. The production
relies far too heavily on aesthetic, but
aesthetic alone does not make a play.
To paraphrase prominent YA author
Rainbow Rowell, “Art isn’t supposed
to look nice, it’s supposed to make you
feel something.”
And while the mere feat of making
a play look “nice” and maintaining
production value is nothing to scoff at
during the era of Zoom plays and radio
dramas, these efforts were wasted
on a hackneyed feminist manifesto
devoid of soul.
For a play whose only aim is to
celebrate femininity, the script is
remarkably tone-deaf. In the hour-
long film, trans women and BIPOC
women are only mentioned once.
I might add that they are clumped
together in the same monologue, a
thinly-veiled tokenization of these
women and their experiences. That
monologue, two minutes long at
most, is the most intersectional
feminism you’re going to get from this
production.
The rest are cringy montages of
women “indulging” in junk food,
comparing their bodies to numerous
species of flora and defining their
femininity by the way men treat and
view them. In light of the tragedies of
the past year, which disproportionately
affected trans women and women of
color, these tacky technicolor tales ring
particularly distasteful. The heyday
of trans-exclusive white feminism is
long behind us, yet “SHE” continues to
glorify it.
If
“SHE”
seeks
to
promote
unification
and
sisterhood,
it
succeeds. However, this sisterhood is
only available to a privileged few. The
cast is fairly homogeneous in terms of
representation of varying identities
— comprised almost entirely of thin,
white, cisgender women.
That being said, the piece certainly
has its virtues. In a powerful
monologue, School of Music, Theatre
& Dance freshman Emilia Vizachero
details the role of a white woman’s
tears in perpetuating racist myths
about the danger men of color pose.
This is perhaps one of my favorite
pieces in the play, closely followed by
Music, Theatre & Dance freshman
Victoria Vourkoutiotis’s performance
of a piece detailing the concerted
erasure
of
same-gender
sexual
partners.
The level of performance from
the actors and musicians involved
was
consistently
strong,
with
beautiful renditions of “Armor”
by Sara Bareilles and “Girls Just
Wanna Have Fun” by Cyndi Lauper
— the delivery is as good as it
possibly could be given the intrinsic
weakness of the script.
Perhaps the greatest failure of
“SHE” is its inability to develop
any sort of narrative or character
development (and this is coming
from someone whose favorite
contemporary
playwright
is
Samuel Beckett). I adore the
theater of doing nothing. I live
for people lollygagging on stage
and simultaneously evoking the
meaninglessness of existence. I
am in love with artistic genius
masquerading as nonsense. What
I cannot stand is nonsense that
masquerades as artistic genius.
Simply put, a plethora of free-
verse
similes
comparing
your
genitalia to various types of flora is
not brave. It’s boring.
It generalizes, it does little to
build character and it utilizes
talented actors as little more than
talking paintings. It is a love letter
to white feminism, and frankly, it’s
one I’m tired of reading.
Ultimately,
feminism
doesn’t
exist in a vacuum: It’s a situational
response to both subjective and
generalized oppression. The great
existential
philosopher
Simone
de Beauvoir asserts that “one is
not born, but rather becomes, a
woman.”
“SHE” ignores the second part
of this statement entirely. It focuses
on the mantras, the stereotypes and
the mores. It not only suppresses the
experiences of any type of woman
outside of the cis-heterosexual, white
cultural norm, but it erases what can
be considered one of the chief defining
characteristics
of
the
feminine
experience: its subjectivity.
We cannot create a common
narrative of femininity because it
does not exist. You cannot reduce
the female experience to a handful
of cherry-picked narratives that you
deem pretty enough and palatable
enough to write about. If we attempt
to define feminism within certain
parameters, we will fail time and time
again. The theatrical arts hold the
utmost privilege in their ability to be
subjective. No great play has ever been
written with the intent of universality.
Theater is powerful because
it allows us to understand and
empathize with those who are
unlike us. Hence, attempting to
create shapeless narratives and
vapid characters serves no one. I
am a white feminist, and my story
has been told time and time again. I
want to understand someone else’s
story. Maybe it’s time we ditch our
eyeshadow and neon lights; maybe
it’s time to step aside and listen to
someone else for a change.
Basement Arts’s ‘SHE’ tells a story we’ve heard one too many times
Zoo-wee mama: The evolution of Jeff Kinney
‘The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill’ and the evolving nature of hip hop
DARBY WILLIAMS
Daily Arts Writer
MADELINE POUPARD
For The Daily
MEERA KUMAR
For The Daily
Design by Brianna Manzor
Design by Erin Ruark
Design by Yassmine El-Rewini