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EOTW: Jana Jrien
January 23, 2019 | 34st.com
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Not on my block
30th St. Station Food Guide
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Roma Review
How new development threatens West Philadelphia’s historic buildings
JAnuary January23, 23,2019 2019 Feeling Passionless
4 EGO
EOTW: Jana Krein, Rho Gamma on Mental Wellness
6 MUSIC
Kindo House Show, JoJo's New Album
Annabelle Williams, Editor–in–Chief Dalton DeStefano, Managing Editor Daniel Bulpitt, Audience Engagement Director Lily Snider, Assignments Editor Ethan Wu, Media Director Sophie Burkholder, Word on the Street Editor Katie Bontje, Ego Editor Sam Kesler, Music Editor Eliana Doft, Special Features Editor Meerie Jesuthasan, Long–Term Features Editor Angie Lin, Developing Features Editor Bella Fertel, Style Editor Maryanne Koussa, Film & TV Editor Josephine Cheng, Arts Editor Emma Boey & Sophia Dai, Photo Editors Tahira Islam & Katie Steele, Copy Editors Ben Zhao, Print Director Ego Beats: Amanpreet Singh, Michelle Shen, Sophie Xi, Caroline Emma Moore Music Beats: Beatrice Forman, Arjun Swaminathan, Teresa Xie, Melannie Jay, Aleksei Kuryla Features Staff: Katrina Janco, Shinyoung Hailey Noh,
8 STYLE
Where to Eat at 30th Street Station, Homesickness Tips
LOL
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Historic Preservation
LOL 14 FILM & TV
Mary Queen of Scots, Netflix YOU, Roma Review
17 ARTS
Paul Phillipe Cret, Slought Gallery
LOL 19 OVERHEARDS 2
Allison Wu, Srinidhi Ramakrishna, Caroline Riise, Paige Fishman, Chris Schiller Style Beats: Karin Hananel, Allie Shapiro, Jen Cullen, Alice Goulding Film & TV Beats: Anna Collins, Shriya Beesam, Shannon Zhang, Zovinar Khrimian, Calista Lopez
Copy Deputies: Sarah Poss & Kira Horowitz Copy Associates: Kate Poole, Serena Miniter, Erin Liebenberg, Lexie Shah, Carmina Hachenburg, Luisa Healey, Agatha Advincula Audience Engagment Associates: Brittany Levy, McKay Norton, Kat Ulich, Emily Gelb, Ryan McLaughlin, Valentina Escudero
Arts Beats: Michelle Wan
Cover Photos by Ethan Wu
Design Editors: Gillian Diebold, Lucy Ferry, Alice Heyeh, Jess Tan, Tamsyn Brann Associates: Dannie Watson, Joy Lee, Ian Ong, Christy Qiu, Jackie Lou
Contacting 34th Street Magazine: If you have questions, comments, complaints or letters to the editor, email Annabelle Williams, Editor–in–Chief, at williams@34st.com. You can also call us at (215) 422–4640. www.34st.com
Staff Writers: Liz Kim, Jordan Waschman, Anjalee Bhuyan, Shunmel Syau, Bebe Hodges Illustrators: Anne Chen, Anne Marie Grudem, Brad Hong, Carly Ryan, Catherine Liang, Jake Lem, Reese Berman, Saranya Sampath, Jessi Olarsch, Christopher Kwok, Diane Lin, Cecelia Vieira, Jacqueline Lou Staff Photographers: Sophia Zhu, Eleanor Shemtov Video Staff: Jean Chapiro, Christina Piasecki, Anab Aidid
©2019 34th Street Magazine, The Daily Pennsylvanian, Inc. No part may be reproduced in whole or in part without the express, written consent of the editors (but I bet we will give you the a–okay.) All rights reserved. 34th Street Magazine is published by The Daily Pennsylvanian, Inc., 4015 Walnut St., Philadelphia, Pa., 19104, every Wednesday.
"Ethan, say something weird about vomiting!"
LETTER FROM THE EDITOR I
haven’t always been tall. I guess it started around 8th grade; I shot up, got all reedy. Part of me thought it wouldn't stick. But I'm tall now—5 feet 11.5 inches, if you want exact specs. Any shoes whatsoever push me over the six–foot threshold. I’m the worst at concerts. When I stand next to my short friends, they joke that I look like their mother. To be a girl who’s six feet tall is to be conspicuous. To be a girl who is six feet tall is to round down with the hope of blending in, to watch the expression on a new acquaintance’s face contort when you stand up for the first time, to be met with stares in public, to memorize and predict the intrusive questions. No, I don’t play basketball. Sure, the weather up here is fine. And—not that you asked—I can sometimes see your dandruff from this angle. I’m an anxious person, and sometimes I worry that just by existing at this altitude, I’m making people uncomfortable. That somehow I’m subverting gender dynamics or calling attention to our prescriptive notions of femininity by being too visible, too conspicuous. But I had a realization recently. I’m just tall. There’s no meaning to it and there’s no changing it, no matter how much coffee I chug to retroactively stunt my growth. It’s a fact of life, no more mutable than the whirr of garbage trucks outside my window on Wednesday mornings. And I just have to deal. So that’s what this letter is about. Acceptance. At Street, there are constantly moving pieces, and it can be hard to feel like you’re keeping a lid on
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everything. And at Penn, the want of perfection can get so attractive and unattainable that it precludes you from doing anything other than checking Instagram stories while you pee. It’s easy to think of acceptance as passivity, that accepting things means letting them wash over you. But I’m trying to think of it with a critical eye. There’s a moderation to well–practiced acceptance, one I haven’t quite hit on yet. You straddle the line between existing in the world and trying to change it. But I think for now it’s important to try to understand it. So you try to take it in. To take culture, art, politics, change—all those things swirling around us—and synthesize, analyze, understand, critique, think. And I hope that’s what Street’s first issue of 2019 does. Hope you enjoy it. And if not, just accept it.
Jessi Olarsch | Illustrator
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WORD ON THE STREET
word on the
STREET
La La Land is one of my favorite movies. From its masterful 20th–century Hollywood tribute to the heart–wrenching goodbye between soulmates, La La Land stuck with me for months after I first saw it. It stuck with me not only because of its dreamy soundtrack, but also because it caused the deep and unsettling realization that I do not have a passion. Mia and Sebastian are the film’s protagonists in fierce pursuit of their respective passions for acting and jazz. They meet serendipitously and naturally fall in love, but ultimately split at the end of the movie to follow divergent paths. These visceral desires to achieve something meaningful encapsulate Mia and Sebastian’s raisons d'être. These fiery passions, persistent through challenges and hardship, were so attractive to me. I wanted a passion of my own—to cultivate and care for, to take me to greater heights, and to help me achieve personal growth. But when I tried to identify my own passion, I simply could not. I felt directionless, at a standstill amid friends and peers racing towards banking and consulting jobs, graduate degrees, or careers in the arts. Grounded in their missions, my peers' steps were calculated towards some distant goal. Passion seemed to be missing from my life. The last time I could identify such intense drive in myself was in high school, when I was desperate to go to a great college: a place to
WHAT IF MY PASSION IS NOT HAVING A PASSION? A second semester senior embraces her lack of a planned–out future in an excited hopefulness for the unknown. Gretchen Bednarz learn, grow, be challenged, and meet people from all corners of the world. I put my head down and I worked for it. Each decision I made was guided by a vision of myself graduating from a highly lauded university with boundless knowledge and opportunities ahead of me. This 13–year mara-
one. The drive I always had towards an end goal was no longer there. I found myself with a blank canvas and was unable to choose which interest captivated me most. I ended up declaring a major in International Relations, a major perfect for people like me—interdisciplinary and broad. I excit-
all of these experiences, the world became more colorful, vibrant, lucid. But I realized over time that I cared less about which exact path I would take, and more about whether I was experiencing all that I could. But out of fear of future debt, I ran to finance and consulting: a place to
Brad Hong | Illustrator
thon through the American public school system ended at the finish line of Locust Walk, soon to become my new starting line. I had vague ideas of what I wanted to do. I had a long–term goal of working in foreign service. I contemplated pursuing computer science, and I thought about careers in international business. There was even a brief moment when I wanted to be an astrophysicist. On a campus buzzing with ideas and innovation, I struggled to commit to just
edly learned the nuances and patterns of the field, but I still didn’t have much direction. And it didn’t help that the post–graduation opportunities were endless. I also worked as a political science research assistant, thinking perhaps I’d pursue grad school. I taught German in Greece, explored archaeological sites, learned to code at a tech company, and took online courses in financial modeling. I spent each summer at a different financial service company in a different city. Through
go when you don’t know where to go. I spent hours practicing cases and reading the Vault Guide. It was comfortable and predictable, yet I felt unsettled and restless. It was here that I realized how I had more in common with the La La Land characters than I had initially thought. While I couldn’t find indestructible passion for a specific activity, I felt the joy that comes from branching away from what I thought was safe. I can find joy in freedom from a cul-
ture that calls big dreams impractical, and encourages us to find a job that makes money. Like Mia and Sebastian, confronted by these voices, I decided not to listen. I dismissed the fear of student loans, and even fear of not receiving validation from peers and parents. It took a lot of energy to proudly admit to my peers that I didn't know what I wanted to do to with my life. It took courage and passion to overstep the embarrassment and confusion I felt. Freed from these fears, I removed the blinders and allowed myself to see clearly. I learned how to say yes to an opportunity even if it didn’t seem to lead me to a distinct goal. I accepted that my resume is not a paper personification of who I am, but merely what I have done. I concede, that as of now, my passion is not having a passion. It is searching in lieu of settling. It is adaptability and vulnerability. It is pushing past the crippling fear of the unknown. I am a second semester senior with absolutely no idea of what I am going to do when I graduate in a few months. I am like Mia and Sebastian in that I am perhaps chasing impracticality and dismissing normalcy. But I find passion when I am faced with the unknown. I feel it when I am tethered to nothing but the present moment. So I keep moving forward, letting the ground underneath my feet disappear behind me as I saunter towards my yet unidentified finish line.
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EGO
Ego of the Week: Penn senior Jana Krien on co–directing the Quaker Girls dance team By Michelle Shen 34th Street Magazine What is challenging and rewarding about being co–director of the Quaker Girls Dance Team? Jana Krien The most challenging aspect is all of the different moving parts that go with running a student–led team. We don’t have a coach or faculty member helping us out. It’s just us, so we have to coordinate our own practices; we have to deal with our own finances. The learning curve that came with understanding that I had the responsibility to do all this myself and with my co–director so our team can run smoothly. I think the most rewarding part was seeing everything come together after our performances, seeing how hard our girls work, and how well they perform—just how excited they are afterwards when we have a good performance and watch that video: We see all of our hard work has an amazing result. That’s definitely the most rewarding.
Street How do you build a sense of community on the team? JK We’re a pretty small team. We have sixteen girls right now, and so we have practice three times a week for two hours each, so we see each other a lot. Also, just the fact that every single girl on the team is contributing in helping out, whether they have a board position or are choreographing a dance for us. Everyone is just so involved since there aren’t that many of us. I think we really try to make it a priority to make sure we all do stuff outside of practice and that we’re a really close–knit team.
Street You started a club that distributes menstrual products to poor women in Philadelphia. What was the impetus for creating this club, and why is this particular issue important to you? JK There’s so many issues facing women today. This was just for some reason really personal for me because I feel that it’s not one that many people think about. You know we think about how there are homeless women, so we give them shelter, food, and water, but still this particular aspect is often overlooked. It’s definitely a large part of the overall well–being and their ability to stay healthy. It also impacts their ability to go to job interviews or hold down a job when they’re menstruating and don’t have any available products. For a lot of women in other countries, when girls are on their period, they stop going to school, so it turns into this big education issue and a public health issue. There’s a lot of large issues that we don’t think of right away. 4
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YEAR: Senior HOMETOWN: Waterford, WI MAJOR/MINOR: Biology,
Jana Krien
Consumer Psychology ACTIVITIES: Quaker Girls Dance Team, Penn Period Project
Street On a broader level, what are some issues you think are important to solve in Philadelphia?
Street What do you hope to do in the future?
JK I think education is really important, especially for young girls in Philadelphia. I really want to make sure that they stay in school and they given the best opportunities and resources that they need so that they can finish high school and go on to college. Depending on what your background is, where you come from, it may not be possible for you. I think also, you know, since I am studying science, I really want to encourage young girls to look into the STEM field so they realize that they are smart, and it’s not just all made up of guys.
JK I definitely think that in the future I would like to get more involved with companies like Cora, which distributes menstrual health products to women. They do a lot of work in Africa and Middle Eastern countries. I think I’d like to work there and help on–site to get really hands– on experience from that. I also think of expanding this idea to any city that I’m in.
LIGHTNING ROUND Best place to eat on campus? Your favorite song? What celebrity would you have play you in a documentary of your life? There are two types of people at Penn… And you are?
SoBol. Anything by Of Monsters and Men. Blake Lively.
Those who walk to the Palestra and those who Uber to the Palestra. Definitely the Uber kind!
EGO
Rho Gamma Serena Vargulik Speaks About Mental Wellness During Sorority Rush
To all the Potential New Members, Serena advises to “stay true to yourself” during the process. By Sophie Xi
Ethan Wu | Media Director
T
his is the time of year when hundreds of girls in their best outfits swarm the city blocks, shivering in their zipped–up coats. They are going through the grueling rush process before joining one of the eight Panhellenic sororities at Penn. This week can be daunting to say the least, and that’s why Rho Gammas, who serve as recruitment guides to Potential New Members, play such an important role. Serena Vargulik (C ‘19), a senior majoring in philosophy, politics, and economics, is a Rho Gamma for this year’s recruitment. A former co–chair of Penn Wellness, Serena decided to be a Rho Gamma because she wanted to support the PNMs during their rush process. “I know being a PNM in the rushing process can be challenging. Coming from the wellness background, I really want to be there for the PNMs as someone they can just talk to and help to make the process as smooth as possible,” Serena
says. Serena explains that it's highly emphasized to Rho Gammas to be there for the girls and to be supportive of all of the chapters. Serena entered the rush process in her freshman spring, and she became a member of Chi Omega. Before the process began, Serena didn't know if rush was right for her. Throughout the week, however, she became more invested in it. “Later I realized, it’s so important to not let this process shape how you view yourself,” Serena says. Serena says that frankly, the rush process is not perfect. She believes there’s a sweet spot that needs to be found between being efficient and giving enough time to foster genuine conversations. She also says that in order for rush to be successful for anyone, you have to decide whether you want to be a a part of something. “Being more of an introvert myself, I definitely found it
challenging to have so many conversations in one day with people that I don’t know,” Serena adds. Having conversations with girls you barely know for hours on end can be exhausting for many PNMs, Serena says. The PNMs can sometimes be tired of talking about the same thing over and over again. “When you’re put in a situation to talk with others, it’s hard to build from small talk to deep conversation,” Serena says. “I’m not so sure about how to do it; but one thing I like to do when I’m in the house is that I would look up cool questions to ask people.” As a former co–chair of Penn Wellness, Serena hopes to raise awareness for various mental health initiatives at Penn. Since freshman year, she became part of the Penn Benjamins Peer Counseling, an organization that provides short–term and confidential peer services to members of the Penn undergraduate community. Students are welcomed to talk about anything
with the Penn Benjamins counselors. They can also be directed to additional resources if necessary. Serena found her work at Penn Wellness to be very connected to her role as a Rho Gamma. “I like being there for people. Especially with rushing, you’re putting yourself out there. If it’s not working out as how you envisioned, it’s really tough,” Serena says. “Everyone here is amazing and I want them to have the best experience at Penn, to feel comfortable with who they are as a person, and to know that they are extremely valued.” Serena does not believe that there's a generic word to de-
scribe the process of sorority rush—it often carries a bag of mixed feelings. Within a brief window of time, girls have to be fully committed to the process even though it's very possible that they might be rejected by their preferred chapters. “Everyone has such as an individual experience through this whole process,” Serena says. “I really dislike how things can be so selective. But also realizing that having smaller communities wouldn’t be possible if they were to be completely open.” When asked about her words of advice for the PNMs, Serena thought for a second, and with a smile she says, “I would say, stay true to yourself.”
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Prog Rock Band Reigns Over a West Philly House Show The seven–piece prog rock band crammed their instruments into a basement for an intimate and high–energy performance.
Photo provided by Kindo
By Melannie Jay To the average Philadelphian walking their dog or jogging through the neighborhood, it would come as a shock to know that a small Wynnefield townhouse was, for one night, a concert venue. On Jan. 14, indie prog rock band Kindo (formerly known as The Reign of Kindo) performed a 90–minute headlining set on the concrete basement floor of a four–bedroom house not too far from St. Joseph’s University. Walking up the brick stairs makes concert attendees feel more like trick–or–treaters or door– to–door salesmen than prog aficionados, and there comes a moment before opening the door where one hopes they have the correct address and won't be barging in on a house party or family dinner. Inside the house, however, the grungy punk vibe starts to show: posters of other rock bands and production companies line the walls both upstairs and downstairs, and a wall of mirrors in the kitchen bears clever dry–erase marker phrases like “I miss the old 6
Kanye” and “Caroline was here.” While waiting for the show to start, patrons mill about the kitchen with cans of Genesee in hand or play Super Smash Bros. Ultimate in the living room on the homeowner’s Switch. Members of the band take turns working the merch table against the aforementioned mirror wall, while the others fetch dinner or mingle with the concertgoers. When the show is due to start, the audience is corralled down to the basement, which looks indistinguishable from any other: an unfinished concrete floor, a downright terrifying set of stairs, color–changing string lights around the perimeter. With all of the space the seven– piece ensemble and their instruments take up, there isn't much room left for the audience. Opener Daisy Abrams plays a few songs on keyboard before taking her place with the rest of the crowd and allowing Kindo to take over. For a band as prolific within the prog scene as Kindo, who just released their fourth LP
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Happy However After last year, a series of small house shows in Florida and the mid–Atlantic seems an unusual move. The tour was announced in November as “a unique experience for [Kindo] to connect much more deeply … in a setting that is warm, friendly, and intimate.” Lead singer Joey Secchiaroli was inspired to do a house tour after playing a few house shows with a different ensemble. “I was so taken aback by how warm and just inviting those atmospheres were,” Joey says. “Everyone who was a part of it wanted to be a part of it, and that was a really refreshing thing to feel. We came to the people who really wanted us there.” While he understands that traditional concert venues are businesses whose primary goal is to make money, he feels that such an outlook means that “you don’t necessarily feel like they [venue owners] want you there.” The Facebook post announcing the coming house tour put a call out for potential hosts anywhere be-
tween Ocala, Florida and their home base of New York City. Once all the applications were in, the band went through several rounds of vetting to make sure a space was suitable for performance. “[We] kind of just took it down different tiers and kind of funneled down until we found the best–suited candidates,” Joey says. “We’ve been really lucky so far.” The gratitude that Joey and the rest of Kindo feel for their hosts and fans is on full display at the show, where all the members of Kindo dance, sing, and play with as much intensity as they can in the cramped quarters. “I’m having fun. I hope you guys are having fun,” Joey says between songs. Their ninety– minute set covered tracks from the full span of Kindo’s discography, from debut 2008 album Rhythm, Chord & Melody to last year’s Happy However After, as well as one song released only to Patreon customers that they hope to include on the next album. There’s something about a
basement show that makes one feel as if they’re the first one to discover an artist. While Kindo’s 900+ Patreon patrons, 36,000 Facebook likes, and 38,000 monthly Spotify listeners indicate that they have a solid fan base, that indication goes away in a basement with less than 100 other superfans. The sound mix requires alterations so as to not blow anyone’s ears out, a few concertgoers end up on the stairs to avoid being packed too close, the beer is cheap, the basement is warm, and everyone has a look of pure joy on their face from the first to last note. Joey speaks the truth: everyone in that townhouse wants to be there, from the musicians to the hosts to the guests, and the energy is more palpable in that basement than most “real” venues. When the final chord fades away into the tinnitus everyone in the first few rows has acquired, Joey’s voice breaks through the cheers once more: “Thank you! Stick around so we can hang out with you!”
Redefining Childhood:
MUSIC
2004 called. It wants its sound back. Chase Sutton | Senior Multimedia Editor
By Beatrice Forman
When I was three years old, I refused to watch anything other than MTV and Animal Planet for months. Instead of playing tag and watching The Backyardigans, I worshiped at the altar of TRL and its weekly rotation of up–and–coming pop divas. First, it was Christina Milian. Then it was Avril Lavigne. However, my most enduring obsession was with JoJo, the 13–year–old wunderkind with a voice reminiscent of a young Mariah Carey—all vocal runs and vibrato. I remember choreographing dance routines to her ever–catchy single “Baby It’s You” and inventing an imaginary boyfriend so I could relate to “Leave (Get Out).” In many ways, JoJo’s commanding vocals and playful demeanor cemented my love for mainstream pop. So when she re–recorded her self–titled debut album after a dispute with her former record label that deprived Spotify of some quintessential throwbacks, I knew I had to take a listen. However, the album that Street once said “balanced a pop sheen ... with a street edge” now doesn’t captivate in the way it did almost 15 years ago, when OutKast dominated the airwaves and low–rise jeans were cool. JoJo’s hook—that she sounded adult while barely being a teen— equipped the album with a contrast between teeny–bopper lyrics and dynamic vocals. Lacking that hook, the re–recorded version uncovers a new dichotomy. Thanks to a deliberate effort to emphasize JoJo’s impressive vocals
rather than the dated beats, JoJo (2018) is raw and vulnerable yet light and airy, perfectly capturing the young adult experience. The album's opening track, “Breezy,” immediately transports you back in time with a beat that sounds right out of an old–school Reebok commercial. Only instead of coming across as a braggadocious pre–teen on the original issue of the self– titled album, JoJo reclaims the song with the mature vibrato of a woman claiming her HBIC status. She spits one liners with fire–starter intensity and maintains a smooth, Nelly–esque flow throughout. JoJo’s energy is immediately contagious and you can’t help but hope that it permeates the whole album. And it does. JoJo delivers a layered listening experience. On one level, the album is a relic of early 2000s R&B teeming with long–forgotten slang. On another, it’s a searing message about the transience of childhood. Songs like “Not That Kinda Girl” solidify sonic memories. It sounds like singing into your hair brush in front of a Jesse McCartney poster while wearing a Lisa Frank tee. It’s smooth, with JoJo rolling between vocal runs and casually spitting verses. Yet, it resonates differently. JoJo sings about demanding respect in the face of looming rejection, a task endemic to Penn—an environment where recruiters, professors, and clubs often make judgements that leave us feeling less–than. Other standouts include
“Homeboy” and “Keep On Keepin’ On” where JoJo’s silky vocals glide. Her voice is rich with intention—every word, key change, and run sounds deliberately natural. In an era chock–full of overproduced bass drops, this is refreshing. JoJo sounds strongest on slow jams like “Weak,” where a minimalist arrangement allows her voice to drip with every ounce of emotion. That being said, not every song holds up on the re–re-
lease. “Baby It’s You” lacks the burst of flirty energy that originally made it shine. Her richer tone makes lines like “Ice is cool, but I’m looking for more” sound dated and juvenile, as though she’s pantomiming her younger self. Powerhouse break–up anthem “Leave (Get Out)” has the opposite problem. She sounds mousy and vulnerable in parts of the song that previously asserted strength. Moments like these provoke a secret wish—that we
could preserve our youth forever and that some things, like the sound of our favorite songs or the color of our favorite sweaters, don’t pale over time. A tribute to childhood and a return to the golden era of R&B, JoJo’s self–titled debut holds up better than most things made in 2004. While it may not have the endurance of Facebook, JoJo’s voice gives the otherwise vintage album a longer shelf–life than an ancient Tamagotchi.
of Walnut Street
4001 Walnut Street Philadelphia, PA 19104
OPEN 24 HOURS 7 DAYS A WEEK! Digital Coupons, Online Shopping & More at
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Where to Eat
at
30th Street Station Our guide to the iconic train station's options for dining in a dash.
Liz Kim
Anab Aidid | Staff Photographer
Let’s be real—30th Street Station isn’t exactly known for being a foodie hotspot. Still, sometimes it's about the destination and not the journey, especially when you’re hungry. Some may say you’re better off eating somewhere closer to Penn’s campus before you even leave for the station, but if you’re in a rush, desperate times call for desperate measures. Luckily, there are plenty of places to grab a coffee, a snack, or even a meal, including a couple places outside of the main hall. Here are a few of its noteworthy vendors to fit your every need.
The Porch
Best for: A quick meal, except during winter ---------The weather is only getting colder, but if you can stand the brutally low temperatures, the Porch offers a plethora of seating among a rotating variety of food trucks. Created by the University City District, the Porch is a beautifully kept park filled with tables, chairs, and greenery.
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Pret a Manger
Best for: A healthy meal to eat once on the train ---------Well, it’s Pret. You know the drill. Stocked with sandwiches, salads, soups, and of course, coffee, this Penn go–to has all the classics. Take less than a minute to grab a fairly healthy and filling meal and eat it during your journey.
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La Colombe
Best for: Quality coffee ---------With enough seating to justify getting cozy (if only for ten minutes) with a draft latte and a pastry, La Colombe is the place to go if you want a good cup of coffee and have a little time to spare. Warning—due to its popularity, the line can get long, especially during rush hour.
Dunkin Donuts
Best for: Your standard early morning pick–me–up ---------Hating yourself for scheduling a 6 a.m. train and in desperate need of sugar/caffeine/anything to make yourself feel alive? Head over to America’s favorite to pick up a donut (technically a breakfast food) and a coffee before getting on your train. You can't go wrong here.
Walnut Street Cafe
Best for: When you miss your train and have to wait an hour for the next one (oops!) ---------Whether your train was cancelled or you ran too late, there’s nothing quite like the sinking feeling of realizing you’ll be stuck at the station for a while. Two blocks down from the station, Walnut Street Cafe is close enough—and its New American fare is tasty enough—to justify dragging your luggage there to sit down and take a moment to relax. Aside from its bakery, which serves one of the best cinnamon rolls in the area, they serve breakfast, lunch, and dinner (getting a seat will be easier during the weekday).
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Navigating Home Away From Home
It takes more than a trip to South Philly or Chinatown to alleviate the feelings of homesickness.
Christy Qiu Homesickness. We’re all affected by it at some point. Whether it’s the longing to walk down familiar streets, the yearning to eat mom’s homemade meals, or just the mere desire for comfort and familiarity, homesickness hits hard for all of us eventually. A southern California native, I’ve been hit with huge pangs of homesickness. In these periods, I begin to miss the palm trees, the wide, two– way roads, the beaming SoCal sunshine, the delicious and wide array of food (specifically the wondrous Asian cuisine), the ability to see the mountains wherever I go, the overall slower pace of life. I even start to miss the knick– knacks of homes—characteristics that I had neglected before I came to Penn. But most of all, I miss the seemingly everlasting, carefree time I spent with family and friends—our movie nights, boba runs, weekend outings, drives around town, or simply being in their presence. Coming from all across the world, many students feel the same. For Ria Chinchankar (W '22), an international student from Dubai, home was almost the “exact opposite of Philly.” She describes her life in Dubai as very sheltered and centered around a few key locations. For Peter Nguyen (C '22), home in Richmond, CA also differed heavily from Philly—the Bay Area’s “inviting” and “diverse” environment heavily contrasts Penn’s bubble. For Nikole Bonillas (C '22) from Laredo, TX, a combination of her close– knit bonds with her family, her love for her warm and fun hometown, and her appreciation for her town’s Tex–Mex
and Latin–American culture. She has also found South Philly to be a neighborhood that reminds her of home.
Tip #3: Eat away your homesickness. Photo from Christy Qiu cultural blend has led her to feel homesick. Homesickness may be something we’ll deal with throughout our years here at Penn, but there are many ways, some of which might seem like common sense, to alleviate the wistful feeling.
Tip #1: Call home. It’s the best solution. Calling home up to three times a day is nothing unusual for me. Hearing the voices of my loved ones puts me at peace like nothing else. For Ria, the time difference makes it difficult to call home as much as she’d like. Even the short three–hour time difference between the East and West Cast sometimes gets in the way of my phone calls. The key is scheduling—find that time slot that works for both sides. And remember that you can always text, Snapchat, or as Nikole’s brother likes to do, send Game Pigeon messages throughout the day.
where you can be yourself and connect with your roots. It may be hard. Peter notes, with Penn bubble, he hasn’t found a strong community on campus yet, but he is hopeful it will work out. On the other hand, Nikole has found new homes in La Casa Latina, a Latinx culture group, and MEChA, a group that explores Mexican–American
Nothing will ever replace Mom’s homemade meals, but we can find some nice substitutes. For me, a trip to H Mart to buy my favorite Every Burger snack or a hearty serving of dumplings from Chinatown is all it takes to sweep away my latest wave of homesick feelings. Ria’s found some restaurants near campus that serve good Arabic food and decent Indian food.
Deck out your room with pictures, posters, and don’t be embarrassed to bring out your favorite childhood stuffed animal. Pictures fill up two sides of my wall. Similarly, Peter has stuck up pictures, although they sometimes make him feel nostalgic. Nikole has hung up a Mexican flag, and she has also brought her salsa and mariachi music to Penn. “People who shower at Hill, I’m so sorry, I’m the one playing the Mexican music in the restroom. I have no shame in it.”
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Tip #2: Find a community on or near campus. Whether it’s a cultural club on campus or a comforting neighborhood, find a place
Tip #4: Bring "home" to Penn.
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9
N OT ON MY BLOCK
They don’t want to take the chance of having a historical commission dictate what they can or cannot do, because that means money, and the bottom line is money. -Barry Grossbach
By Colin Lodewick The cost of new development in Philly's first 'streetcar suburb' Barry Grossbach likens Philadelphia today to the “wild, wild west.” A lot has changed since he moved in 1970 to Spruce Hill, a neighborhood of 19th–century mansions just west of Penn’s campus. As the city basks in a period of growth, developers from New York and elsewhere are coming in and buying abandoned lots and derelict properties. With over–the–counter demolition permits, they raze townhouse after townhouse, destroy ornate Victorian porches, and massacre lush yards for the sake of producing larger structures. They build cheap vinyl–sided behemoths that yield more rent revenue than the properties they replace ever could. As long as the city of Philadelphia does not recognize Spruce Hill as a historic district, mass development is likely to continue unimpeded. Various neighborhood groups have been fighting for such a designation, but it’s a difficult battle, one which pitches old–time residents like Grossbach against property management companies like University City Housing and Campus Apartments. According to Grossbach, this positioning leads often to conflict. He recalls a phone call with the owner of a local property management company, who told Grossbach in no uncertain terms that Spruce Hill would never be designated as a historic 1 0 3 4 T H S T R E E T M A G A Z I N E J A N U A R Y 2 3 , 2 01 9
district. As these quarrels continue over whether it is worthy of the city’s protection, Spruce Hill is in danger of falling apart. But as Bill Groves, the Senior Operations Manager of UCH, says, rapid development in a college town isn’t anomalous. That’s just how it works. Grossbach says that the owner threatened to rally his tenants to sign up as members of the Spruce Hill Civic Association so they could gain the power to outvote all other residents on community issues, including zoning decisions. “They don’t want to take the chance of having a historical commission dictate what they can or cannot do, because that means money, and the bottom line is money,” he says. Grossbach recalls, decades ago, when a speculative developer bought the right side of a house on 45th Street and Kingsessing Avenue in Spruce Hill to eventually turn into apartments. Working with cheap materials and unsound design, his workers took out a load bearing wall that caused the entire structure to require demolition. The family that had lived in the adjoining property for years was forced to relocate. Today, the right–hand lot still stands empty—the developer gave up and moved on after his failure. Adjoined homes that look like single coherent
structures are a marker of Spruce Hill’s architectural legacy. When Philadelphia was expanding westward in the middle of the 19th century, developers sought to take advantage of middle–class design sensibilities that favored the grand and the ornate. They built perfectly symmetrical two– family homes that looked like sprawling mansions to attract wealthy but not too–wealthy city dwellers out from the dense urban center. The addition of electrified trams made this micro–pilgrimage west not only possible but desirable, transforming Spruce Hill into one of the country’s first "street– car suburbs." Over the next century, each separate side—each "twin"—of a two–family mansion could be sold and resold to different owners, a process that has led to each half decaying and developing independently. The result is an architectural patina. Take a walk through the neighborhood and you can see houses with only one half of an original porch remaining. You can see awnings split in two, decorative details removed from only one half of a house, different materials and shapes of shingles split perfectly down the middle of a shared roof. You can see houses painted one half white, one half brilliant green. Paul Steinke, the executive director of the non-
profit Preservation Alliance for Greater Philadelphia, explains the value of the neighborhood: Spruce Hill “is billed as the largest collection of Victorian residential architecture in the country.” Because of its historic significance, in 1998 the entire area was added to the National Register of Historic Places as the “West Philadelphia Streetcar Suburb Historic District.” But the National Register, though it provides incentives against demolition through tax breaks, has no power over developers who want to convert a nationally designated historic property into something else. Only through protection by the Philadelphia Register of Historic Places can a site in the city be actually insured against the threat of demolition. On 45th Street, one block further down from the site of the collapsed twin mansion, development progresses like a game of Tetris across from Clark Park. Once a block of Victorian single–family homes and a strip of two–story colonnade– fronted apartments, the street is now punctuated by brick and vinyl student apartment complexes. As original homeowners are either priced out of the neighborhood or slowly die off, the same developer, John Cassidy, has been buying up their properties and placing his new structures down
2,500 units. University City Housing, meanwhile, one by one. Grossbach, who chairs the Spruce Hill Com- manages a total number of units in the city closer munity Association’s zoning committee, has his to 350. The two companies, however, began together as finger on all development projects going on in the neighborhood. “He [Cassidy] started tearing [ex- the same operation in 1967 and still function with isting structures] down regardless of the impact the same goals, resulting in a philosophy about that it had on the properties that were still owner– urbanism reflected in Groves’ ideas about historic occupied by people who had lived there for gen- preservation. Groves has worked for University City Houserations,” he says. “He’s tearing down the house that you are adjoined to. And you have nothing ing since 1986. When he began, he rented almost exclusively to university students. Today, non– you can say about it.” The apartments reflect the physical reality of students make up nearly twenty percent of his the neighborhood: it exists as a parcel of land di- market, a new development in recent years that rectly to the west of three universities: Drexel University, the University Photos by Ethan Wu of the Sciences, and the University of Pennsylvania. With each new wave of expansion, the universities bleed students into homes that in the distant past were dominated by homeowners rather than transient residents and rental property owners. As someone involved in the rental property industry, Groves does not hold a preservation–focused mentality when it comes to most of University City. “Would there have been any point in protecting the older homes that they bulldozed across from Clark Park?” he asks, referring to the block of student apartments that she criticizes in her article. The answer to Groves, simply, is no. Though its housing stock used to make up a significant portion of the rental stock in Spruce Hill, University City Housing now only controls a fraction of the market. Its counterpart, Campus Apartments, is by far the dominant force, with an excess of J A N U A R Y 2 3 , 2 01 9 3 4 T H S T R E E T M A G A Z I N E 1 1
F E AT U R E
shows how Philadelphia has become an economically robust city with enough jobs to support new citizens. Spruce Hill, with its strong Penn–supported elementary school, is especially enticing for young families. In a growing city, according to Groves, new naturally replaces the old. On 43rd and Chestnut Streets, standing at the corner of a block of ramshackle Victorian townhouses, is a beige and dark brick monolith advertising student apartments for $700 per bedroom. At six stories, it dwarves the more compact three–story homes around it. Across the street is the recently demolished Christ Memorial Reformed Episcopal Church, a monolithic gothic structure dating back to 1888. Further down the street, a six–story wall of yellow building wrap stands stark against the sky, marking another development site. A black plastic tube snakes up the side to twice the height of an adjacent home. Just ten years ago, such new structures were less commonly built in part due to the city’s zoning code, the collection of laws that controls the residential, commercial, and public use of space, and allows some development proposals to proceed while restricting others. In 2012, Philadelphia released the widest revision to its zoning laws in over fifty years. An accumulation of previous, small–
scale revisions resulted in “a very complicated document that was increasingly unable to meet the demands of an evolving city,” per the new code’s statement of purpose. The code’s revised statement of purpose places the city’s “growth and economic development” as a main goal for the revisions.
local homeowners or even organizations advocating for Philadelphia Historic Register designation, Groves admits that the neighborhood could use some protections. “Is there a role in University City for some form of preservation? Sure there is,” he says. Considering the new boom of demolitions, he concedes:
Center City area.” Why is a zoning marker used for Center City dictating land use in West Philadelphia? Perhaps the designation reflects a dream that an expanding Philadelphia will one day have a city center that extends far up its main east to west thoroughfares: namely, Chestnut and Market
Included within the code’s new strategy for achieving that desired growth is the removal of “barriers to enable responsible development to proceed ‘as of right.’” "As of right" refers to the developers’ ability to easily attain the permits necessary to proceed with the plans they have for a given site, so long as those plans conform with how the site is zoned. In this way, development in Spruce Hill has become a game of maximizing the use of space within the confines of a relatively loose set of laws governing land use. Though largely opposed to
“I don’t think anybody really thought through the implications of the zoning code change.” Where the Christ Memorial Reformed Episcopal Church was recently demolished and where new six story apartment complexes are rising is a massive zoning district in Spruce Hill marked by the code CMX–4. The Philadelphia Zoning Code defines the marker: “The CMX–4, Center City Commercial Mixed–Use district is primarily intended to accommodate mixed–use development, including a broad range of nonresidential uses, in the
Streets—something already occurring on the west bank of the Schuylkill River. Considered a godsend by developers in West Philadelphia, the CMX–4 district designation allows for land use in essentially any desired form. “If you want to build the Eiffel Tower here, you can,” says Grossbach as he points to one of the new apartment complexes. The lax zoning policy is only one factor contributing the current boom of development in Spruce Hill. Groves explains that “when rents rose to some magical number, it became cost effective for people to
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buy and knock down existing structures and build new.” By building "by right," by tearing down an older structure and building a new one that conforms to the zoning requirements, “You [can] gain another floor, you can go deeper in the lot,” he says. With more space, investment property owners can install more rent–producing apartment units. “People didn’t do that 10 or 12 years ago because you couldn’t make any money doing it. Now you can,” emphasizes Groves. “And that’s caused a lot of concern with the local University City bourgeoisie.” A block north of the Spruce Hill Community Association’s headquarters is an almost unbroken line of Victorian rowhomes. When several went up for sale, developers came in and replaced them with more space–efficient rental structures. Stripped of any now–classic ornamental details, the properties stand out on an otherwise historic street—black–painted fences made of cheap metal partly hide garbage and recycling bins out front. The destruction of such historic sites are what Steinke and the Preservation Alliance work to prevent. When faced with a property under threat from outside developers, Steinke and his team work to convince those developers of the values of preservation and converted use. “A lot of times they will listen politely and then do what
they wanted to do anyway,” he says. This case–by–case treatment of fragile properties would not be necessary if Spruce Hill in its entirety were designated historic. Municipal designation provides an additional hoop for developers to jump through before being able to touch a protected property. Today, Philadelphia has twenty–one historic districts with two more in consideration that range in size and character from a strip of nine houses on West Girard Avenue to the wide swath of blocks surrounding Rittenhouse and Fitler Squares. Anyone can propose a historic district, but the process requires a rigorous survey of the properties included within it and a written statement defending the district’s architectural or otherwise
cultural significance, with a bibliography attached. Grossbach has seen the Spruce Hill Community Association produce two separate proposals for neighborhood historic designation over the years of his involvement. “For a volunteer organization, that’s an enormous task,” he says. The city approved neither proposal. “Meanwhile, we’re losing buildings,” says Grossbach. “We’re having people coming in, investment property owners, they’re tearing down buildings, they’re building crap.” Faced with the rejection of two blanket historic district proposals in Spruce Hill, Grossbach and his colleagues have recently been encouraging homeowners in the neighborhood to pursue municipal historic designation on a block–by–block basis. So
far, there have been two successes—a block of four ornate red brick monoliths on 42nd Street and Baltimore Avenue and “Satterlee Heights” on the 4300 block of Osage Avenue. Nominating historic districts on a block–by–block basis is politically strategic. Investment property owners are unlikely to run to politicians to complain about the historic designation of a block where they don’t hold property, says Grossbach. Groves still has a “personal” dissatisfaction with these smaller–scale projects by Spruce Hill’s “historic preservation zealots.” Though Grossbach states that he looks for streets devoid of investment property owner interests, University City Housing actually owns a corner property in Satterlee Heights. Groves says that he knew nothing about the proposal until the day before the hearing at City Hall, when one of his residents came to his office with a letter announcing it. “And I go to the hearing and what do I see but the woman who moved this whole thing standing up in front of the full committee, saying that she had the approval of the entire block. And I had to stand up and say, ‘Well, you don’t have mine.’” The whole experience is representative for Groves, demonstrating the lengths to which individual property owners will go to protect their interests and their
block’s interests. “That’s kind of the way they operate. They don’t want input from people that are renting,” he says. “They’re all fighting over their personal spot. Does Barry really care what happens on the 3900 block of Pine [Street]? No, he doesn’t.” On a macro–level, Groves is against historic designation in Spruce Hill because he sees preservation on a neighborhood scale as unrealistic in a growing city. “On a personal level, I don’t like the idea that a small number of homeowners can impose their will on the greater whole. And that’s certainly what it is,” he says. Groves finds his own appreciation of historic architecture at odds with his role as a manager of investment properties, though. He cites a row of “stunning” homes on the 4500 block of Larchwood Avenue. “How do you stop somebody from New York coming down, buying them, bulldozing them, and building something out of Dryvit and plastic?” Groves doesn’t have an answer, and can only hope that his favorite properties escape untouched while the ones he manages remain free from the restrictions of historic designation. For now, Grossbach will continue to encourage homeowners to apply for designation from the Philadelphia Historical Commission. With this plan in action, he’s unwor-
"
F E AT U R E
How do you stop somebody from New York coming down, buying them, bulldozing them, and building something out of Dryvit and plastic?
– Bill Groves
ried about the future state of Spruce Hill, if frustrated over the current wave of development and longstanding political stagnation he continues to see. “I’m a city person,” he says. “Cities are cyclical, and you’ve got to work with them. And anybody who thinks that you can declare victory is crazy, because cities, you know, there are ebbs and flows to them. Cities are up and then they’re down.” Groves prophecies a distinctly different vision for the neighborhood: “I think even in five years it’s going to look a lot different.” With no neighborhood– wide historic designation from the city, Spruce Hill will continue to develop its newest layer of architecture, adding 21st–century features to a landscape already marked by its eclecticism. Colin Lodewick is a senior studying English from Woodbridge, Connecticut. He is the former Senior Features Editor for 34th Street.
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FILM&TV
‘Mary, Queen of Scots’, ‘The Favourite’, and
FAUX FEMINISM Which depiction of royalty wins out this awards season?
Anna Collins It's no surprise that the subject of women ruling by themselves is coming into focus in recent film. The belief that women would be unfit to run a modern country is met with feminists referring to history as a social commentary on the present. Filmmakers and feminists alike insist that women have ruled with the same degree of competence as their male counterparts. How their reign is framed greatly affects how truly feminist this media is. Two individual films focused on queens (Mary Queen of Scots and The Favourite) show two entirely different takes of women in power:
one a success and one a flop. Mary Queen of Scots focuses on the titular queen (Saoirse Ronan) and her political and personal actions after the death of her first husband, leading to her ultimate death at the hands of her counterpart and relative Queen Elizabeth I (Margot Robbie). While the film itself has been under fire for its historical inaccuracies, it is not in these changes to history that Mary Queen of Scots faults— it is in how it portrays its queen. The portrayal of Mary is clearly tinged by the new trend of how “feminist icons” of history should be written, performed,
and framed in history. Queen Mary is opposed by a series of one–dimensional villains, flipping back and forth between charming the queen and plotting against her within the minute. This happens most damnably to her second and third husband (Jack Lowden and Martin Compston), who are so muddled that they have no character. The vague antagonist, too, is nothing but flat: John Knox (David Tennant) does nothing but yell about God and how Mary is a harlot. There is no moment for Mary to ever be seen in a critical perspective. She is depicted as
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faultless even as she turns away potential allies with her brashness. This is not to say the men around her didn't try to manipulate her or that Queen Mary’s rule wasn't tinged by sexism, but the filmmakers face the issue that so much modern media about women does: It fails to actually make the content feminist. If we cannot acknowledge Mary’s faults, then Mary herself, paradoxically, becomes an anti–feminist figure. Portraying women as complex is where feminism lies. In contrast, The Favourite is a delicate film which focuses on the mostly unheard story of Queen Anne of England (Olivia Colman), who ruled for five years in the early eighteenth century with no husband, similarly to Mary. Queen Anne, however, is far from the unflawed angel that Mary is seen as. She is an aging woman who is both physically and mentally crumbling, aided by her associate and lover Sarah Churchill (Rachel Weisz). When her cousin Abigail Hill (Emma Stone) enters court, the two fight for Anne’s attention. The world of The Favourite is similar to director Yorgos Lanthimos’ other films: too vast to comprehend, filled with moments of silence, tension, and casual violence in a delicately framed way. Such a set–up allows for the characters of Abigail and Sarah to subtly battle, fighting against the court's expectation that they will be prim and proper. The depiction of women is poignant, honest, and unwaveringly complex.
Unlike Mary director Josie Rourke, Lanthimos is unafraid of showing a woman in decay and a woman at fault. Queen Anne is thrust violently between emotions, yet it is still clear that she is both a victim and a bully; this is the same for Sarah and Abigail, who vie for attention and power, pursuing immoral means to reach it. The three main women are not only allowed to be at fault, but they’re spurred by it. Mary Queen of Scots fails to acknowledge any of the failures of its titular queen in favor of insisting that it is a feminist piece, while the best portrayal of women is when they are allowed to make mistakes and be critiqued for it. “Bow to no one,” declares the poster for Mary, Queen of Scots. This is intended to be a statement of strength, but the truth is that bowing to no one is not how masterful leaders rule. Women can be leaders and they can rely on others to lead. They can be flawed, crumbling, and quite un–beautiful. Most of all, they can be people. Until media acknowledges this and still shows these women as capable of being leaders, it cannot, and should not, be hailed as feminist. Many praised kings are those who make mistakes. Mary Queen of Scots does far less for the queen than the flawed depiction of Queen Anne in The Favourite. It fails to actually paint Mary as a flawed person, as someone who makes mistakes and who is able to grow. In Mary Queen of Scots, she is untouchable.
FILM&TV
w e ’ r e wat c h i n g ‘ yo u ’ Photo Courtesy of Netflix
Why this Netflix Original is the perfect balance of creepy, trashy, and thrilling.
Calista Lopez We’re watching YOU, and loving it. The ominous, all–caps, three–letter word is the perfect title for this juicy, yet admittedly shallow, ten–episode Lifetime original series, based on a book of the same name by Caroline Kepnes. Since its release on Netflix just three weeks ago, YOU has developed a considerably large following and has both critics and fans itching for a second season. Watching (or should I say, binging) this show is comparable to being lactose intolerant and choosing to indulge in a double cheeseburger and a chocolate milkshake. Delicious, decadent, and exciting to consume in the moment, it doesn’t take long to realize that what you just inhaled actually makes you feel kind of shitty. But who are we kid-
ding? It won’t stop you from going back for more. YOU finds the perfect balance between the psychological horror and thrill of American Psycho and the modern, trendy, plot–driven worlds of Gossip Girl and Pretty Little Liars to create your next favorite guilty pleasure series. YOU is told from the point of view of New York City native and indie bookstore manager Joe Goldberg, played by Penn Badgley (previously Gossip Girl’s Dan Humphrey/Lonely Boy). The series follows Joe as he meets and almost instantly falls in love with a beautiful, albeit somewhat unstable, aspiring writer and MFA student named Guinevere Beck, portrayed by Elizabeth Lail. Joe’s love for Beck quickly morphs into an unhealthy obsession
as he’s convinced that Beck is the one and that she wants him to save her from her own unhappy life of unfulfilled dreams, entitled friends—especially her old college chum, Peach, played by PLL’s Shay Mitchell—and douchey boyfriends. He utilizes the wonders of technology and social media to stalk Beck and eventually weasels his way into her life and heart, no matter what the cost (yes, this definitely should be read into). The objective of YOU is made more and more evident as the season progresses and Joe consistently justifies his increasingly possessive, dangerous behavior by claiming it is all in the name of his love for Beck. There is such a thing as being lovesick, but stalking, conniving, and manipulating to maintain a rela-
tionship is no love at all—it’s just sick. Enabled by the vast amount of free knowledge of Beck and her loved ones available on social media platforms like Twitter and Instagram, Joe’s easy navigation and abuse of the internet throughout the show also warns viewers to be cautious and to protect their privacy. YOU aims to convey multiple dimensions of each character, but does so especially well with Badgley’s character, Joe. Joe is depicted as a twisted, calculated predator confusing control with love. But there are times where Joe’s kind, human, altruistic side shines. For instance, throughout the show, he consistently feeds, provides for, and even mentors his young neighbor, Paco, through a turbulent home life. He
protects Paco from his abusive, alcoholic step–father and nurses Paco’s drug–addicted mother back to health after a near–overdose. The constant back–and–forth of good and bad seen in Joe, along with Badgley's convincing portrayal of the character, makes for an interesting, multi–faceted representation of a realistic villain. YOU boasts a convincing and relatable millennial world, many attractive actors, and the presence of psychological turmoil and imminent danger. What more is there to ask for in a Lifetime original show? Answer: nothing. So yes, watch YOU. Don’t expect any insightful rhetoric or inspiring plot points. Enjoy YOU for what it is—pure, unadulterated, binge–worthy trash.
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FILM&TV
at o n c e i n t i m at e a n d e x pa n s i v e , is a c i n e m at i c m a rv e l Alfonso Cuarón’s virtuosic hand touches every part of this semi–autobiographical portrait. Zovinar Khrimian
Alfonso Cuarón’s Roma opens up on the gentle sound of soapy water gliding against tile, with abstract waves of foam dancing in monochrome for minutes before the film introduces its central figure, Cleo Gutiérrez (Yalitza Aparicio), a young woman who serves as a in–house domestic worker in 1970s Mexico City. The camera sweeps the interior spaces of the home around which Cleo’s life is centered, catching glimpses of the many rooms that house the family’s four children. The gentle observation of Cuarón’s camera (the Academy Award winning director also served as the film’s cinematographer and editor) is present in
all aspects of the film. Naturalistic editing links moments like threads of memory, with dialogue that is sparse but masterfully integrated into a story that is both melancholy and hopeful. While the family that Cleo serves confronts a series of its own challenges, they frame the blows Cleo must take over the course of the film, which she does with grace but not without a quiet pain evident to the audience. Tension simmers mostly offscreen and manifests only occasionally, when the calm that we grow accustomed to is shattered by the sting of reality. When Sofia, Cleo’s employer, drunkenly attempts to park the family’s
Ford Galaxie in their driveway, the sound of its sides scraping against the walls is jarring. As Cleo stands reliably at the doorway, Sofia announces that all women are alone in the end, a notion that means so much more than just a drunken rant to both the women, having been wronged by men in ways that force sudden change in their lives. Roma removes itself from explicit demonstration of the themes that weave in and out of the intimate family drama. The poetry of the film, beyond its visual splendor, is that life itself distills the grander forces that shape the world for its characters.
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BEHIND EVERY PROJECT IS A
Photo Courtesy of Netflix The implications of class, race, sex, and occupation as they pertain to the relationship between Cleo and the family she serves are ever–present, but generally go unmentioned. They are discussed in fleeting moments—in the passing comments of a loving but ignorant child, or the sharpness of a command from a pressed employer. Although Cleo is a quiet protagonist, she never wavers from her position as our access point into Cuarón’s vision. At the same time, her perspective isn’t presented in a way that is cut and dry—instead, it illuminates the Mexico of the 1970s. The meticulousness of every motion is an invitation to observe and reflect. At it its core, Roma revels in realism—it is Cuarón’s ode to his upbringing, grounded in memory, shaped by experience, and crafted with a love that is up to par with the intimate bonds that hold together the film’s central family. The way each shot is framed and every beam of light is captured by the camera illuminates the textures of the world Cuarón has brought to us. The film eases in slowly with lingering takes that construct a space that reflects the director’s childhood home. The story begins with a kind of charming nothingness, or what appears to be a stream of establishing moments that are deceptively detached, without a commanding score to tie them together. The sounds of
life dominate where dialogue and music take a back seat. Somehow, this perfectly orchestrated world is one that feels too real, as Cleo and the members of her household move in and out of a frame that lingers, pans, and sweeps, capturing the density of the life that inhabits it. What one would ordinarily consider a cinematic symbol or motif is simply a part of the family’s world, and its recurrence a reflection of the truth, not a formulation to feed audiences a prepackaged set of ideas. Roma’s accessibility as a Netflix film is both a blessing and a curse. Its beauty and sensitivity towards visual storytelling begs for the big screen, but still commands the viewer from the convenience of a smaller one. Every moment shared between Cleo and the people that surround her— from her fellow maid, Adela, with whom she speaks Mixtec and does evening exercises by candlelight, to an aching Sofia for whom she is both a servant and confidant, and, of course, the children she showers with tenderness and love as if they were her own—is an exploration of how a woman can be so intimately tied to the people she works for, yet simultaneously set miles apart from them. As these questions arise, they are quickly absorbed into the vibrant tapestry that is Roma—a mirror for memory, as open to contemplation as our own personal histories.
ARTS
Paul Philippe Cret: The Penn Professor Behind Iconic Philly Landmarks His 34 years of teaching at Penn and innovative projects have left an enduring mark on the architectural fabric of the city. By Xinyi Wan Penn has produced its fair share of notable alumni and professors, but between Donald Trump and John Legend raking in the attention, little attention has been paid to the one person who has arguably shaped the entire city of Philadelphia: Paul Philippe Cret. An architecture professor in the School of Design for 34 years, Cret designed some of the most iconic monuments in Philadelphia. The Benjamin Franklin Bridge, the Rodin Museum—that’s all Cret. Born in Lyon, Cret arrived in Philadelphia in 1903, where he was offered the position of assistant professor of Design. The early twentieth century was a period of ferment in American architectural education. Professional atmosphere and apprenticeship culture in higher education was gradually shifting towards an academic approach—because of this, Cret was not only an architect, but also an educator and scholar. Over time, he established his own style, one that closely mirrored that of a French atelier, which is a private workshop where the artist and students worked together to produce designs. Aside from this studio, he lectured on the history of art and the philosophy of architecture. In the evenings, students were able to attend the additional ateliers he hosted. These were open to all practicing architects and draftsmen who hoped to develop advanced skills. The early twentieth century was also a period in which burgeoning city growth was coming under the control of city planning. Belonging to a generation of architects who believed they had a civic responsibility, Cret treated architecture as a
Photos from University Archives
medium of public expression. Serving on a city–appointed art jury that weighed in on the design of public buildings, he also drew up many original designs himself. In these, he brought his French heritage of boulevards, vistas, monuments, public buildings, and gardens in hopes of transforming the relentless rectangular street patterns so characteristic of nineteenth–century American cities. In 1907, he was appointed by the Fairmount Park Art Association to draw up the plan that became the Philadelphia Parkway—now the Benjamin Franklin Parkway. Cret, who designed the early plans of the Parkway as well as the Rodin Museum and the 2601 Parkway apartment building, also executed major design work on major Philly icons such as Rittenhouse Square, the Schuylkill River embankments, the original Barnes Foundation in nearby Merion, Pa., and numerous other city amenities. He also built many Philadelphia bridges, including the
Delaware River Bridge (now the Benjamin Franklin Bridge), for many years the longest suspension bridge in the United States. Cret's designs illustrated his conviction that architectural pieces should serve as public art that forms part of the city's landscape. Works were meant to be functional and modern in spirit, demonstrating his respect for the styles of his own time, but they were also rooted in his rich knowledge of the history of architectural design. Having studied architecture at the École des Beaux–Arts, one of the most influential art schools in France, Cret drew upon the neoclassical elements—arched windows, pilastered facades, bas relief panels. But, as History of Art professor David Brownlee is quoted as saying in an August article in the Pennsylvania Gazette, once Cret arrived in the States, he dedicated himself to designing functional living spaces. A bridge of two worlds, he was an advocate for a new form of classicism that later led
to radical attitudes embraced by Swiss modernist Le Corbusier, who believed architectural spaces should be “machine for living.” For Cret, architecture was also “a matter of solving problems, not of imitating styles,” Brownlee elaborated. “Its beauty came from proportion, not from ornament.” This is so clearly seen in his work on the Rodin Museum. Although told to consider the Petit Trianon in Versailles while designing, Cret “diluted and simplified the classical details until they seemed more like abstract geometry than historical citations,” Brownlee further described in the article. In another case, the millionaire manse Barnes Foundation was also rooted in modernity in its lack of corridors and straight routes. For Cret, modernism made its way into nearly all his work, which expanded past the city of Philadelphia. In D.C., the Pan American Union, Folger Shakespeare Library, Federal Reserve Board Building, and
Cret's bridges and roads all bear witness to his skill. Elsewhere in Pennsylvania, he left behind the National Memorial Arch in Valley Forge National Historical Park, the Henry Avenue Bridge over the Wissahickon, and the Hershey Community Center Building. His work spans the country, even crossing the Atlantic with his Chateau–Thierry American Monument in France. There was no surprise then that his appointment in 1940 to the United States Commission on the Fine Arts was a fitting recognition of his role in American city planning. In addition to his profound influence on young architects during his thirty–four years of teaching at Penn and his major contributions to the professional debates of his day, Cret’s own architectural designs have left an enduring mark. Many of his creations still stand in Philadelphia today, serving as functional monuments to the man who has shaped the architectural fabric of this city.
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Photography In Crisis: Slought's Newest Exhibit on Cultural Collaboration This narrative photography exhibition captures the essence of crisis in Greece through the collaborative efforts of artists from the Depression Era Project. By Anjalee Bhuyan Upon entering Slought's front gallery at 40th and Walnut, a wardrobe full of photos takes center stage. A video flickers across one of the walls, playing ambient music that complements more pictures lining the walls. Inside the drawers of the center wardrobe are piles of unlabeled pictures, representing the combined efforts of not one, but a community of artists. The next room continues the photography narrative, piecing together a story of crisis through the work of members of the Depression Era Project based in Athens, Greece. The non– profit organization Slought, which is located on Penn's
ing backgrounds—but with a common connection to Athens—work together to shape the Depression Era Project. The group was formed in 2011 by a small group of friends who believed there was a need to document and understand the effects of economic crisis in Greece, and grew slowly to its current number of 36 members. Photographer and longtime member of the organization Georges Salameh discussed the origins of the group, saying “We were kind of bombarded by the media, and from that there was a huge noise around us, different kinds of narratives, and maybe we want-
Ethan Wu | Media Director
campus, invited the Depression Era Project to create Photography in Crisis, and made it the second of three exhibits within the series Photographies of Conflict. The organization hosts these exhibits to promote collaboration and an understanding of cultural, societal, and political change through the visual interpretation of crisis. Artists, writers, photographers, and designers of vary-
ed to join forces to create an alternative narrative over that.” In Salameh’s words, the project’s effort to “propose another voice for what was happening” is realized through the fusion of these various artists’ works. The six artists who established Photography in Crisis flew in from Greece for the opening night, introducing themselves and their work to a group of about fifty people
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Ethan Wu | Media Director
who attended the reception. One of the characteristics of the exhibit that they highlighted was the collaborative nature of the visual representation, and how the distinctiveness of each artist strengthens the combined narrative. This exhibit encompasses eight years of work and represents crisis within the topics of migration, the economy, personal struggle, and family relations in Greece. There will be a public workshop, called Open Archive, held on Wednesday, Jan. 23. from 10 a.m. to 12 p.m. Attendees will be asked to pick out photographs from the wardrobe at the center of the exhibit and asked to piece together their own narrative of events using the pictures they choose. Photographer Yiannis Hadjiaslanis says the team is slowly taking labels off of the pictures to allow the photographs to be viewed with more than one defined perspective. He says that “We want them to build parallel narratives. We want the group to work together,” since the exhibit was
only one version of the potential photographic narrative. In response to the question of how this exhibit on crisis in Greece might be relevant to us as residents of Philadelphia, Salameh says “We realized very quickly that the crisis was not only about Athens, or about Greece, but was something much bigger than us, some-
thing even you can relate to." This is the Depression Era Project’s first exhibit in the United States, and as members of the Philadelphia community, it's a good idea to take advantage of the cultural connections Slought is offering to us, right on our campus. The exhibit is free and open to the public until Feb. 17.
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