February 6, 2019 | 34st.com
p. 3 Living with Crohn's Disease at Penn
p. 6 Gen-Z is killing music festivals
p. 14 Zac Efron as Ted Bundy is overhyped
CASE CLOSED How Penn archaeologist Joyce White became an expert witness in a high-profile smuggling investigation
February february66,,2019 2019 3 WORD ON THE STREET
My Crohn’s Disease Won't Define My College Experience
4 EGO
EOTW: Natasha Allen, Adele Li
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
6 MUSIC
Music Festival Thinkpiece, Mask and Wig Band
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 Arts Beats: Michelle Wan Design Editors: Gillian Diebold, Lucy Ferry, Alice Heyeh, Jess Tan, Tamsyn Brann Associates: Dannie Watson, Joy Lee, Ian Ong, Christy Qiu, Jackie Lou, Anna Callahan, Katie Waltman, Ava Cruz, Isabel Liang Staff Writers: Liz Kim, Jordan Waschman, Anjalee Bhuyan, Shunmel Syau, Bebe Hodges
Music Beats: Beatrice Forman, Arjun Swaminathan, Teresa Xie, Melannie Jay, Aleksei Kuryla
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
Features Staff: Katrina Janco, Shinyoung Hailey Noh,
Staff Photographers: Sophia Zhu, Eleanor Shemtov
Video Staff: Jean Chapiro, Christina Piasecki, Anab Aidid 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 Cover Photo by Ethan Wu 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 ©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.
"have you ever heard of a mouth rat?"
LETTER FROM THE EDITOR 9 STYLE
Cry Baby Pasta, Adrian Reyne
LOL
10 FEATURE Joyce White
LOL 15 FILM & TV
Ted Bundy movie review, Arnie Holland Maze
18 ARTS
Janice Lowe
LOL 19 OVERHEARDS 2
I
’m going to write my letter this week about something that’s constantly on my mind: my friends. Without Street, I wouldn’t have friends in college. Okay, maybe that’s teetering on the edge of hyperbole. But I wouldn’t have the same friends, and my friends now are the kind of friends who make working near–constant hours in a windowless office sound appealing. At the very least, they’re the kind of friends who are down to complain about it together. Dani, our storied former managing editor, is one of the first people I remember seeing in the Daily Pennsylvanian office. With her tousled brown hair and eyeliner smudged just so, I thought she was the coolest person I’d ever met. And I barely even knew her. My sophomore year, after I was first hired as an editor, Dani and I got coffee. To this day I’m not sure if we got coffee as friends or as coworkers, but all of a sudden, we were together constantly. She helped move me out of my dorm. She brought me soup when I was feeling sick. She was the one who first encouraged me to run for the 134th board of the DP. I still have her green text message embalmed in a screenshot. “Hey, you should consider running for assignments editor.” I didn’t realize I could. Freshman year, I met Sabrina. She was a newly hired staff writer, I was a tech beat. What a meet– cute. We first got to know each other at Street
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socials—dubbed “Strocials”—and soon fell into a pattern of texting, hanging out, swapping articles we’d read, bingeing Buffy the Vampire Slayer on my couch. And then there was Angela, Street’s former audience engagement director. Angela’s witty, Whartonite humor carried me through a stressful year. Earlier this week, I made dumplings at her house. We often buy the same clothes now if we see each other wearing something cute. It’s the little things. And how could I forget Autumn? We met on a Dining Guide assignment for Street three years ago. In May, I’ll be a bridesmaid in her wedding, draped in a pinkish dress. I never know what to write about in these letters. Sometimes writing them feels navel–gazey, like I’m fumbling to fill space. But they say write what you know, what you care about. And those are my friends. I can’t list every friend I’ve made from Street or the DP—it’ll take up too much space, and I’ll inevitably forget somebody. But here’s to word counts: Harry, Sarah, Daniel, Dalton, Lily, Ethan, Sam, Julia, Nick, Remi, Isabella, and so many more. Thanks for giving me something to write about.
WORD ON THE STREET
word on the
STREET
I was in the middle of frantically writing down the mechanism for an allylic bromination reaction when the familiar “215” number popped up on my phone. Jumping out of my seat, I felt all eyes in the organic chemistry lecture turned towards me as I sprinted up the steps, burst out of the lecture hall, and breathlessly answered the call from my gastroenterologist. My test results had come back, and I needed to go to the emergency room as soon as possible. As I sat in the hospital bed with an IV pumping fluids into my right arm and a handful of orgo flashcards on the left, I barely had the energy to sit up, let alone study for my exam next week. During the spring of my senior year of high school, I was diagnosed with Crohn’s Disease, an autoimmune disorder that falls under the category of Inflammatory Bowel Disease (IBD). The disease is characterized by inflammation throughout the digestive tract, resulting in chronic pain, fatigue, and an overall shitty situation (pun intended). Fortunately for me, at the time of my diagnosis I also had a severe case of senioritis. Rather than doing homework, I devoted a significant amount of time to my physical health, which included frequent medical testing, doctors appointments, and rest. Thus, when I entered my freshman year at Penn, I not only had to adjust to college life, but also life as a student with chronic illness. Before the semester even began, I met with Student Disabilities Services (SDS) to go through paperwork and to set up my testing accommodations, which provide me with a certain amount of “break time” to use the bathroom. I am also allowed
MY CROHN’S DISEASE WON'T DEFINE MY COLLEGE EXPERIENCE Exploring the day–to–day struggles of having a chronic illness in college. By Kaitlyn Boyle to bring snacks during long exams, as it is usually gentler on my stomach to eat many small meals throughout the day. Other students at Penn are always surprised when I decline group study invitations in order to do work in my room. How do you concentrate? What about a coffee shop or
fice hours. On a bad day, I am too weak to get out of bed, let alone go to class. And although Penn InTouch allows you to submit an absence report to your professors, getting the lecture notes can be difficult, especially if the class isn’t recorded. I’ve met with numerous Penn advisors to discuss my academ-
a library? At this point, I usually come up with some excuse about how I don’t want to walk or carry my books and laptop. In reality, however, the decision isn’t much of choice, but rather a necessity, simply due to the close proximity of my toilet. While services at Penn like SDS have been incredibly helpful during exams, going about the life of a college student is often a challenge because of the uncertainty of my disease. Even on a good day, I am almost always in some sort of pain, which can make it hard to concentrate during lectures and of-
ics and admission prospects for medical school. When Crohn’s inevitably comes up in the conversation, I’m often asked, “Do you think this will be a temporary thing?” Actually, if you look up “chronic” in the dictionary, temporary is often the first antonym. Although illnesses may be in remission for months at a time, and current medications can assist with symptoms, ultimately many chronic illnesses are incurable. Beyond academics, participating in the social life of a college student can also be incredibly difficult as someone with
a chronic illness. If I don’t get at least nine hours of sleep each night, there is a high chance that my delicate immune system will fail, resulting in a cold or the flu. When my friends or the clubs that I’m involved with plan dinners or BYOs, I have to call the restaurant ahead of time to ensure that they can ac-
caring for your illness and pushing yourself towards success. Like so many others here, I’ve always been a perfectionist, and it’s easier to blame myself when I don’t get the grades I want rather than admit that sometimes the situation is out of my control entirely. I’ll think back to the night that I went to sleep at 8 p.m. because I couldn’t bear the pain any longer, or to the times I missed class to get blood–work and testing done, and tell myself that I should’ve tried harder. But I also wouldn’t be the person I am today if I didn’t receive my Crohn’s diagnosis. I always had an interest in pursuing a career in medicine, but it wasn’t until I understood the significance that the role of a gastroenterologist can have to someone with IBD that I decided Reese Berman | Illustrator that I wanted to go into GI care and use commodate all of my dietary my own experiences to connect restrictions (no dairy, red meat, with future patients. So during sugar, sauces, oil, complex car- the spring of my freshman year, bohydrates, dressings, spices, I received my EMT certificaseeds, nuts, or uncooked veg- tion and joined MERT, which gies—just to name a few). Peo- allowed me to start interacting ple are always shocked when I with patients. Since then, I’ve tell them I can’t drink alcohol learned how to better listen (sugars!), or that I basically sur- to my body in order to detervive on Houston sushi (white mine when I can push myself rice California rolls, no soy and when I simply need rest. sauce). And although I’m still working Life as a student, especially through my self–doubts, just here, is already stressful enough, making it through each day but adding a chronic illness to here at Penn is more proof that all of that brings an entirely new it will take a lot more than a dimension of instability. It’s dif- chronic illness to keep me from ficult to find a balance between finding my way. F E B R U A R Y 6 , 2 01 9 3 4 T H S T R E E T M A G A Z I N E
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Ego of the Week Etha n
Wu |M edia D
irect or
YEAR: Senior HOMETOWN: Beverly Hills, CA & Stockholm, Sweden MAJOR/MINOR: Economics & Political Science ACTIVITIES: President of Phi Alpha Delta, Vice President of SPEC, Penn Indoors Club, Kite and Key, Sphinx
Street: You were raised between Stockholm and Beverly Hills—what was that like? NA: I moved to the U.S. when I was fourteen and a half. I was pretty ingrained in Swedish culture and I had never tried to speak English much before then because I felt bad about my accent. I guess it disappeared somehow. Now my family in Sweden ask what happened. They tell me I’m speaking broken Swedish because I’m starting to operate like Google Translate. With my mom, back in L.A., I speak 'Swinglish.' I’ll be speaking English and then in the middle of the sentence switch to Swedish. For friends and people who listen to us it’s really weird. At Penn, I’m
here undercover, masquerading as an American. How did you get involved with SPEC (Social Planning and Events Committee)? I joined SPEC freshman year, fall semester. The only reason why I did was because it has no applications. I was the kind of person like “I won’t get rejected if I don’t apply to anything.” I thought, 'Okay, I’ll join SPEC Spring Fling and get a free Spring Fling ticket and SPEC Connaissance. I’ll join to meet celebrities.' That was the main appeal for me because I was very scared as a freshman. Sophomore year I realized I really enjoyed SPEC and wanted to change certain things. I applied to become director for
Penn senior Natasha Allen on facing her freshman fears to become President of Phi Alpha Delta, starting Penn Indoors Club as a joke, and bringing Trevor Noah and Hasan Minhaj to campus. By Emma Moore
SPEC Connaissance and got to have say in who comes to campus. Last year I had two sold out events with Trevor Noah and Hasan Minhaj, who were my choices. I was really proud of myself because I picked them and they ended up being great. Afterwards I realized I wanted to do more for overall SPEC and ran for vice president. How was the process of organizing events with Trevor Noah and Hasan Minhaj? Stressful…When Trevor Noah’s agent tells you he wants a cheese platter backstage, you make sure there’s a cheese platter. Finding a moderator for Trevor Noah was fun because it was one of my favorite professors here at Penn, Mark Pollack. On Trevor Noah: In person, he’s very reserved, he’s not as animated as he is
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on stage. He’s just a chill guy. Backstage he was with two of his friends, looking at a picture on his phone, just an interesting photograph. I was like “Oh what’s happening there” and they showed me and I was like “cool”. I got to hold Trevor Noah’s phone. He had like an 8 or an X, right when it was released. I was like “Damn, Trevor’s on top of things.” On Hasan Minhaj: Hasan Minhaj was very nice, he was very likable and tried to be very accommodating even though he had a newborn child. That’s why he had to leave early. But he still wanted to be there and talk to people after the event. This was a week or so after an incident regarding the Muslim community being under attack. I was like "Oh, let me get in contact with Muslim Students’ Association," because Hasan Minhaj is also Muslim. MSA had a meet and greet with Hasan. They (MSA) were really happy. I think I like SPEC because I like making people happy. You also founded the Penn Indoors Club, how did that start? It started out a joke among
friends. I was talking to my friends and they were like, "I keep on getting emails from the Penn Outdoors club," and then one of my friends went, "Penn Outdoors club? Why is there no Penn Indoors club?" I was making a joke like, "Yo, we should start that." If you could go back and tell your freshman–year self something, what would it be? I wouldn’t say don’t worry– because that’s not what you say to someone who’s very nervous and anxious. I would say don’t be afraid to do what you want. Don’t worry so much about how you will be seen, but how you will feel by doing things that you want. That’s something I didn’t start doing until junior year. I just told myself to do things I want to do, not to worry about rejection, which is not how I thought freshman year. Do you have any plans for after graduation? If anyone has a job for me, I’ll take it! I’m taking a gap year or two before law school. I want to take a break and study for the LSAT. This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.
LIGHTING ROUND Favorite Philly Restaurant? Abyssinia, an Ethiopian restaurant on 45th [Street]. I try to go there once a month, brings me back to my roots. Favorite Class? Modern Political Thought with Loren Goldman (even though I hate philosophy). Go-to coffee order? Grande caramel macchiato—iced—no matter the weather. Pet peeve? When people are dismissive. If you were an animal? Cheetah. There are two types of people at Penn… Those who join SPEC and those who wish they did.
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PennApps Director Adele Li Has Been
For Adele Li (W, E '20), tech is hardwired into her very being. She spoke about why she chose to join PennApps, the Penn organization that hosts the nation's largest and "premiere" student hackathon. “Penn is really the base of where this whole hackathon scene originated,” Adele says. PennApps is a hackathon that lasts for approximately 24 to 48 hours, where the nation's brightest hackers come to Penn's campus, form teams, and execute a project from beginning to end. “I joined PennApps, because...I was involved in the hackathon scene in high school, and I knew that PennApps was the premiere hackathon–it was the most famous, prestigious hackathon there was,” Adele says. “When I came to Penn and realized how strong of a community PennApps was, I knew I immediately wanted to join.” "You can think about PennApps being a very Penn–focused event where students organize the event and Penn students attend the event, but it's so much more than that. We cater to students from all around the nation—even around the world—who fly to Penn to attend this event.” Adele says that directing this event has shown her "what leadership really means." She says she wants to be a positive force that influences her peers but also makes sure tasks get done. Adele is originally from
Saratoga, California, and studies computer science, finance, and real estate at Penn. She was first introduced to Penn through the M&T Summer Institute, which is a 3–week summer program for rising high school seniors interested in the M&T program. “I think I'm pretty much a representation of M&T through my parents. My dad is an engineer, my mom works in finance, so it just felt like the natural path for me," Adele says. When she first entered Penn, Adele was mostly interested in venture capital. “All my friends back home were really interested in computer science, building products, tech. I was more interested in the ideation process or supporting companies, because I think one thing you realize when you're in the tech world is ideas are free—it's all about the execution,” Adele says. “It was really important for me to not only learn about ideas but also, more importantly, how to implement them.” Adele is the managing director of the Dorm Room Fund, a student–run venture capital firm backed by First Round Capital. The fund is an off–campus organization with branches in Philadelphia, New York, Boston and San Francisco. It manages around $2 million a year, which is then granted to student entrepreneurs across the nation.
Hardwired For Tech By Amanpreet Singh
Since Day One
“We basically source companies on the university level, and we fund and support students,” Adele says. She adds that the company does more than fund start–ups—it also provides
ing forward. “A lot of people in Wharton think of real estate as an investing job, you know, real estate banking, but I think of real estate as something that should be accessible to all,
their founders with mentorship resources. For example, the Dorm Room Fund built a product called VCWiz, which matches students to “like–minded venture capitalists” to fund them. Adele has also pursued her interest in venture capital during her summers, working at venture capital firms in her hometown as well as working at Katerra, a “new construction tech firm revolutionizing the process from end–to–end.” She adds that being a part of the company during these formative years drastically impacted her career path go-
something that's going to be incredibly tech–enabled in the future, and something that is going to impact the way we live daily,” she adds. “This could mean the smart home technology that we have in our apartments right now, such as Google Home or Alexa, to the way packages are delivered to us in the future– maybe having a flat roof for drone deliveries.” Adele is also interested in debt creation and how that has been impacted by the crushing student debt millennials owe. She will be working in distressed debt investing at Ares, a private equity firm,
Ethan Wu | Media Director
Silicon Valley native and M&T junior explains her interests in business and technology
and wants to understand why certain companies succeed and what to do to save the ones who are drowning. Her ultimate goal post–graduation is to help make housing more accessible and financially feasible as a whole. “Everything that I've been involved with at school (PennApps, Dorm Room Fund) is all about supporting organizations and people when they first incubate an idea: when it's fresh, when it doesn't cost that much money, when it's growing a lot. It's a very uncertain stage where you're helping it grow," Adele says. Adele herself seems to embody this fresh, innovative mindset. “I also feel like the word entrepreneurship is overrated. You can do these things every single day in your lives," Adele says. "For example, the act of baking a cookie and giving it to your friend is also an act of entrepreneurship. It's an act of giving, it's an act of being aware of the kind of happiness or the kind of emotional response you want to get from other people." Going forward, Adele will continue to prioritize the people her projects serve over the profits. “Founding a company or founding a project is not only about saying you raised X amount of money, but it's also about saying here's X amount of people that I've reached," Adele says. "I've been really trying to learn about the way that I can create my own impact.”
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Yes, Gen Z Really is Killing the Music Festival Sorry, Billy Joel, we actually did start the Fyre. By Beatrice Forman In May 2017, a new–aged Lord of the Flies took place with Instagram influencers and the millennial elite ransacking an island for shelter, subsistence, and WiFi connection. The infamous Fyre Festival, a joint venture between hip–hop heavyweight Ja Rule and Bucknell University dropout Billy McFarland, recently became the topic of scathing Netflix and Hulu documentaries. These documentaries aim to answer two questions almost as large as the music festival McFarland aimed to throw: why did Fyre Festival fail so spectacularly and who’s to blame? The answer, shockingly, starts with ourselves. Fyre Festival symbolizes the new era of the music festival, music takes a backseat to the spectacle. This very notion would make the creators of Woodstock—a festival short on
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merch yet full of music— shudder. After all, these multi–day festivals are supposed to be accessible. Music festivals provide access to dozens of artists in stripped–down performances all for the price of a couple of textbooks. At the 2017 iteration of the Governors Ball Music Festival, which is New York City’s answer to Coachella and Lollapalooza, fans paid $305 for a regular three–day pass granting access to 67 artists. In case math isn’t your thing, that’s approximately $4.50 per act—or about the price of a fancy Starbucks latte. Moreover, festival performances should maintain a grassroots aura. Despite taking place in the great open expanse, a good 40–minute festival set should feel intimate, as though you’re seeing the human side of the performer—who they
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are when they sing in the car, stripped of stadium level production and studio quality mixing. They’re Jimi Hendrix playing a 9 a.m. set that extended well past two hours at Woodstock and Prince covering Radiohead’s loner anthem “Creep” at 2008 Coachella. They’re you, in the audience on your best friend’s shoulders, screaming lyrics with thousands of others who also think this moment belongs only to them. Music festivals are not, however, incubators of Instagram clout. Their purpose isn’t to provide “flex only” spaces for attendants to remove themselves from the heart of music festivals: the general admission pit. And yet, if you were to study the VIP packages of the most prominent music festivals in America, you’d think the exact point of music festivals was exclusion. Currently, Coachella’s most expensive ticket package is a $9500 "glamping" experience that includes a golf cart chauffeur and catered brunches, which would admittedly make for some pretty sick Instagram story content. That being said, it removes you from the energy of the festival. You’re not scrambling from act to act, wading through the crowd to earn your coveted front row spot. You’re not foraging for reasonably–priced
Photos by Beatrice Forman
food. You’re not hungry, you’re not tired, you’re not sweaty. You’re simply floating above the experience—there but not present. This detachment permeates nearly all modern music festivals. Even without buying VIP tickets, it almost feels as though my generation, Gen Z, enjoys experiencing their own memories vicariously and lives through their own Instagram and Snapchat posts. Fyre Festival’s entire structure demonstrates that. The point of the festival wasn’t to sell a concert or to bring people together. It was to sell “a dream, a vacation, a concept,” said Grant Margolin, the festival’s marketing director in the Netflix documentary. “Who was playing, what the food was going to be, all the things that typically sold a music festival weren’t the sales point.” And yet, the festival outsold its expectations. The festival sold out the site’s capacity in approximately two days, prompting McFarland to begin overselling and creating grander, pricier, and more exclusive ticket packages and add–ons that would further insulate the attendants from an authentic experience. They advertised yacht parties, secluded beachside residences, and private planes as essential to a worthwhile music festival experience. In reality, all that’s essential to a good music festival is good music and good company. Still, despite Fyre Festival’s
epic failure, music festivals are copying its central ethos. They aren't prioritizing the music first, or second, or even tenth. They are slotting it at the bottom of a mile long laundry list. At the 2018 iteration of Panorama, the company behind Coachella’s east coast venture, music felt like an accessory. The festival boasted an interactive HP art experience entitled The Lab, where festival attendees could insert themselves in 360– degree virtual reality theater, dance with balloons, and get their auras read. This same festival failed to deliver on nearly all of its opening day headliners due to a faulty weather prediction and canceled Lil Wayne’s performance 25 minutes into his set because he still hadn’t arrived on festival grounds. Predictably, the festival is on hiatus for 2019. Overall, the future of the music festival is grim. Gen Z is killing them, just not in the way we think. By appealing to the 21st century need for status, for followers, for experience projected but not lived, the head honchos in board rooms are draining the soul from festivals. They’re commodifying what Woodstock intended to be—anti–establishment. In 2014, the five biggest North American music festivals earned $183 million in combined ticket sales. With profits like those, music festivals could exist indefinitely. They just won’t be about the music.
MUSIC
Behind the Iconic Mask and Wig Band
Photos by Ethan Wu | Media Director
Getting to know Mask and Wig’s musicians as they work their magic. By Arjun Swaminathan Mask and Wig isn't your average group—it's the oldest all– male collegiate musical comedy troupe in the country. Although it's filled with integral members such as the performers, business staff, and stage crew, the band is also crucial to tying the show together. Full of musicians from across the country, it's an eclectic group of guys who love to come together and deliver a great show, and Street got to catch up with a few members and talk about this semester's performance. The troupe's Spring musical, The Book of Mermen, is a spectacular experience. It centers on a theme of oceanic adventure, and the laughs never stop as the entertainment stays top–notch from beginning to end. To this effect, the band's efforts play a huge role. They added tension or lightheartedness courtesy of a few piano chords, bass strums, or drum kicks, while the musical pieces came together in an incredible combination of chorus and orchestra befitting one of Penn’s top performing arts groups. Pianist Nick Buckenham (W ’19) praised the group’s cohesiveness.
“The community is unparalleled and everyone is so close— we’re united by this shared goal of a fantastic performance,” Nick said. “I love the support, the way Wig has prepared me for the real world, provided me leadership [opportunities], and allowed me to make friends— some of the best at Penn and even in my whole life.” As bandleader this semester, trombonist Joe Sileo (C ’19) discussed the importance of working together and each musician’s capacity to handle personal responsibilities. “Everyone’s part of the process—a lot of times in structural organizations, you might have to wait to put your ideas out, but that’s not the case for us since everyone provides notes in rehearsal,” Joe said. “If anyone’s struggling, we can help them out or help them focus on what they’re strong at.” Regarding the adjustments that he’s made this year as the head honcho, Joe stressed that “I’ve always been really interested in writing, so I tried to make the process more streamlined and engaging this year, as it’s tough to adjust to it at first. I’ve tried to push that so that
the older people who know how things work can help the younger members in that regard.” Drummer Malhar Singh (C
’20) spoke to the differences between the Fall and Spring shows. “In the Spring, there’s more emphasis on the direction and flow of songs,” Malhar
said. “Fall is about people getting a quick taste of us playing together loudly and intensely, whereas music is more of a journey in the Spring show.”
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Photos by Ethan Wu | Media Director
Joe shared a similar sentiment, noting that “it’s two different styles—it’s more about short snippets of creativity in the Fall, whereas in the Spring it’s more about putting things together in
the professional product sense. Each piece is much more nuanced and fine–tuned, as a huge aspect is working with the cast and supporting what happens thematically.”
The members also highlighted the personal value of their experience with the group. Joe emphasized its capacity as a creative outlet: “I’ve gotten to compose my own music as well
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as perform in a wide variety of environments, from theaters, to formals, to the Franklin Institute during Quaker days, to College Hall for Homecoming.” Malhar included that “one of the most impactful moments was the weekend before my first Fall show—seeing these people above me spend so much time making a great experience for new members such as myself was great, and seeing people invest in one another as a whole has been amazing. We’re more than just friends—our deep relationships have allowed us to trust each other and be accountable in the product we’re building.” The musicians also have unique background stories in how they originally joined the band. Nick heard about Mask and Wig while he was still in high school from a friend who was part of the troupe. “I stayed with him when I visited, and he knew I was a musician, so he told me about Wig,” Nick said. “It sounded really cool, so I wrote about Mask and Wig in my Penn essay, and I tried out and got in when I got here.” Joe mentioned that he didn’t even know about Mask and Wig: “I
heard sounds in the lower quad while moving in [freshman year] and saw someone drumming—it was different from anything I’d heard about,” he said. “It was pop songs and TV theme songs, so I looked it up and thought it would be cool and something different to join. Once that got started, everything else fell away—it felt so much more fun and engaging.” The Book of Mermen is playing every weekend until April 5, including a tour over Spring Break—so there’s plenty of opportunities to see the show until then. “I think the experience of seeing the show downtown, the camaraderie, the history of the clubhouse, the sheer professional quality of the show, and how funny it can be makes it so cool,” Nick said. “It’s just unique and special and at the very least, we love to have people come see how much fun we’re having— and our end goal is to make sure people have fun." Joe added: “Entertainment ultimately is a form of distraction in a lot of ways—I think you can be confident that you can come to the clubhouse, enjoy yourself, have a good time, and leave feeling better than you did coming in.”
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Cry Baby Baby Pasta: Pasta: Cry If Your Your Nonna Nonna Went Went Rock Rock and and Roll Roll If Rigatoni, tagliatelle, spaghetti, tortellini, campanelle, oh my! As I walked into Cry Baby Pasta early one Wednesday evening, I felt an instant sense of comfort and familiarity. Alt–pop music suddenly amplified as we entered the main room from the foyer, which was filled with portraits and paneled wood. The room was populated by families, elders, and the occasional younger couple, and everyone was reveling in the novelty of another restaurant opening up in the usually quiet neighborhood of Queen Village (the restaurant is located on 627 S 3rd St.). There's been something of a dining renaissance in the mostly residential neighborhood, with trendy neo–classics like Hungry Pigeon and Royal Sushi & Izakaya, alongside newer additions like Cry Baby and Fiore. The words Queen Village aren't so obscure anymore as the dining scene there has grown. Maybe I felt so at ease because I’m a Queen Village native myself, but the space is welcoming enough that even out–of–towners will feel like one of the locals. Most locals know Bridget Foy, the owner of Cry Baby Pasta, from her namesake restaurant that burned down in 2017, Bridget Foy's. Originally owned by her parents, the restaurant was a Queen Village mainstay and will be rebuilt in the coming months. However, Foy put all the extra time she had to use with developing Cry Baby, aiming to create a "rock and roll pasta bar where
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you can let your hair down and be yourself." To start, we ordered the meatballs with tomato sauce and smoked ricotta, as well as the charred broccoli with garlic and anchovy. Both were delicious; the meatballs were incredibly succulent and perfectly salted, balanced out by the relatively sweet and fresh taste of ricotta cheese. The broccoli was spicy and garlicky, though some bites were a bit overseasoned. Definitely not a highlight, but an option for vegetarians. Other options range from soups, bruschettas, and salads to open the meal. The starters were good, but what came next was on a totally different level. Cry Baby Pasta doesn't have pasta in the title for nothing— it truly does take center stage. We ordered the tagliatelle with bolognese sauce and parmesan as well as the rigatoni with vodka sauce, pancetta, and chicken. Immediately, we noticed just how fresh the the dish tasted—we knew at that moment that we were eating some high–quality pasta. The tagliatelle was creamy and meaty with hints of fennel— truly Italian comfort food at its finest. The chicken in the rigatoni was well–spiced and juicy, and the dish as a whole wasn’t drenched in vodka sauce (as it might have been at another restaurant), which let the pasta speak for itself. The portions were filling and genBoey Emma
erous, but not grossly large. Though we thought we couldn’t eat anymore after the main course, we managed to share a ‘Torta Della Nonna’, a traditional Tuscan dessert whose name translates to ‘grandmother’s tart.’ Immediately upon biting into the tart you get a nutty crunch from the pine nut covering, with the silkiness of the custard filling providing the perfect balance. While Cry Baby is definitely a place reserved for more special nights for the average college student, it’s a more
casual option that doesn’t require you to put on your most uncomfortable pair of shoes in order to enjoy a sumptuous meal. Prices vary, with starters and sides staying in the $10 and under range, pastas ranging from $12–$17, and large
plates staying under $22. Cry Baby is sure to be a great time for anyone visiting, with good food and good vibes tucked inside an unassuming facade that will make any food–lover feel like they're eating a home–cooked meal with a little bit of edge.
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volved in smuggling hundreds of artifacts, from clay pots to bronze Buddhas, from the Ban Chiang site, before appearing in court in 2015. White, as an expert on the area, became an integral part of the investigation, identifying artifacts and testifying in court to ensure the return of these ancient objects to their rightful place. Here’s how, in 2005, a Penn archaeologist became an expert witness in one of the most visible international smuggling cases in history, and how the complex issue of artifact repatriation—of whether relics belong to museums or to the cultures they came from—plays into the politics of museum curation today.
Case Closed How Penn Archaeologist Joyce White Became an Expert Witness in a High-Profile Smuggling Investigation
“Ban Chiang Project!” That day in July 2005, the voice on the other end of the phone caused her to do a double–take: “This is the Department of Homeland Security looking for Joyce White.” The woman with white hair and soft features is indeed Joyce White, Ph.D., founder of the Institute of Southeast Asian Archaeology (ISEAA) at the University of Pennsylvania. But that day, instead of affirming this, she said: “I think you have the wrong number.” “Is this Joyce White?” “... Yes.” “Are you an expert on Ban Chiang?” “... Yes,” she said, mimicking her hesitation as she re–enacts the conversation. “You can imagine what’s going on in my mind. It’s not that far from 9/11, it’s the Department of Homeland Security, my god! What is the Department of Homeland Security doing with Ban Chiang?” They were finally closing in on a smuggling ring that for years had been bringing in stolen artifacts from the Ban Chiang archaeological site in Thailand. She, Joyce White, Ph.D. and archaeologist, was the world’s leading expert on the place. They needed her on the case. From 2005 to 2016, White assisted the Department of Homeland Security as an expert witness in one of the biggest recent 1 0 3 4 T H S T R E E T M A G A Z I N E F E B R U A R Y 6 , 2 01 9
smuggling cases in the United States: Operation Antiquity. “They said, ‘Well, will you come out for a little visit, a couple nights?’ So I said OK! I mean, a free flight to California, can’t turn that down… So somebody was gonna be sent to pick me up at 9 a.m. And we are walking to the car—it’s this white Chevy Tahoe parked across the street. And I thought, ‘This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done in my life, getting into a car in a city I don’t know....’ And so I’m racking my brain as to what to do, but I’m trying to be polite at the same time. So we get in the car, I’m in the front seat, and I say, ‘How do I know that you’re not kidnapping us?’ And he said, ‘I guess you need our credentials.’ So he whips out, you know, his thing with the badge and everything. Anyways. That’s just the beginning.” That day, White was asked to identify an estimated several hundred artifacts. Over the next 11 years, she would identify more than 10,000. Dr. Joyce White spent years of her life trekking through the fields of northern Thailand, researching the Ban Chiang archaeological site. Years later, the field of her intellectual scrutiny became the epicenter of a global controversy. Jonathan and Carolyn Markell were in-
Photos by Ethan Wu | Media Director
White hadn’t even planned on studying Southeast Asian archaeology. When she first got to graduate school at Penn in 1974, she had been planning to do her dissertation in European archaeology. It was only for the sake of a part–time job that she started working under Chet Gorman, the leading archaeologist on the Ban Chiang site at the time. A few years in, White got her own office in the basement of the Penn Museum. Since then, every adventure she’s been on has started in this office. It’s a cozy space with up to six people filling the two little rooms, often shuffling between computers. All around are ceiling–high cabinets overflowing with post–it notes, monographs, and National Geographic issues. The plaque outside bears White’s name and the name of the institution she founded: the Institute of Southeast Asian Archaeology, or ISEAA. White hasn’t always felt quite so passionately about her work. “It was the most boring job on Earth,” she says. But one day, she witnessed Gorman giving a talk on his work to a small group, and saw a slide that captured her attention instantly. “I saw that slide, and I said: ‘Oh my god, this is me.’” The slide showed Gorman walking his donkeys into a cave, lugging his material, passing rich jungles and fields where people were growing opium. (“Now, I have no interest in opium—I mean, maybe I would’ve at a younger age, but really that’s not my motivating thing.”) She knew that this was where she wanted to be, and now she had a plan: she would go to the Ban Chiang site in northern Thailand to pursue plant–based archaeological research for her dissertation. So she switched out of her European archaeology classes (“That professor was boring, this was interesting.”) and walked into Gorman’s office asking him to be her advisor. “I don’t want any female graduate students,” was his answer. But White did what she does best: she persevered, and Gorman gave in. Seven years later she was in northern Thailand, studying plants at the Ban Chiang site. It was a simple, “grueling but wonderful” life: she lived in a little house with a breezy downstairs and a shack–like kitchen in the back, working alongside a local farmer Long Lee (“Uncle Lee”) identifying plants and writing up her research. The isolation was pleasing. She was miles away from any major city, and finally surrounded by the fields she had first dreamt of years ago in the Penn Museum basement. It was by sheer luck, then, that White passed by the post office on that day in 1981. Normally, she only walked that far every two weeks. But that morning she stopped by and saw a telegram addressed to her, reading: ‘GO TO BANGKOK TO HELP WITH SMITHSONIAN EXHIBIT.’
I said, You'Re just letting Thailand be looted to pieces. - Joyce White
Gorman had passed away. He had been sick with melanoma for several months. Now, his position as as a guest curator at the Smithsonian Museum urgently needed to be filled. White was quickly summoned to complete the task. Meanwhile, the board of directors at the Penn Museum were conflicted over who should take over the Ban Chiang research. “One professor said to me, ‘What are we gonna do? What are we gonna do?’ I said, ‘Well, you know, I’m the one who knows the most about the site, I’m the logical person.’” Today, White remembers her professor’s reply with a mischievous relish: “‘That’ll never happen! You’re too young, you’re a student, and you’re a woman!’” A few days later, that very same professor stood behind the director of the Penn Museum as he asked White to change her dissertation topic from plants to the chronology of Ban Chiang. “It’s interesting how things turn out,” she cackles. She took charge of the Ban Chiang site, and hasn’t stepped down since. When the raids finally happened in 2008, White had been acting as expert witness in Operation Antiquity for three years. The investigators would send her pictures of artifacts for her to identify, usually just a few every month or so. The process seemed painfully slow. “At one point there was this whole slew of [pictures]. I said, ‘You’re just letting Thailand be looted to pieces,’” she recalls. “And they kept saying ‘Oh, this’ll wrap up in a few months …’ and then a few months later, the same thing.” In late December 2007, she got another fateful phone call: They were ready to do the search warrants. They flew her to Chicago—“Chicago! I didn’t even know that was part of the case. They tell you as little as possible and you never know what’s going to happen.” They went over the details in the park-
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-ing lot of a mall. It was around –25 degrees Fahrenheit. They sat in a car, waiting for the ‘go’ to them and the 12 other teams back in Los Angeles that would be coordinating the raids at the exact same moment. Finally, at 8:30 p.m., they got the signal. “So people pile into the cars, and I’m in the first car. Everybody has a bulletproof vest but me—the guy driving my car has two bulletproof vests. Finally the whole train of cars gets to some kind of secluded wood. And the garden is full of Cambodian statues, just out there. “This was the private museum of this guy, the collector, whose name is McKlein. The team is creating a spreadsheet on the fly, they keep checking their computers. It was just extremely intense, assigning things for hundreds of objects to periods and time frames. “I was the only person to do this, recording the culture, age, time period, authentic or not … In this case they were targeting what to focus on, and we only got a quarter of the stuff. It was around 2:30 a.m. I thought I had more time—and then they flew me to Los Angeles. It just goes on and on and on.”
She says with some pride that since Operation Antiquity, Thailand has been actively trying to recover stolen artifacts from Western museums. In November 2018, Thailand’s culture minister announced that it was seeking the return of 23 antiquities that are currently in museums across the United States, including New York’s Metropolitan Museum of Art. The Penn Museum has been actively involved in the efforts to prevent collection of objects acquired through looting and plundering. The 1970 Pennsylvania Declaration states that the Museum “would purchase no more art objects for the Museum unless the objects are accompanied by a pedigree—that is information about the different owners of the objects, place of origin, legality of export, and other data useful in each individual case.” Months later, UNESCO would release a convention to prevent the same kind of thing. However, the execution is not always so simple. On January 11, 2017, the Zhaoling Museum in China posted a message on its public WeChat
And so here was a massive case, a whole conspiracy, well documented, and they just kept dropping the ball in a million different ways. - Joyce White
Catching artifact smugglers is one thing. Repatriating objects that museums actually purchased is another. Nevertheless, White notes that the two are closely linked. 1 2 3 4 T H S T R E E T M A G A Z I N E F E B R U A R Y 6 , 2 01 9
page, calling for the Penn Museum to return two famous stone reliefs called the “Taizong Horses” or “Tang Horses.” The two horses, which the Penn Museum acquired in the 1920s, are part of a six– horse set, which were originally found together at the Mausoleum of the Tang Emperor, Li Shimin, dating back to the 7th century. In January 2019, students noticed an unsigned and undated flyer being circulated across campus. The flyer called for the two horses’ immediate return to China without explicitly mentioning the museum. “The six horses are objects of repeated research in Chinese history, sung in poetry and literary writings,” reads the flyer. “They are an integral part of Chinese culture and a depository of spirit of the people.” The Penn Museum bought the horses from a Chinese art dealer C. T. Loo in 1921. The flyer calls this transaction illegal, stating that according to the 1970 UNESCO declaration, “the theft and sale of the two horses were themselves crimes, as is smuggling them to the USA. UPenn buying them does not make the illegal legal.” Adam Smith, an assistant professor and curator of the Penn Museum Asian section, is irked by such demands, which he says surface occasionally but never actually reach
the Museum in any official capacity. He acknowledges that there is sometimes “an asymmetry between the museum and the people who produced the object.” But the primary role of a museum, he says, is to educate and tell the truth. Smith also notes that the 1970 UNESCO declaration, which the flyer references, was in fact spearheaded by the Penn Museum. Of course, legality can be a murky issue in these cases. After having seen first–hand the amount of work that goes into the legal process of valuation throughout Operation Antiquity, White is all too aware that the repatriation of artifacts is a lengthy process, with little legal precedent. She admits that the two cases are different on the surface—while Operation Antiquity dealt with cut and dry smuggling by Americans, the two horses in the Penn Museum were actually sold by a Chinese art dealer. How the dealer himself acquired the pieces, however, is unclear. In an email to the Daily Pennsylvanian in 2017, Penn Museum Williams Director Julian Siggers wrote that he was not aware “exactly whose hands [the reliefs] passed through before the Museum was involved.” In an interview with artnet, White echoed the Pennsylvania declaration in advising transparency: “Shining a light on this
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“In my view,” says White, speaking more slowly, “it then became so sad that they did not properly pursue this case.
In the end, they just didn’t have the stomach to go after the people … So often, these smugglers … they just get slapped on the wrist, or no one understands the value, or so on.”
were numerous flaws in the proceedings and some such that the Chicago people, the material was actually returned to them, because of the legal flaws, and I just …” she drifts off, unable to continue. Then she sits up. “Well, it’s a great story. I told the investigator several times, ‘The book, the movie! The book, the movie!’” He wasn’t as enthusiastic, but of course, that would never stop Joyce White, Ph.D., leading archaeologist on the Ban Chiang excavation site in northern Thailand. “Maybe I’ll get around to it someday,” she muses. “But right now, I still have a lot on my plate.”
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It was December 2015 when Operation Antiquity finally came to court. Jonathan and Carolyn Markell, an elderly couple who had been actively involved in smuggling, pleaded guilty. All that was left to be determined was whether or not Jonathan Markell would be sentenced to jail time. White says that the judge appointed to the case, Dean Pregerson, was notorious for giving no jail time at all. The room was full of people, and they were not on the prosecutor’s side. Scores of the Markell’s friends and family (“and two Buddhist monks of dif-
ferent faiths!”) filled the pews, anxious to hear the decision. White came up to the bar. She was asked, again, to confirm the authenticity of the objects, to reaffirm their value, to tell the court about the exorbitant cost that it would have taken to excavate them as part of a professional study. The investigator came up, introduced himself, and played three tapes he had of the couples admitting full knowledge of their crime, which he had taken while operating undercover. The evidence was incontrovertible. In the end, the judge sentenced Jonathan Markell to 18 months in jail for smuggling of antiquities and tax evasion.
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murky area of the museum world will hopefully be a trend in the 21st century. If museums have clear legal backing for particular acquisitions, they can make their case in a court of law. Transparency should not be a problem for them.”
“I think prior to this case only one collector– dealer type ever served prison time. Only one. And so here was a massive case, a whole conspiracy, well–documented, and they just kept dropping the ball in a million different ways.” After the kind of life she’s had, spent fighting her way through sexism and bureaucracy, White isn’t one to understand why you would do anything only to stop halfway through. On her shelf is a print–out of a quote by Mahatma Gandhi: “First they ignore you, then they laugh at you, then they fight you, then you win.” A pause, and then she adds: “You know, there
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Talking Talking with with the the Professor Professor Behind Behind the the Sleep Sleep Study Study Gone Gone Viral Viral Talking directly to the researcher from the study gone viral. By Jennifer Cullen shares. When I told Raine that this now viral post was the reason I came to interview him—and not just his expertise on healthy sleeping habits as per usual—he was delighted, but somewhat confused. He replied with excitement and shock, asking me to send him a link to the post. It’s obvious why the post caught so many people's attention. Personally, my friends know
me as someone who needs quite a bit of sleep, which often leads me to taking long afternoon naps. I must’ve been tagged in the post about seven times. Not willing to accept that something as great as napping could lead to something negative, I became determined to find answers. And thankfully, the answers were as close as the McNeil Building's fifth floor.
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Penn Professor Adrian Raine had no idea he went viral. On January 25, clickbait giant UberFacts posted an image of a guy passed out on a couch with the caption “Teens who need afternoon naps are more likely to become violent criminals later in life, according to researchers from the University of Pennsylvania.” The post has amassed more than 55,000 comments on Facebook, as well as thousands of likes and
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Raine has doing research in psychology and criminology for more than 35 years. His research has mostly centered on the causes of antisocial and violent behavior in children and adults. The specific study in question is the first longitudinal study of its kind, and tracks a group of schoolboys over 14 years. In the study, Raine and his partner Peter Venables simply asked the schoolboys to rate their sleepiness on a simple scale. After 14 years, the same boys were searched to see if they had a criminal records. The results found a strong association with adolescent sleepiness and adult violent crime. Raine says, “The study is trying to show a number of different things—one is what causes crime. Nobody's ever really looked at sleep. You know it's totally ignored but it's a factor. We were finding teenage kids who are sleepy at age 15, they're more likely to become criminal offenders.” However, these findings are obviously a far cry from the clickbait-y language used in the viral post. The problem is not that teens are taking naps, but that they simply need more sleep than they're getting. And a lack of sleep is no joke. According to Raine it can lead to a degeneration of brain function, which in turn can lead to more antisocial behaviors. “If we could get more
sleep for the one third of teenagers who are not getting enough, my prediction is that's going to cut crime,” Raine states. Even though the specific study may not be applicable to college– aged nappers, Professor Raine emphasizes that the results are relevant to all—the benefits of sleep are endless. “I think there's lots of reasons why...our student body should care about sleep, not just the fact that it makes you better tempered. Would undergraduates here be interested in better memory? Yeah. Would they be interested in the fact that more sleep reduces depression and anxiety? Yeah.” Raine thinks the best thing a student can do is to establish a healthy bedtime routine. This can include avoiding large meals before bedtime, exercising daily, and trying to turn off electronics. As for napping, the long naps students tend to take can actually impair a sleep schedule. The professor suggests shorter “power naps” before 3 p.m.. “I think one of the problems is everyone recognizes, 'I need more sleep,' but not really doing anything about it," he deadpanned. "This is really something that we need to pay more attention to.” Going to bed a little bit earlier certainly isn't going to put an end to all crime, but it’s certainly a good place to start.
FILM & TV
street x sundance:
'Extremely Wicked, Shockingly Evil, and Vile' review
The Zac Efron/Ted Bundy film isn't the movie the Internet thinks it is. It's far less controversial and far more boring. Nick Joyner Former Street editor–in– chief Nick Joyner went to the Sundance Film Festival in Park City, Utah. Now Nick’s back to fill us in about all the hottest indies coming out this year. Extremely Wicked, Shockingly Evil, and Vile, a dramatic look at the unfolding of serial killer Ted Bundy's mass murders, is undoubtedly the hottest ticket to emerge from the 2019 Sundance Film Festival. And it's also the latest film to ignite the Internet. Joe Berlinger’s new release arrived alongside his Netflix docuseries Conversations with a Killer: The Ted Bundy Tapes, which explores the backstory of the infamous murderer from a biographical perspective, and had a mostly quiet rollout. Extremely Wicked was a different story. When the film hit Sundance and its trailer flooded the Internet, Twitter users flocked to criticize the film for romanticizing and sexualizing a brutal serial killer, their takedowns accruing thousands of retweets and likes. As The Washington Post reported, Berlinger himself responded to the outrage and was quoted by the Salt Lake Tribune saying, “There’s a fine line we’re drawing between people’s perceptions that we’re glorifying [him] versus having a real reason to be telling this story again in this
way." In other words, he saw their points and respectfully disagreed with those who had not yet seen the film. In a surprising moment, Kathy Kleiner, one of the only surviving victims of Ted Bundy, uploaded a video stating a similar opinion of the film: "I believe that in order to show him exactly the way he was, it's not really glorifying him, but it's showing him, and when they do say positive and wonderful things about him ... That's what they saw, that's what Bundy wanted you to see." Both Berlinger and Kleiner made valid points about the necessity of casting a character who would do justice to Bundy's alleged "handsomeness" and invoke the serial killer's real–life personality and danger. But the casting of Zac Efron seems excessive given his entrenched status as an American heartthrob, and only serves as a distraction from the film's attempts at a realistic performance. In actuality, the controversy is a non–controversy. Extremely Wicked contains none of the bombast, sexiness, or intrigue that the trailer purports. It's entirely understandable how audiences might latch onto this sensationalistic, sexualized air of the trailer, which paints Bundy as a seductive mastermind and his partner Liz
Kloepfer (Lily Collins) as gullible arm candy. And paired with Fandango's inexplicable tweet of the trailer with a winky face in the caption, this anger is justified on many fronts. But still, it's a movie you have to see in its entirety before plowing into, because the two–minute official clip is far from representative of its content and approaches. The trailer of Extremely Wicked is nothing but a bait and switch. The promised beguiling thriller neither thrills nor beguiles. It is an airless, chronologically confused movie that will skate by
on promotional shock value that it can't even earn. It sells itself as a Zodiac, but it has none of its violent intrigue or careful investigative touches. And I have no doubt that the Twitterverse outrage will abate once audiences can see it with their own eyes. Though billed as an action–packed period piece, Extremely Wicked is a remarkably bloodless film. It is the story of Ted Bundy the serial killer told through the eyes of his longtime partner Liz, who got acquainted with Bundy before most of his killings began, and who was
in periodic contact with him over the ensuing years. This movie is not about an obtuse housewife who got duped by a murderer, but rather a movie about one of Bundy's ultimate victims—the woman whom he terrorized in both absence and presence, whose sense of security and love he forever destroyed. In many ways, Liz was Ted's first and last victim, so it makes sense that the film would start and end with her staring through prison glass with Ted on the other side. He was confined physically for his actions, and she was
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stunted emotionally and mentally from having to process it all. It is through Liz's eyes that we start the film in 1969, where the two meet for the first time. At their jukebox rendezvous, Bundy does not at all appear charismatic, only distant and awkward. Perhaps Efron could never
quite conjure the creepiness or famed allure of Bundy, or perhaps Bundy was intentionally characterized in this ambiguous manner. Regardless, from the time we first meet Efron's Bundy, there is never any sense of identification with his character or feeling of rooting for him. He's a weird guy,
the type you would probably sidestep if he came up to you with a handful of quarters in a half empty bar. Perhaps that is a signature flaw of the film, that Bundy never comes across as charming. If he did, detractors might have more ground to stand on, but he has a grace-
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less aloofness that neither allows us to hate him nor understand how he was able to enthrall his victims. The viewer is always looking at Liz, identified with her. In many senses, this movie is about her twenty years of self– scrutiny. As the film jumps between Utah, Washington, and Florida and in and out of the courtrooms and jails that Bundy has evaded, the fixation is decidedly on Liz and how the consequences of his actions will bear on her. At no point in the film is a question raised about Bundy's innocence. From the start of his crimes (none of which are depicted onscreen or even alluded to in the early stages of the film), there is no doubt that he is a guilty man. And he is always depicted as such. Extremely Wicked is not about murder or justice. It's about normalcy and denial. It asks these questions: At what point would you turn on your own lover? When does your love become irrational? Where can you place your trust? And how will
your inner sense of safety ever be the same again? In the early stages of the film, Liz doesn't want to believe the crimes Ted is guilty of. But there is a point at which she severs ties with Ted, stops answering phone calls, and sits down to let the lies and trickery consume her. She is never complicit, though she does take a little while to accept the bald facts in front of her. Deconstruction and summary aside, is this a good film? Far from it. It's grossly overacted, the chronology is jagged and uneven, and the unfolding of action is far from consistent. It does nothing to deserve its 110–minute runtime, and is wholly visually uninteresting. At the end of the film's premiere, I found myself shouting along with Liz's final lines to the incarcerated Ted Bundy: "Release me!" I too needed to be let out of the theater, clinging to some hope that the director's Netflix docuseries would do more to hold my attention.
FILM & TV
arnie holland on
'Maze,' Irish Politics, & The Film Industry Keep an eye out for the release of this action film, based on a true story.
Arnie Holland (L'74, W‘71), Street’s third ever editor–in– chief, is making waves in the film industry. As current president of Lightyear Entertainment, Holland is leading the team in charge of U.S. distribution for Maze, an exciting film project set to release in the United States on March 22. The film was released originally in Ireland in September of 2017, where it scored the biggest opening weekend in Ireland for a domestic film that year. The plot follows the action of an infamous breakout from the Irish Republican Army prison, and is sure to leave the audience on the edge of their seats. Holland’s involvement in the world of media began at Penn with his love for Street. He kept this passion in mind when writing his law school thesis, which
imagined the future of the home video industry years before it was a reality. He has clearly come a long way, and Maze is a testament to that journey. As the owner of Lightyear Entertainment, he has the opportunity to put out media that people everywhere will see. Clearly passionate about the entertainment industry, Holland advises, “it’s difficult to break in, but once you do it’s really lucrative, and it’s never boring!” Holland was “very impressed” when he viewed the film for the first time at its Palm Springs Film Festival screening in early 2018, and decided to pick up the project when he witnessed its impact on the audience. “They were loving it,” he proudly remarks, “... It’s exciting. It’s a thriller. It reminded me of an old
film with Steve McQueen, The Great Escape.” Maze documents the most monumental prison escape to occur in Europe since World War II. However, the struggle between the leader of the escape, Larry Marley (played by Tom Vaughan–Lawlor) and the lead prison guard, Gordon Close (played by Barry Ward), represents more than just a typical prisoner–warden power dynamic. Rather, it's representative of “The Troubles,” a turbulent time in Irish history when the Protestant majority and Catholic minority fought over whether Ireland should become independent. Close manages to plan and execute an escape from one of the most secure prisons in all of Europe, Her Majesty's Prison Maze. As the action unfolds,
Jordan Wachsman
viewers become familiar with his genius as well as the tumultuous state of conflict inside and outside of the prison. Holland clearly has a soft spot for films that go beyond the surface. When asked about the message of Maze, he ponders his response before confidently replying, “People can engage each other in conversation and resolution of differences if they
try.” He believes this message is one we should keep in mind today. “It’s a warning,” he says, “when you have two sides which are so polarized, it can lead to violence—and currently in this country we have two sides that are polarized.” For those interested in seeing Maze, it will be coming to Philadelphia this March or April.
Live music • Film • Dance • Theater Art Education • Community Vision Driven Artists host a FREE Workshop! Introduction to Arts Grants Feb 11 @ 6:00 PM Open to the Public Demystify the language and process behind grant writing. Learn how to find and submit grants Refreshments provided. No sign-up necessary The Nursing Story Slam Feb 13 @ 6:00 PM FREE & Open to the public Nurse’s have the best stories. Penn Nursing and Penn Medicine Nursing are hosting a nursing-focused Story Slam event. For more information and to RSVP, nursing.upenn.edu/storyslam FREE Movie Screening Zama & Entranced Earth Feb 14 @ 8:00 PM ZAMA (2017, directed by Lucrecia Martel, 115 minutes, Argentina) ENTRANCED EARTH (1967, directed by Glauber Rocha, 106 minutes, Brazil) Bowerbird pres. the world premiere of Greg Brown’s Fall and Decline performed by Variant 6 Feb 15 @ 8:00 PM Admission is FREE The new work composed for voices and electronics is based on texts of Sadakichi Hartmann, Eprenius, Todd Hearon, Edward Gibbon, and Omar Khayyam. Palentine's Day: Artisan & Handmade Bazaar Feb 16 @ 11:00 AM Admission is FREE Featuring original artwork, cards, aromatherapy, jewelry, & more! Heartbreak Hotel - part of #PhillyTheatreWeek Feb 17 @ 8:00 PM Admission is $15 In honor of Valentine’s Day, we’re producing a series of tenminute plays based on the theme Heartbreak Hotel. They're funny, tragic, bittersweet, surreal. PDC's project director for this is Matthew Windham. As an alcohol-free/smoke-free venue, The Rotunda provides an invaluable social alternative for all ages.
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Meet Professor Janice Lowe, The Multimedia Artist Blurring Blurring Lines Lines Between Between Text Text and and Sound Sound A professor's insight into her own work and the expansion of multimedia art as a whole. Josephine Cheng
"I know you have an endless list of achievements— from writing poetry, to creating music, to composing musicals and opera. What would you say first inspired you to get into multimedia text to begin with?" I ask this to professor Janice Lowe, who sits to my right. Her expression is one of contemplation as she pauses and breathes a deep sigh. "Well, I think...working in a multimedia way is just a natural extension of my interests in music and writing," she replies. "I sort of kept poetry separate from my music, and then when I started putting it together, then it [started] to have a multimedia life." A composer, poet, and vocalizing pianist who has long mixed music and text together, Lowe has collaborated with all manner of lyricists, librettists, and playwrights. Despite her many accomplish-
ments, including publishing poetry collections, short plays, international performances, promoting social activism through art, and her recording of the album Leaving CLE: Song Cycle–Songs of Nomadic Dispersal, she has never truly thought of herself as a lyricist. In fact, she notes that she usually wouldn't combine her poetry with music, and has only started to do so in the past few years. Lowe elaborates, "With poetry... sometimes it is more abstract, some may be narrative, some is not...I am not necessarily writing for it to be sung, I just sort of felt compelled to get it out of my mouth in all these different ways, including singing, sprechstimme, speaking, chanting... A lot of different kinds of ways of making sound with text." Lowe currently teaches English 010: Writing and Performance, a course focusing
Photo by Sophia Zhu on music–text engagement, at Penn for Spring 2019. Integration in class is built up through simple beginnings— even a simple smart phone can be used for recording the text—yet the additional tweaks of editing, of pair-
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ing animations, or even the layering of sounds or visuals, add depth and meaning to an overall piece. Lowe notes that students "can speak the text, they can cast the text for more than one voice, so they can experiment with duets and trios and quartets of voices... They can film text. They can experiment with animation and photography...It's open." Experimentation is the name of the game when it comes to media and text integration. There is no limit to what students, or what any aspiring artist, can create. Beyond the array of new technologies which allow for greater ease of synthesizing text and sound, current social context also plays a role in the current precipitation of multimedia text. "I think that people have always blended media. I don't think that in itself is new, because people don't like to be contained in boxes. Someone may practice a particular art form their whole life, but that doesn't
mean they don't have any other interest...Miles Davis, composer and trumpet player, also painted. Maybe he didn't think he could bring those two things together, but now someone would, probably." Lowe finishes with a chuckle. The past few decades have seen greater reception in the integration of art through different media. For example, Lowe mentions Urban Bush Women, the New York based dance company which creates pieces integrating speech in choreography. Nowadays, she continues, "people are giving themselves permission to experiment more in that way." Art, in short, has never been about being constrained into categories. It comes in all shapes and sizes and can easily be made anew through the intermixing of media, like Lowe does through the blending of text and music. Our love of combining and experimenting with separate genres of art is a part of us, and as Lowe notes, "it's always been there."
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