March 22, 2022

March 22, 2022 | 34st.com

TA B L E O F C O N T E N T S

LETTER FROM THE EDITOR

4 EOTW: Sam Braffman

8 Which Penn gargoyle are you?

12 Penn student government

16

I

On St. Patty’s Day, the art of interviewing, and (re)finding the things you love

t's the Saturday of St. Patrick’s Day weekend, but instead of going out, I woke up early to trek across campus and conduct an interview. A man in clover–shaped sunglasses and a green sarong is verbally accosting me, and it’s the happiest I’ve been all week.

That might sound silly to say, but I had genuinely forgotten how much I loved this. Managing all the big picture stuff at this magazine has meant that I miss out on doing the thing that made me fall in love with it: interviewing. Doing background research on a source feels like a more socially acceptable version of Instagram stalking your ex, and being able to profile someone you’d never otherwise encounter is like opening a book and stepping into a character’s world for a day.

I’ve never been much for writing about myself—and that hasn’t changed, despite having to write this letter every week. But I’ve always loved writing about other people, and I didn’t realize just how much until I went months without doing it.

My first interview ever was when I profiled Urban Exchange Project in Fishtown, and I remember spending the days leading up to my call with Jenna trying to calm the nervous pit that had

In conversation with Jon M. Chu

formed in my stomach—which evaporated the second I heard a kind voice on the other end of the line say, “Hi Emily, it’s so nice to meet you!”

Despite it being more work than all the other articles I wrote that semester, or perhaps because of it, that profile was the most fulfilling thing I did during my first semester at Street. And the profile I wrote of Angelina Moles (also known as @fiercefatfemme on Instagram) early in my second semester cemented that I’d found my niche: shining a light on the stories of queer and trans people who are so often ignored by journalists.

I don’t think this letter has some grand takeaway other than that sometimes, you need to take a break from what you love to remind yourself why you love it.

This week’s issue, unsurprisingly, contains a lot of interviews.

But more importantly, it contains the stories of so many individual people—each of whom have dug into their own passions.

Our feature is a deep dive into Penn Student Government— what all the people in it hope for it to become, why they spend so many hours a week talking about the minutiae of University policy. We talked with Jon M. Chu about telling stories that are underrepresented in Hollywood, and we interviewed two University administrators about a gargoyle Instagram account they run, even constructing a Y2K–style quiz you can take to find out which campus gargoyle you are.

SSSF,

20 What is UkraineTok?

34TH STREET EXECUTIVE BOARD Emily White, Editor–in–Chief: white@34st.com Eva Ingber, Campus Editor: ingber@34st.com Walden Green, Culture Editor: green@34st.com Arielle Stanger, Assignments Editor: stanger@34st. com

34TH STREET STAFF Features Staff Writers: Sejal Sangani, Jiahui (Emilee) Gu, Avalon Hinchman

34TH STREET EDITORS Mira Sydow, Features Editor Meg Gladieux, Features Editor Julia Esposito, Word on the Street Editor Jean Paik, Focus Editor Kira Wang, Style Editor Alana Bess, Ego Editor Evan Qiang, Music Editor Irma Kiss–Barath, Arts Editor Cindy Zhang, Film & TV Editor Andrew Yang, Multimedia Editor Kira Wang, Audience Engagement Editor

Style Beat Writers: Anna Hochman, Shelby Abayie, Naima Small

Focus Beat Writers: Sheil Desai, Connor Nakamura, Sruthi Srinivas

Music Beat Writers: Derek Wong, Grayson Catlett, Kate Ratner, Samara Himmelfarb Arts Beat Writers: Jessa Glassman, Emily Maiorano Film & TV Beat Writers: Jacob A. Pollack, Kayla Cotter, Julia Polster

Staff Writers: Mame Balde, Natalia Castillo, Xinyi (Cindy) Jiang, Emma Marks, Shahana Banerjee Multimedia Associates: Roger Ge, Max Mester, Derek Wong, Andrea Barajas, Rachel Zhang Audience Engagement Associates: Kayla Cotter, Yamila Frej, Vidur Saigal, Caleb Crain, Katherine Han, Emily Xiong, Gemma Hong THIS ISSUE Copy Editor: Brittany Darrow Design Editor: Tyler Kliem Cover Design by Tyler Kliem

CONTACTING 34TH STREET MAGAZINE If you have questions, comments, complaints or letters to the editor, email Emily White, Editor– in–Chief, at white@34st.com. You can also call us at (215) 422–4640. www.34st.com © 2021 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 Tuesday.

Ego Beat Writers: Anjali Kishore, Vidur Saigal, Grace Busser, Ariella Linhart glossy e mag!

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34TH STREET MAGAZINE MARCH 22, 2022

WORD ON THE STREET

Life After Undergrad

I decided to attend graduate school in the United States. Here's what I've learned from my journey. | CYNTHIA ZHENG

T

o go to grad school or not to go to grad school?

That’s the question I asked myself countless times the summer before my senior year of undergrad.

The answer for me was to go to grad school at the Penn Graduate School of Education, a vibrant community consisting of passionate students, professors, and faculty who are working their best to make significant improvements in the field of education.

I completed my undergrad in Canada, where I'd lived for the past four years before coming to the United States for school. Leaving a familiar place, one I'd begun to call home during my undergrad years, was not an easy choice.

Many questions ran through my head: Where should I go after graduation? Should I stay in academia or should I start working full time right after? Should I take a gap year to consider my options? I didn’t want to leave the familiar view of the CN Tower on my walks back home. I’d miss the Booster Juice that a friend from residence and I would frequently visit between classes and the trips to Tim Hortons with one of my college friends after our weekly

Illustration by Brian Lee morning lectures together. The list went on and on.

I spent hours watching vlogs of grad students on YouTube to get a glimpse of what grad student life would look like. I'd read articles online with mixed answers on what I should do. The articles that advocated for going to grad school did so strongly. At times, it seemed like the words “GO TO GRAD SCHOOL!” were being screamed at me.

However, several articles, which focused more on logistics, suggested I make many of the following considerations before deciding: my future goals, my field of interest, and what I plan to do after earning a master’s degree. These were all tough questions, many of which I wasn't sure I had an answer to. I just wanted to hibernate under my blankets and think about all of it at another time (which really meant never).

Deep down, I had a desire to keep learning and studying. I wanted to delve deeper into my field of interest, which is a combination of education, sociology, communication, and the creative arts. As a sociology major during my undergrad, I enjoyed learning about the multifaceted as-

pects of societies.

What made me choose to study in the United States for my graduate studies, then? It was a desire to leave my comfort zone, to try new, unfamiliar things, and to learn more about the field of education through a linguistic and sociological lens. This led to me ultimately deciding to major in intercultural communication, an interdisciplinary graduate program that combines sociology and linguistics situated within an educational context. Studying in a different country would bring about drastic life changes. What adventures would that bring? My curiosity got the best of me.

Now that I have a semester at Penn under my belt and another semester currently in the making, I feel compelled to share a few of the things I have learned so far.

First, don’t be afraid to reach out to classmates, professors, and faculty for support. Entering a new environment can be difficult. Adjusting to the academic expectations of schoolwork can be difficult. You aren’t the only one who feels this way. Don’t be afraid to reach out to someone when you need support, whether it’s a loved one, a professor, or a

teaching assistant. You can also contact your academic advisor. I find it helpful to describe my feelings to someone I trust. Putting your thoughts and feelings down on paper can be absolutely cathartic—be it through writing or other forms of expression.

Second, it’s okay to struggle.

Speaking from experience, it was not the easiest to adapt to a new environment. Will I adjust to living in Philly? Will I like my courses? Will I be able to find my classrooms? To answer the third question, yes—I found all of my classrooms, but that one time at the beginning of my first semester when I asked a kind stranger where the seventh floor was even though the building only had a total of five floors will forever be ingrained in my brain.

Anxiety can creep up on you during tough times. But it doesn’t have to be this way. When you're feeling anxious, take your time to organize your thoughts. You can tackle the tasks on your to–do list step by step. Prioritize. Remember to put yourself before your schoolwork—you are always, always more important.

Finally, you can create your own choices. There is no one

specific path to life. The possibilities are endless—you can study as a part–time student while working full time, you can brainstorm startup ideas during your gap year.

You're allowed to create your own choices. If you like the choices given, that’s completely fine, too.

What matters is staying true to yourself. The choices we make can determine the outcomes of our lives. And now, because of a choice I made, I get to call Philly home.

Grad school may not be for everyone, and that's completely okay. My experiences in grad school so far have changed the perspectives I have about myself and the world I have come to know. Did I always make the right choices? No way. But will I keep trying? Heck yeah. After all, that’s what life is about.

To me, life is a series of tries, hoping the next try will be better than the previous one but also knowing that it’s okay even when that’s not the case.

So, if you're asking yourself whether to go to grad school or not to go to grad school, that is completely valid. Trust yourself, and trust the process. Whatever you decide to do in the end, try, try, and try some more.

MARCH 22, 2022 34TH STREET MAGAZINE

3

EGO

SAM BRAFFMAN HOMETOWN: New York, N.Y. MAJOR:

Political science with a minor in English

ACTIVITIES:

Creative Director of The Walk, Head Coordinator and Leader of PennQuest, Kite and Key

Find this senior hiking her heart out or channeling her inner fashionista. | ANJALI KISHORE 34th STREET: Can you tell us a little more about your involvement in PennQuest?

SAM BRAFFMAN: When I was choosing schools, I looked at if they had hiking pre–orientation programs because I knew that was the type of community I would want to be in. I find that people who value being outdoors tend to be people that I really enjoy spending time with, so I found out that they had it and applied. I got in and did it my first year, and it was incredible. I mean, anybody who has done it could tell you how impactful it is to go into Penn with a close group of [first–year] friends, as well as upperclassmen who are really influential and can guide you when it comes to your own Penn career going forward. I became incredibly close to my sophomore and senior leaders, and they were really amazing, helping me in so many ways outside of PennQuest.

During sophomore year, I 4

became a leader and began to lead that fall. It's definitely been my favorite thing I've done at Penn—the atmosphere is so unusual and so unlike anything else here.

There's no semblance of preprofessionalism, or anything outside of [the fact that] we love being outdoors, and we really enjoy helping first years acclimate to Penn. You create these incredible relationships with people from every single grade, so I loved having that my first year, and every year I’ve just kind of built upon that. Now I lead the program and I’m just so grateful for it. It has taught me so much, being in charge of so many people and so many organizational aspects.

Generally, it’s the people that make it worth it. Of the people who did PennQuest my first year, I met so many people who were outside of my group, and I live with two of them now. They ended up being on my floor my first year, we all became PennQuest leaders, and I still

34TH STREET MAGAZINE MARCH 22, 2022

live with them to this day.

It’s been such an impactful community in so many different ways, but the people who are the senior leaders are all so close still and hang out all the time. It’s a really great thing that we have here.

STREET: How has your experience with PennQuest been different as a leader versus now being on the more organizational side of it?

SB: I’m still a leader, as well as coordinating the program with our faculty member Laurie McCall, who is amazing. The coordination side of it is a lot of planning, checking equipment, and alumni fundraising. Actually, that’s one big thing. PennQuest is just an amazing community, but the sad part of it is that we don’t have enough funds to accept everyone who applies, so 300 to 400 people apply for only 130 spots. It’s just a devastating thing to have to reject students and have their first experience at Penn be being

rejected from something.

No one should have to go through that, because we would love to take everyone.

We’ve advocated to expand it in years past, but it hasn’t really gone anywhere, so I would love to see more emphasis on these pre–orientation programs going forward because they are so impactful. Anyone who has done any of the pre–orientation programs enjoys them so much, and they’re so meaningful, so putting a greater emphasis on that would be amazing. I know a lot of other Ivy League schools have them required for their entire student body, which could be so beneficial.

STREET: Pivoting over to The Walk, how has that been a part of your Penn experience?

SB: I joined my first–year spring. I didn’t join many clubs my first–year fall, as I just wanted to get my footing and not rush into everything, which allowed me to figure out which ones I wanted to join and what best

fit my personality. I’ve always really really liked fashion and have been interested in doing that as an extracurricular to have a creative release, because so much of my work is very academically oriented. Political science and English are a lot of writing, so getting a chance to do something that’s more creative is something that really excites me. I joined as a fashion stylist, but now as a director we come up with the theme of the magazine each semester, photo shoot ideas, and then the fashion stylists implement those.

Everyone brings together a bunch of different clothing. We use our own clothes, source clothes from other people, and try to find as many people who have great style and are willing to help out as we can.

It’s so much fun—so much more work as a creative director than I expected it to be. I do it with my friend Ania Swider, and it’s a lot more logistical than I had anticipated, but

EGO

than I had anticipated, but I like that a lot, so it’s been a really fun aspect because there’s so much coordination between all the stylists, models, and everyone to figure out things like location.

It’s really fun—there’s a lot of storytelling to it that you wouldn’t expect from these photos otherwise, but it’s a whole creative process and has been a great way to meet other people and engage in that more creative side.

Almost all the shoots have been on campus, but sometimes we’ll go outside and explore Philly. We’ve done shoots by the Philadelphia Museum of Art and the skateparks. We just did one in my room, actually, which was so much fun for me because I got to make up my room in a way that matched the shoot’s maximalist theme. We live in this great old house, built in the 1870s, which is architecturally very different and gave me a great opportunity to decorate with many thrifted and secondhand pieces, making it really my own.

We felt like it would be a great space to shoot, which was such a fun thing to me-

morialize my college room through this photoshoot in my last semester.

STREET: What else do you love to do within Penn?

SB: I love to paint. My roommate Lua is an amazing painter, and she definitely inspired me to paint more.

I took a printmaking class at Penn and it was probably my favorite class that I’ve taken. In terms of school, I love the English department at Penn. I feel like it’s looked over because we have so many amazing STEM–focused departments, but it’s an incredible department, and I’ve had so many amazing professors. I love to read, and I love analyzing literature, and because the minor is six classes, almost all of my semesters at Penn I’ve been able to take an English class, which has been such a perfect balance. It’s never too overwhelming, but I always get to do something I really enjoy every semester.

I’ve also been able to take a lot of film classes through my English minor, which I really love. The Cinema Studies department is amazing.

STREET: What made you

decide to study political science?

SB: Political science is really just the perfect major for me in that it’s really flexible. I feel like I have a lot of interests, and the way that they run the program makes it so that you can take a ton of different classes, even in other departments, and they’ll count for the major.

I’ve taken urban studies and economics classes that have counted toward the major, and now in my final semester, I’m writing a thesis. It feels like all of those interests through the political science classes I’ve taken are really now coming together.

During my first semester at Penn, I took an international relations (IR) class that was so difficult, but I really liked the material. It felt kind of like a testament to the fact that I really enjoyed it, even though it was very hard for me. It got a lot easier from there, but all of the IR classes I took really piqued my interest. I’m [concentrating in] IR, and I was very fascinated with both American and international politics, which my thesis now combines.

STREET: How were you able to stay connected to the Penn community during the COVID–19 pandemic?

SB: I actually stayed on campus from March to June of 2020 doing my classes here. I'm from New York City, and living in a small apartment would have been really difficult for me and my family to all be working from home. It was really interesting [to be] on campus at a time when there was really no one here. I was here with my roommate, and I'm glad I stayed. Last year, I got to live in this big historic house with eight of my best friends. It's this really amazing house called Green Monster, and it's been passed down through generations of PennQuest. I love learning about the history of places I've lived, so that's been such a fun thing to hear and learn about. Being in that house is incredible because we have eight people living together, so we were really able to be there for each other during a very difficult year. We had our own subset of a social system, which is something

that I'm glad I was able to do with my friends in that house.

STREET: What’s next for you after Penn?

SB: I kind of feel like Penn puts far too much emphasis on knowing what you're going to do post– grad as early as possible. I really just wanted to enjoy my senior year and get the most out of it, and I'm really glad I did that. The people that know what they're going to do, it's such a small subsection of careers. So many fields don't even start recruiting until now. I feel like the majority of students probably don't even know what they're doing, but I have a lot of different career interests that I'd be really happy to go into. Maybe something that engages my creative side; I really love film, among a lot of things.

I could also see myself going to grad school, or something like that. I love school and obviously am sad to leave, so I'd definitely consider that.

This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.

LIGHTNING ROUND STREET: Last song you listened to?

SB: “Bloom” by The Paper Kites.

STREET: No–skip album?

SB: This Is Remi Wolf on Spotify.

STREET: What would you do in a free hour for yourself?

SB: Clean my room.

STREET: There are two types of people at Penn …

SB: Magic Carpet and Lyn's fanatics.

STREET: And you are?

SB: Definitely Magic Carpet.

MARCH 22, 2022 34TH STREET MAGAZINE

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ARTS

Rodin's Little Miracles

The famed French artist's boundless sense of wonder, seen through his hand sculptures | IRMA KISS BARATH

H

ands, generally speaking, are the bane of an artist’s existence. Anyone with experience drawing from anatomy knows why: Between five fingers, as many fingernails, and a smattering of knuckles, even the most practiced artists easily lose patience. Yet, Auguste Rodin goes against the grain. “I have always,” declares the famed French sculptor, “had an intense passion for the expression of the human hands.”

The Rodin Museum’s latest exhibition delves into his lifelong fascination with that most troublesome body part.

On display are a selection of works exploring the hand motif, running the gamut from fragments to large–scale masterpieces like The Burghers of Calais. Throughout, the exhibition begs several questions: What exactly is the smallest unit of feeling? Can it be a single body part? And never mind the eyes—how does one distill complex emotions into a hand? Indeed, Rodin’s hands are vectors of suffering, sensuality, and, ultimately, wonder.

These sculptures, dating from various moments in Rodin’s career, offer a sustained view of the artist’s creative inspiration. As much as Rodin innovated, his references are old–school through and through; Youth Triumphant draws on classical Greek lore to pair two women in a fatal embrace. But besides Greek mythology, there’s another canon that occupied Rodin’s imagination.

Much has been written about Rodin’s Catholicism, and his fascination with Biblical motifs is on full dis6

Illustration by Tyler Kliem play here. The Hand from the Tomb reimagines the myth of Belshazzar to show a hand miraculously surging from a rock. Just as striking is The Hand of God, heavy with Biblical allusions; two half– formed figures, implied to be Adam and Eve, embrace in a wad of earth held by a mighty hand.

The sculpture raises the question of how Rodin saw himself. As a creator of sorts, did he consider himself divine by implication? Viewers will wonder how to reconcile the artist’s ego with his faith in an omnipotent God. Reading into the sculpture, one sees that Rodin was troubled by the idea that his relationship to his sculptures finds a parallel in his God’s relationship to him. The visual frenzy of the piece attests to this tension, with the clumpy, rough–hewn material testifying to the sculpture’s mixture of paternal goodwill and domination.

But Rodin is at his best

34TH STREET MAGAZINE MARCH 22, 2022

when he cuts out the visual noise. One of the show’s standouts, The Cathedral, does just that, with its two hands vertically arranged, fingers intertwined in imitation of Gothic rib vaulting. All that is not to say that Rodin’s imagination is limited to the religious canon—he is just as attuned to the prosaic, to the little miracles of everyday life.

Case in point: Another standout of the exhibition, Two Hands, takes on a relatively banal subject. The pithy title is an apt choice for this unassuming work, which shows a slim–fingered hand gently laid on top of a bulkier, more masculine one.

The smaller hand was likely modeled on Rodin’s longtime muse Rose Beuret. A few biographical details are useful here: We know that she bore his son. We know that they married in 1916, shortly before both of their deaths. And we know that he cheated on her relentlessly.

Rodin was a notorious womanizer, and critics often point to his sexuality as the through line of all his work.

True enough, Rodin once declared to the painter William Rothenstein: “People say I think too much about women. But what else is there to think about?” But, in this most intimate sculpture, sexuality is curiously absent.

Rather, Two Hands offers a moment of unexpected tenderness.

Nestled on a carefully wrought bronze platform, these hands were sculpted with all the regularity and care lacking in the frenzied The Hand from the Tomb. Of note is the vulnerability of both hands, palms open to the viewer. Indeed, this piece sees the sculptor in awe of his lover, wondering at the texture of her skin, the upward slope of her graceful fingers.

Again, viewers may detect a paternal undertone—the creator humbled before his

creation. Two Hands, with its implications of tenderness, amounts to one of the most understated moments of the exhibition, yet surely the most moving. Nevertheless, the very sense of wonder that elevates this sculpture is difficult to trace in the slapdash layout of the show.

Working within the bounds of the compact museum building, organizers have positioned many sculptures against the wall of the central hall. In some cases, this arrangement obscures crucial details of the sculptures. In particular, Youth Triumphant is shelved against a wall, leaving the viewer in the dark about the full dynamic between the sculpture’s two figures. Such instances of awkward placement are made all the worse by the show’s general lack of direction.

With exhibition pieces freely interspersed with the overall collection, viewers are left with a confusing viewing experience. Organizers have scattered Rodin's hand sculptures throughout the main hall, which opens into rooms with totally unrelated works.

In such a small space, where so many pieces intermingle, clearer signposting would be welcome.

All that is to say that the exhibition remains successful at showing Rodin’s delight in the everyday. Browsing these works, viewers will share the artist’s conviction that “life is everywhere, but rarely indeed does it come to complete expression.” Lucky for us, Rodin toiled so that these sculptures bring all life's beauty to light.

FILM & TV

Illustration by Erin Ma

The New ‘West Side Story' is One Small Step for a Movie, One Giant Leap for Moviekind.

Spielberg's adaptation of the classic musical is a flawed film with an exciting legacy. | JULIA POLSTER

M

usical films, colloquially known as “movie musicals,” are notoriously difficult to get right. Oftentimes the viscera of the moment is lost when an inherently live art form is translated to the screen.

Movie musicals run the gamut from good, to bad, to ugly. The ugliest of these films reach some of the lowest lows in cinematic history—think the disturbing CGI of Cats or the gaudy disco of Xanadu. Sometimes what works on a stage just can’t be recaptured in films, as was the case for The Phantom of the Opera or Les Misérables.

Unfortunately, in Steven Spielberg’s new adaptation of the forever classic West Side Story, the careful artistic balance required is off. Although the film’s approach to updating the story and reducing problematic elements is impressive, it fails to capture the magic of the original movie musical—especially for longtime West Side Story fans.

Tony Kushner’s revisions of Arthur Laurents’ book forget how meticulously the lyrics and music of the score are tied into the storyline; the changes leave the thematic elements feeling disconnected from the musical motifs.

Yes, the story lends new attention to the systemic biases that would've informed the real–life historical context, but there was a way to do just that while still maintaining the essential youthful energy that pulses through the score. This energy informs nearly all the character choices, and centers the story on teenagers striking out against systems outside of

their control. The new screenplay neglects the story’s roots as an adaptation of Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet, in which the main characters yearn against a helpless feud and ignite a passionate infatuation while ignorant of the inevitable tragedy. Other issues—like the cramped feeling of some of the new choreography and the general lack of chemistry between Rachel Zegler and Ansel Elgort—do not help the situation.

That’s not to say that the film is all bad: Spielberg’s direction led to some of the most beautiful cinematography of the year, and many have been quick to highlight the amazing performances of Ariana DeBose and Mike Faist. The casting alone reflects a sensible respect for the talents of musical theatre performers that is in deep contrast to the ever–common practice of stunt casting (*cough* Ariana Grande in the upcoming Wicked film).

With positive reception from many critics, a hefty handful of Oscar nominations, and an already impressive showing at the Screen Actors Guild Awards, one thing is clear: The film’s issues are outweighed by its potential significance in the resurgence of the movie musical.

West Side Story, like 2021’s In the Heights and tick, tick…

BOOM! is showing the world that movie musicals can be taken seriously again. Moments like “Over The Rainbow” in The Wizard of Oz or Gene Kelly swinging from a lamppost in Singin’ in the Rain demonstrated the genre’s impact on the previous genera-

tions of film. The 1961 West Side Story exemplified—more than any other picture—the power of film to not only capture, but even augment, the power of musical theatre. Like its predecessor, this West Side Story is flawed, but will carry a powerful legacy, especially in the large audience it's reached while streaming on Disney+.

Thanks to streaming, West Side Story has become available to groups across the country who may not have access to musical theatre. The viewing of musicals at home has been occurring for years, either on specialized

streaming platforms like BroadwayHD or illegally through bootleg recordings. However, one perk of the COVID–19 pandemic for theatre lovers has been the drive for more accessible musicals and plays. There haven’t just been movie musicals—while Broadway was shut down, filmed versions of stage performances (also known as pro–shoots) brought popular shows like Hamilton and Come From Away to a wider audience. Bringing musicals to streaming platforms doesn’t only boost the theatre industry and the many perform-

ers and technicians that put it together. It also helps fans—those who may not be able to venture to New York City on a whim and sell their right leg for tickets—to get a taste of the magic.

So, while West Side Story didn’t measure up to every expectation, we should certainly be glad it was made. It’s part of a new generation of movie musicals that show the world why the theatre deserves to be beloved and shared.

Let’s be glad that moviegoers are giving the musical a second chance to bring some razzle dazzle to the rest of the country.

N EW A LL DAY BRUNCH EV ERY DAY 9 AM - 3 PM

3420 Sansom Street • 215.386.9224 • whitedog.com WDUC_Daily Penn 3.10.22_verison2.indd 1

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ARTS

Get to Know Penn's Oldest Stone(r)s Penn's gargoyles take social media by storm. | MIRA SYDOW

M

ark Kocent (C ‘82, GCP ‘91, GFA ‘91) fell for Penn’s gargoyles when they called him a jackass.

On a fall morning in 1978, Kocent—then a first year studying design of the environment—peered at a fixture on the western gate of the Quad. With one hand, he steadied his paper.

With the other, he painted broad strokes with diluted black watercolor, forming an outline of the limestone boss that met his gaze.

The sculpture, a donkey displaying an open book with the title “ARCHITECTURE,” felt like an 80–year–old inside joke.

Kocent, now the University architect, chuckles describing his longtime favorite carving.

“I was always tickled by the fact that the architect was sort of making fun of himself with the profession,” he says.

The donkey boss is part of a vast collection of miniature sculptures that adorn the buildings around Penn’s campus (the exact number of figures is contested—Penn Today reported at least 163, but the Philomathean Society counted 450). Of the hundreds of characters, very few are actually gargoyles, a common misconception. Kocent describes gargoyles as “a fancy, decorated downspout,” while bosses are purely “decorative elements” carved out of stone and set into a building's facade. The earliest figures on campus were most likely affixed to the drains of the Fisher Fine Arts Library in the late 1800s. These are true gargoyles, Kocent says. They wicked water away from the building and served the original purpose of decorative iconography: telling stories.

“Between the 12th and 16th centuries [when gargoyles were 8

invented], the public was largely illiterate,” Kocent explains. “[Gargoyles] were a way of sharing stories, myths, and cultural lessons that [they] wanted to be handed down from one generation to another.”

Kocent hopes most Penn students were literate by the early 1900s, when the Quad figurines were installed, so he presumes their purpose was mostly decorative—both memorializing and satirizing campus life.

After 120 years, the stony– faced campus residents’ stories are being adapted to the digital age in the form of the Penn Gargoyles Instagram page. The distorted figures find a new life on the feed of 450 followers (and a handful of explicit commenters—“Send pic <3 @ curvy_girls_model 2M+”).

Kathy Kruger (SP2 ‘03), the mastermind behind the account, takes me on a walk around the Quad’s perimeter to discuss her craft—professionally photographing the demonic visages that dot Penn’s campus.

Kruger currently works as senior research resources manager in Penn’s School of Veterinary Medicine, but she’s bounced around the medical and veterinary schools and University secretary’s office for 20 years.

She’s also a hobby photographer and a self–described “goth” kid who manages two social media accounts, one for her favorite squirrel snaps and another for detailed photos of the gargoyles.

Kruger began taking photos when she was young. She chose her first instrument, a lithe film camera called the Kodak 110, from a catalog of gift items from her father’s work. In her 20s and 30s, Kruger photographed everything she could, from friends’ concerts to her

34TH STREET MAGAZINE MARCH 22, 2022

urban adventures. She pulls out her phone to show me some of her favorite shots and thumbs through a dozen photo albums, her life’s work in neat little rows.

Kruger began taking pictures of the bosses in 2019 after realizing she had a lens that could capture their detail. On her first weekend, she spent hours documenting the figures on the outside of the Quad, marveling at their intricacies and posting the images to @penn_gargoyles. After capturing the Quad, Penn’s largest collection, she nabbed shots of the Evans Building of the School of Dental Medicine, the fraternity houses dotting Locust Walk, Fisher Fine Arts Library, and more. Over the COVID–19 pandemic, she also traveled to Princeton and Yale universities to photograph their bosses. Now, three years after Kruger began, she’s pretty close to finishing Penn’s collection, and her passion page has nearly 1,000 posts.

As we walk along the north side of the Fisher Hassenfeld dorm, Kruger stops in her tracks, eyes fixed on a dragon sculpture holding an open book. We squint to read the engraving; it seems to say “THE RECORD,” the name of Penn’s yearbook.

“I don’t think I’ve ever photographed it from this side before,” Kruger says. “There’s still some mysteries to be uncovered.”

She makes a note to return another day.

A few more strides along the Quad wall, and she points out a figurine holding a basket that says “COPE AND STEWARDSON,” the name of a Philadelphia–based architecture firm created by Penn professors Walter Cope and John Steward-

son. The firm designed a series of Penn buildings in the early 20th century, including Fisher Bennett Hall (then just Bennett Hall), the Quad, and the Evans dental building, drawing inspiration from Oxford and Cambridge. The style was dubbed "Collegiate Gothic," and bosses became a fixture of this type of building on Penn’s campus, as well as other Cope and Stewardson campuses like Princeton University and Washington University in St. Louis.

Poring over University histories, Kruger found that the bosses were most likely designed

by John Joseph Borie, a former student in Penn’s architecture program who hid Easter eggs about student life and American history throughout campus.

Kruger enjoys spotting the designs that poke fun at university life (and the squirrels, of which there are a few dotted around the Quad). She points out a pair of buff football players, a monkey dangling a scroll labeled “DIPLOMA,” and a man holding a stein who she’s heard is supposed to be Ben Franklin—although she doesn't believe it.

“These were the ones that stood out to me even before I took pictures,” Kruger says.

We round the corner, and she pauses again to point out two historical references—a contorted depiction of former United States President Woodrow Wilson choking the former Mexican President Victoriano Huerta, and a humanlike creature riding a propeller plane.

Representations of technology like the airplane are rare, but Kruger says she’s even heard of a boss at Yale that shows a tablet device. Mark Kocent explains that even if the bosses don’t

clearly reference Penn’s past, they all carry historical significance. He disappears from our Zoom call into his office and returns holding a block of red terracotta that curls up into a scalloped tail.

It’s part of the roof of the Sigma Chi fraternity house, where Kocent lived for a few years as an undergraduate student.

The house, located at 38th and Locust streets, was previously owned by the Drexel family, who adorned the ridge with a stone dragon that snaked the length of the roof. After residing in Sigma Chi, Kocent lived in the Quad for a total of nine years, where he and his wife raised their first child.

As University architect, Kocent is now spearheading an effort to transform the Quad.

In the next few years, all of the bathrooms will be replaced and the facilities updated. The bosses will remain largely untouched—they are made of limestone, which erodes easily—suspended over students’ heads for another century.

However, in this chapter of Penn history, thanks to the minimalist feed of @penn_gargoyles, they also live online.

“It feels like they should carve a gargoyle after me,” he quips.

As University architect, Kocent is now spearheading an effort to transform the Quad.

In the next few years, all of the bathrooms will be replaced and the facilities updated. The bosses will remain largely untouched—they are made of limestone, which erodes easily—suspended over students’ heads for another century.

However, in this chapter of Penn history, thanks to the minimalist feed of @penn_gargoyles, they also live online.

ARTS

Which Gargoyle Are You? Your stone–mate is just around the corner.

2 1 3 4 It’s a Friday night in University City.

Where are you?

A. Wherever the night takes me (seedy fraternity basement).

B. Nowhere and everywhere all at once.

C. CIS office hours.

D. None of your business.

5

Your hot TA (M21) tells you that you should smile more.

What do you say?

A. *smiles* B. Nothing. It’s within his right to free speech.

C. “That’s wildly inappropriate and reliant on the sexist paradigm that female–presenting individuals should make themselves physically appealing to gain the approval of men, especially in academic or professional settings.”

D. “You should read 34th Street more.”

Your Wharton roommate asks if she can host a meeting for her Women in Weapons Manufacturing club in your apartment.

What do you say?

6

A. “Yes, queen!!!”

B. “No, sorry, I’m having some friends over from Students for University Expansion.”

C. Nothing. You are from the Bay Area.

D. “Book a GSR, bitch.”

If you answered mostly A: You’re drunk.

Also Ben Franklin.

If you answered mostly B: You're chilling.

You are accosted on Locust by a student offering Insomnia cookies for downloading their app.

You’re attending a Penn sporting event. Why?

A. You’re in the Penn Band.

(Why?) B. You got lost on your way to your chemistry recitation in the dankest basement you’ve ever seen.

C. Free stuff.

D. You’re trying to convince your younger sister, a senior in high school, not to attend the University of Pennsylvania.

You promised your friend on the dining plan that you’d have dinner with them, and they’re here to collect. Where are you going?

A. KCECH—no one will see you.

B. Falk. It’s dairy day.

C. McClelland. It’s good, but it might not be worth seeing that regrettable first–year hookup.

D. Home. No friendship is worth that food.

If you answered mostly C: You’re a tricky little bugger wearing a tasteful shawl.

A. Download it and get your bag. It’s the third time you’ve done this today.

B. Trample them and keep speed walking. Your class in DRL started eight minutes ago.

C. Say you don’t have a phone, and that the action is classist and alienating—it rewards wealthy individuals with iOS devices and concentrates Insomnia cookie possession at the top of the socioeconomic ladder.

D. Only download it if they download your app.

7

You hear a knock at the door. It’s new Penn President Liz Magill, and she wants in at your pregame. What do you say?

A. “Name three brothers.”

B. “Can you buy us another six pack before Acme closes?”

C. *in Stouffer brandishing kitchen knife* “How did you find me?”

D. Nothing. You never make it to the door.

If you answered mostly D: You are a beautiful woman— sort of.

MARCH 22, 2022 34TH STREET MAGAZINE

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MUSIC

Illustration by Brian Lee

'The Tipping Point' Offers the Sage Wisdom We Need, But Is It What We Want?

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Tears for Fears’ first new album in 18 years explores the lessons that come with age while remaining true to the band's core values. | SAMARA HIMMELFARB

nspired by primal scream theory, Tears for Fears has always stood for engaging with negative emotions rather than repressing them. Their '80s hit songs like “Everybody Wants To Rule The World,” “Shout,” and “Mad World” are characterized with by the upbeat synths and percussion of the decade, juxtaposed with heavy lyrics discussing childhood trauma, war, and social movements of the time. Now, after an acrimonious breakup, various personal hardships, and almost two decades, the English duo has re–emerged with a new perspective and an album to accompany it, The Tipping Point.

In many ways, the album is Tears for Fears doing what they’ve always done. The chorus of the album’s penultimate track, “End Of Night,” tells listeners that “you can't see the beauty for all the hurt.” The pair is still making beautiful music to bring people together because of and in spite of the pain they’re in. But now well into adulthood, Curt Smith and Roland Orzabal have created an album that feels more like an assured shout rather than a primal scream. The Tipping Point’s refined melodies

and thought–provoking lyrics integrate wise advice and the catharsis of accepting life’s challenges with their usual societal commentary, this time on topics like female empowerment and the interference of their record label.

The Tipping Point took seven years to write. The band feared losing its essence, suddenly finding themselves regarded as artists of generations past.

“Master Plan” deals with this frustration. Lyrics like “If my soul be damned / It’s all part of the master plan” mock the blind trust and obedience record labels expect from those they manage. After firing the younger, hipper songwriters that their management strongly advised they hire, Tears for Fears went back to the style of songwriting familiar to them from their teenage years in Bath, England. Opening track “No Small Thing,” with its '60s folk vibe, advises, “Reason gonna blind you / Cripple and confine you." Together with a tape recorder at home, the duo did what they do best: using songs to process emotions.

The Tipping Point emerged as a physical representation of Orzabal and Smith’s strengthened relationship.

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“Rivers Of Mercy'' is similarly relaxed and full of slow percussion, but it shows a more mature perspective informed by life, stating, “I too often see the world through a veil of tears.” There are limitations to how much we can allow ourselves to live with hardships or regret, and getting consumed in tears can be blinding. After losing his wife to alcohol–related dementia and undergoing health issues himself, Orzabal was inspired to reconnect with Smith.

“Please Be Happy,” written as a reflection on Orzabal’s wife’s declining health, paints a grim picture of caring for her in her condition. Yet Orzabal decides, “I still believe this love can grow.” An older Orzabal is committed to finding new love for his wife and acceptance of himself, despite life’s imperfections.

Personally, this album didn’t leave a strong impact on its own. Technically impressive, lyrically poetic, and perfectly balanced, The Tipping Point adheres to its '80s roots while managing to produce a new, clean sound. Yet something about it is decidedly less—less angsty, less catchy, and ultimately less memorable. The

subtle, self–contained sound comes off as resigned and lacking the youthful urgency of the duo’s previous work.

Paradoxically, growing up and deviating from the primal yell that marked the band’s early years led their songs to lose potency. Can music only be effective within our generation if it captures the uncertainty, angst, and gravity of these years? How do we make space for artists to grow up?

This struggle is not unique to artists of an older generation. Listening to The Tipping Point called to mind my excitement at the release of Lorde’s Solar Power, and subsequent disappointment to find that the album had the audacity to sound almost happy.

After ending her 2017 world tour for Melodrama, Lorde returned home to Auckland, deleted social media, and was seldom seen in public. The result was a more minimalist, self–assured album without any of the usual drama and restlessness. Similarly, Mitski’s Laurel Hell has been viewed viewed as lacking the command of previous albums, released in the wake of the singer deleting her social media and announcing her "last

show indefinitely" in 2019.

When artists make progress personally, it can often come at the expense of their music. But it’s important that we judge the music independently from artists’ personal lives. Artists do not exist solely for their fans, and we can’t rely on their bad circumstances to help us feel something. Even with disappointing albums, there's still something we can learn when our favorite artists mature. In the case of Tears for Fears, their album is a testament to the success of using music to process a range of emotions, allowing Orzabal and Smith to come to terms with personal hardships in a way their early work did not.

While it might be difficult for our generation to identify with the kind of inner peace and catharsis that marks this album, there's merit in examining the journey of how the duo arrived at this place from their teenage years. The Tipping Point is ultimately about change, something we are all able to identify with. Tears for Fears is tangible proof that people can make it through all of life's changes if they embrace emotion rather than stifling it.

MUSIC

For Indie Musicians, Fortnite Is the Last Straw

Epic Games' acquisition of Bandcamp foreshadows a bleak future for independent music. | EVAN QIANG

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ollege students can’t live without music. We require our daily fix of euphoria– filled pop or somber, nostalgic folk for densely packed parties or late–night study sessions, and most of our music consumption is dominated by huge platforms like Spotify and Apple Music.

Nestled in between these megacorporations is Bandcamp, home to a relatively small but significant number of independent musicians.

Founded in 2008, Bandcamp was created so that anyone could easily share their music. Uploading a song requires only a free account, and the entire process can be completed in minutes. Bandcamp also allows artists to sell vinyl, albums, tracks, and merch directly on their profile. It’s a one–stop shop for artists to share, promote, and sell their music, making it a convenient and effective way to enter the industry without prior experience.

This made it all the more shocking when Epic Games announced earlier this month that it would acquire the service. The surprising collision between the gaming and music worlds was met with frustration and unease, especially based on the history of other streaming companies.

Originally hailed as a legal alternative to music piracy, as Spotify branched out to more specialties and audiences, its controversies grew as well.

Taylor Swift removed her discography to persuade Spotify to increase its payments to artists, and podcaster Joe Rogan remains on the platform even as acts like Joni Mitchell and Neil Young removed their

works in protest.

Because its mission hasn’t changed in the past decade, Bandcamp has garnered a reputation for being a hub for musicians first and earning profits second. Compared to its competitors, Bandcamp consistently pays artists the highest percentage of revenue, with rates reaching over 80%. At a time when streaming’s explosive

finding themselves under the jurisdiction of one of the biggest businesses in the world.

What does this mean for the future of independent music? For some, the acquisition can be beneficial. Video game concerts have recently become more common, including Travis Scott’s concert in Fortnite, which generated $20 million for the rapper.

On the other hand, smaller

At the end of the day, good music is still the key to success.

Car Seat Headrest began their career on Bandcamp before signing with Matador Records, home to other prominent acts such as Perfume Genius, Lucy Dacus, and Yo La Tengo. Parannoul became an overnight sensation in the shoegaze community following the release of his self–produced To See the Next Part of the Dream, origi-

Illustration by Brian Lee growth is counteracted by its dismal potential for revenue, Bandcamp seemed like it found the perfect balance between its monetary and ethical goals.

Following Epic Games’ announcement, any sense of an isolated paradise for artists with small but dedicated fanbases is now completely shattered. Their music is being opened to the corporate machinery of the company behind Fortnite and to conglomerate Tencent, which bought 40% of Epic Games in 2013. After being protected by Bandcamp's small team of developers, artists are now

artists like Weyes Blood have collaborated with Roblox and shared their pop music with a new group of listeners.

But for many independent musicians, this isn’t the end goal. These people opted out of signing deals with major record labels in favor of more creative freedom and control over their music. Bandcamp is as much of a community where users can create connections as it is a music sharing website. These relationships can prove invaluable for these musicians and their listeners to band together against the problems that plague the music industry.

nally only on Bandcamp. For these performers, Spotify or Apple Music’s playlist politics or revenue schemes are time– consuming hassles. Bandcamp is a place where they can interact directly with fans and sell their music for the prices they deserve.

When this trust between contractor and manager is so heavily severed, there’s not much room for improvement. Epic Games calls its investment an opportunity to “build out a creator marketplace ecosystem for content, technology, games art, music and more.” For a company that avoids paying fees and

doesn’t properly attribute dance moves to their creators, this statement sounds insincere and deceiving. In some sense, Bandcamp already existed as this marketplace, so what purpose does Epic Games have to step in except to extract every penny from unwilling participants? The partnership sounds more like an unnecessary act of betrayal.

Not to be outdone by Epic Games’ overly verbose press release, Bandcamp promised that it would continue Epic Games’ push for a “fair and open internet” and build the “most open, artist–friendly ecosystem in the world.” This ecosystem, however, features already–thriving executives on top of the food chain while the hundreds of thousands of artists are constantly at risk of extinction. The Future of Music Coalition, an organization dedicated to the rights of musicians, echoed the “frustrations with how Epic has dealt with music licensing in the past.” It also warned of a dangerous precedent from this type of “vertical/horizontal shareholding” and laid out principles for the purchase including “nondiscriminatory treatment” and “no payola.”

For now, the investment seems to be grounded in profit instead of the interests of musicians. If Epic Games can give Bandcamp artists more recognition while maintaining the existing pay model, then this could be the start of a new era for indie musicians. However, until the two companies prove how their pledges will be fulfilled, artists can and should continue to express their disappointment in this unsatisfactory deal.

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F E AT U R E

F E AT U R E

Branching Out with Penn Student Government PSG advocates on behalf of the student body. But what are the limits of its powers as a constituency of the University? | AVALON HINCHMAN

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six branches, each with a distinct purpose. The Class Boards (CB), led by four class presidents, work to “provide social programming that instills a sense of class and school spirit, unity and pride, and breaks through social barriers.” The Nominations and Elections Committee (NEC) is responsible for “running the UA and Class Board elections,” “administering referenda,” appointing various undergraduate representatives, and “educating the student body on the activities of all six branches of student government,” while the Social Planning and Events Committee (SPEC) is exclusively committed to “plan[ning] campus wide social and cultural activities for the university community.” The Student Activities Council (SAC) manages undergraduate clubs and activities and the Student Committee on Undergraduate Education (SCUE) strives to improve “undergraduate education” and “intellectual experience” at Penn as “advocates for student voice” and “advisors” to administrators. Last, but not least, the Undergraduate Assembly (UA) is tasked with “improving life for all students

through funding, services, and advocacy.” That’s a lot of information— but what does it mean?

Each branch is uniquely structured, but all are housed under the Office of Student Affairs. They have an office space, nestled in a corner of the second floor of Houston Hall, where all six branches share a lounge and the UA, SCUE, SPEC, and NEC each claim their own private offices.

The work done by PSG representatives is responsible for much of what we take for granted about undergraduate life at Penn.

However, few—except those in one of the six branches—seem to know exactly what PSG does, or take it anywhere near as seriously as it takes itself. Street sat down with members of student government to try and understand where the branches are headed, the pressures and uncertainties of student leadership, and the potential for change and growth in PSG. A behind–the– scenes look at PSG reveals a tension between its desire for activism— and the bureaucratic limitations that stand in

Illus tra

tion by Tyler Kliem

SAC, opts for a practical approach to PSG. “The purpose of student government is to responsibly spend the student activities fee” in a way that will “make student lives better.” Evan does his interview from the car—phone in his lap,

video on. Despite simultaneously driving and fielding interview questions, Evan still manages to describe nearly the entirety of PSG operations and contributions to the student body.

Aarya Patel (W '23), vice chair for education under the NEC, proposes a nuanced variation of the shared purpose of PSG, building upon the improvement of student experience. Her clear yet eloquent responses reflect her knowledge of and commitment to PSG. She says, “The purpose of student government is to advocate for the needs and wants of the student body, especially for groups who may not have the resources to advocate for themselves.” Aarya describes advocacy as an integral part of her work in the NEC, particularly her role in appointing underrepresented voices to the University Council, a deliberative body which proposes and discusses a variety of University policy changes. PSG also works to facilitate relationships between the administration and 7B as well as other cultural groups to advocate for their ideas and interests directly.

Student representatives generally praised the efficacy of the branch system, insisting specialization permits PSG to work efficiently and capably. Evan adds consistency and careful management of branch activities to the list of positive attributes.

PSG is, nonetheless, an imperfect organization and members are invariably working to reform and improve reach among students—a work in progress. CB and UA members are elected popularly by the student body, but SCUE representatives are interviewed and accepted by the Steering Committee, voting members of the NEC are selected by the NEC Executive Board, and SAC membership consists of one representative from each club recognized by the SAC criteria. SPEC is the most accessible of the six branches to the student body—participation is open to all University undergrad-

uates. Branches with application– based membership who are absent from the yearly election cycle don’t have the opportunity to interact with the student body as a whole, and, as a result, adopt an ambiguity and lack of notoriety among the general student body.

Dissonance infiltrates the woodwork of PSG. While Evan cites beneficial collaboration across the branches, Aarya expresses a desire to improve communication and promote cooperation among branch leaders, bridging the gap she believes impedes PSG. Striking a balance between specialization and maintenance of a collective goal is a challenge for student representatives.

The PSG subgroups mainly communicate through PSG Steering, a committee composed of leaders from each of the six branches which serves as a “forum of discussion” to facilitate cooperation within student government. As Vice Chair for Education of the NEC, Aarya is responsible for presiding over the biweekly steering meetings among the six branches.

Collaboration among branches has benefitted students in the past.

In 2019, the six branches collectively called for internal reform relating to diversity training. Particularly for those branches who conduct internal elections, consideration of leadership and membership diversity requires a conscious effort. In the same year, PSG demanded the University involve students in the search for Penn’s next president, the now– confirmed Liz Magill, to amplify issues impacting minority communities on campus in the process.

Several PSG members, however, echo dissatisfaction with the ability of PSG to adequately address all the opinions and concerns of the expansive student body. Many of the branches provide suggestion forms on their website, but Evan says “it can be tough to make sure [PSG] is covering all of our bases and we're catering to the undergraduate population as much as we can.” Of the six branches, only CB and UA representatives are elected by the student body. As a result, the structure and enterprise of PSG as a whole remain relatively unknown. The representa-

tives in non–elected branches must strike a balance of representing the student body, even if they weren’t democratically selected for their positions.

University Life. But beyond their work with administrators and student–facing events, it’s the internal work of PSG that remains mysterious.

“The purpose of student government is to advocate for the needs and wants of the student body, especially for groups who may not have the resources to advocate for themselves.” —Aarya Patel (W '23), NEC Lena Hansen (C '23), who serves on PSG Steering on behalf of SCUE, for which she is the chair external, frequently interacts with high ranking members of the Penn administration while fulfilling her role as an external spokesperson for SCUE. She serves as a standing member on several University–wide committees on a weekly basis. Lena says the administration is generally responsive to student feedback.

In fact, SCUE is credited with the expansion of pass/fail grading availability during the height of the COVID–19 pandemic and the creation of fall break in 1984. However, Lena admits implementing policy change is a complex and often lengthy process. “Student government is effective, but it's not as effective as people want it to be because change is slow and small,” she says. “Sometimes you get to a point where something that students want is just not actionable.”

On the other hand, many of the branches, such as the NEC, rarely communicate with administrators, meaning the power and efficacy of PSG is not always dependent on Penn higher–ups. Detailed bylaws for each of the six branches of PSG dictate acceptable interactions with the administration and the power afforded to student representatives on various committees. Branches only interact with portions of the administration concerned with their specialty, such as SAC’s relationship with the Office of Student Affairs and the Vice Provost for

Once confirmed to their position, members of PSG become responsible for managing huge sums of money, a factor largely responsible for determining the feasibility of actions proposed by the organization. Charlie Schumer (C '24) says planning and executing events for the benefit of the student body, controlled in part by resource distribution, is a fulfilling experience.

He should know—Charlie is not only the executive vice president of the Class of 2024, but also a member of the UA, SAC, and SPEC, apparently discovering a loophole to PSG’s specialized nature by serving across branches.

Each year, the branches and affiliated groups like the Penn Medical Emergency Response Team and Penn Labs submit budget requests to the UA, responsible for allocating the funds provided to PSG. This year, the University granted a total of $2,922,222 to PSG, a nearly 12% increase from the previous year, for social events on campus, activity and campaign expenses, and daily operations. SAC and SPEC received the largest proportions of the budget, more than $1 million each, while the NEC and SCUE received the smallest amounts: $11,813 and $16,775, respectively. The PSG budget has trended upward for some time, increasing more than $400,000 in the past four years, mirroring the rise in cost of tuition.

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tudent election periods each year are clogged with bold posters, colorful chalk murals covering Locust Walk, and temporary Instagram profiles, all imploring students to exercise their better judgment and perform their campus civic duty. From eager first years to seasoned professionals, Penn Student Government (PSG) hopefuls campaign zealously, each sharing their own particular vision of undergraduate life.

Class Board politicos and members of the Undergraduate Assembly become big names on campus, but what about the rest of student government? While a quick Google search and browse of the PSG website yields a detailed description of PSG’s architecture, an explanation of the organization’s significance and its contributions to the student body is missing.

What actually happens within PSG remains a black box to many. What is PSG beyond a flurry of emails, elections campaigns, and occasional events at the end of Locust Walk?

The responsibilities performed by student government are divided between

What actually is the purpose of student government? Representatives initially struggled to encapsulate the breadth of PSG activities and limit its commitments to the student body to a single statement.

Will Krasnow (C '25), recognized colloquially as “Will from Hill,” is the president of the Class of 2025 and a member of the UA. His catchy nickname and emphasis on actionable policy during his campaign in the fall semester won him the presidency by three votes. Will’s enthusiasm remains in full force. He says the goal of student government is to “wield student perspective and leadership to improve the Penn community.”

Evan Bean (E'23), chair of

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F E AT U R E

Distributing such a large sum as effectively as possible is a challenging task, one often subject to a trial–and–error process and flexible policies. Evan explains that yearly underspending in the SAC budget created a reserve fund which was used to establish the Social Life and Inclusion Fund (SLIF). SLIF allocated $150,000 from the reserve “to underrepresented groups on campus that don't have enough funding to hold social events,” says Evan, who emphatically supports this project. Additionally, a PSG–wide reserve fund of $900,000 contributes to Black student programming and funds unpaid and underpaid research and internships for public service through the Center for Undergraduate Research and Fellowships.

The PSG budget has recently begun to function as a form of activism for student government, especially in response to the social upheaval of the pandemic. For example, in August of 2020, PSG pledged to donate $250,000 to UMOJA, a constituency of Black student organizations on campus, Makuu: The Black Cultural Center, and the Center for Africana Studies. The contribution was made in support of enhancing academic, social, and mental health resources for Black students. PSG wields money and power, unavoidably implicating the organization in campus activism. But student body expectations for PSG engagement in activism exceed monetary donations.

Aarya’s commitment to uplifting diverse voices through the NEC entangles advocacy in the responsibility of student representatives. Since 2020, PSG has engaged with the 7B to a greater extent, reflecting changing goals and the increasing relevance of activism in the organization’s operations. PSG leaders navigate the agreement and dissent between personal advocacy and engaging in activism as a member of an organization representing a large student body.

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Charlie, who has managed to fend off a politician’s demeanor despite his dedication to PSG, commends the integration of student government responsibilities and campus activism, saying, “I think it is really important for members of student government to have an activist mindset because there's always work to be done. We don't want people in student government who are just going to rest on their laurels and put it on their resumes. We want people who want to actually create change.”

The remaining representatives agree wholeheartedly with Charlie’s statement, but engaging in activism within the confines of student government is a nuanced operation. The propriety of actions such as attending a protest as an affiliate of PSG is interpretive. “It's sometimes really difficult to know what to do as an organization,” Lena explains. “I think it's important to remember that everyone in student government is also just a student.” She references personal preferences for engaging as an advocate.

“Personally, would I attend a protest? Yes, of course. But would I want to attend that protest as the chair external of SCUE? I'm not sure, because as a student government leader, you are representing an organization.”

Lena’s comment is revealing of the neutral approach adopted by SCUE. In fact, SCUE’s bylaws, a several–page document that “resemble[s] the original bylaws from the 1960s,” characterize the organization as “autonomous” and “apolitical.” A commitment to reforming education policies and communicating with administrators limits SCUE in its ability to take activist approaches to addressing politically charged affairs.

The UA, directly elected by and in constant contact with the student body, functions differently. Focused instead on broad–scale University life, the UA is remarkably opinionated in comparison to SCUE, endeavoring to fulfill student expectations

MARCH 22, 2022

of leadership and representation.

“The UA is more of a typical student senate body... Being a member, you become a lot more familiar with what's going on at the University,” says Charlie. In the past, the UA has involved itself in prominent issues both within campus and on a broader scale by releasing statements, this year passing a resolution on anti– violence in response to an alleged assault that took place during a party at the “Castle” fraternity house and another denouncing Penn Law professor Amy Wax for making racist comments and calling for her termination.

Will considers statements of support for the student body, which he earnestly describes as “awesome,” an essential part of the work done by the UA to simply convey that “it’s not okay.”

He says, “It's really important for [PSG] to be aware of what students stand for, what students are advocating for. I think it's our role as student government representatives to take what students have to say and try and make that actionable. It's the impact side of activism that’s really critical.”

The UA avoids the concern Lena expresses of misrepresenting the convictions of PSG as an organization by including as many stakeholders as possible in discussions concerning resolution proposals, including other student groups. “[The] 7B and the Graduate and Professional Student Assembly have been really important voices,” says Charlie. Writing resolutions is an open opportunity to UA members.

Extensive deliberation and a vote precedes the release of a resolution “because we want to make a decision that speaks for the student body,” Charlie emphasizes.

Aarya reiterates that, as an activist organization, the function of PSG is to represent the collective student body. “Your beliefs are separate from what you're advocating,” she says. “In student government, you have an ability to make a larger impact because of the sheer amount of voices,” especially in terms of amplifying

“what underrepresented minority groups need and want to see from [the] administration.”

The NEC hosts an annual retreat dedicated to diversity training as a means of fostering discussions about internal biases, which Aarya believes is actionable and progressive work for its members. This form of collaboration with the student body is especially pertinent for the NEC, whose job description includes maintaining the accountability of other branches of PSG. Aarya says she decided to join the NEC because she is “passionate about advocating for underrepresented minorities on campus,” and it allows her to do exactly that.

In spite of the gray area encompassing the most effective means of activism by PSG, student representatives are creating exciting projects and enforcing change. For example, Lena references a collaborative effort among SCUE and several wellness groups in the spring of 2021 to write a Bright Paper describing the ways in which wellness can be actively integrated into student lives. Evan, from SAC, is seeking to establish a fund to support new clubs struggling to survive within the first year of operation before SAC membership is offered. Will feels encouraged by the relationships the CB has developed with administrators and the Class of 2025 and is working on the possibility of displaying dining hall occupancy through Penn Mobile. Lena says it often feels like work done by SCUE and PSG in general “goes off into a void and no one ever thinks

about it again, but really, administration does take note and does value the student voice.”

Representatives are happy to discuss the accomplishments of PSG, but many students lack a working knowledge of the structure and function of the organization. PSG Week seeks to amend that. Happening March 21–25, PSG Week is a tradition that involves a host of events to educate the student body on the structure, goals, and current projects of student government and provides an opportunity for students to voice concerns. The official schedule posted around campus includes a PSG suggestion box in Williams Cafe, mural making on College Green with SCUE and SAC, a book drive, and a “State of the School Address” in the Penn Museum on the evening of Wednesday, March 23.

Although PSG is subject to inefficiencies, it is clear student leaders across the branches are genuine in their commitment to improving the Penn experience.

PSG rejects stagnancy—after all, leadership turns over with each new year, and even current first–year leaders will be gone in four years. Though change is gradual, and at times unsuccessful, members of PSG are devoted to and seek to fulfill their leadership roles. As the University administration evolves, it becomes all the more important to consistently and ardently uplift student voices. “I would rather that we fight the good fight that ultimately isn't successful than to have never even started in the first place,” says Charlie.

"It's the impact side of activism that’s really critical.” —Will Krasnow (C '25), Class Board, UA

FOCUS

Care in Flux The lack of accessible child care options remains an issue for families at Penn and beyond. | CONNOR NAKAMURA

C

are takes many forms. Parents can showcase the most public displays of care, from helping babies take their first steps to encouraging their kids to succeed in school. But young people also perform unseen care work when looking after older relatives or younger siblings. College students create formal and informal networks of care to cope with the pressures of university life and look out for one another. Regardless of what it looks like, care is an important source of joy and a valuable form of human connection.

But for many families, this capacity to care is under attack. Parents are finding it increasingly difficult to dedicate time to care work and accessing support. In part, this is due to a growing number of two– parent income households, requiring parents to manage child care responsibilities on top of two full–time jobs.

The “crisis of care” forces parents to look for expensive child care options or make personal sacrifices in their careers in order to care for their children.

At Penn, many faculty and staff struggle to balance their responsibilities as both employees and caregivers, while facing a serious lack of institutional support. In “The Care Crisis at Penn,” a recent report from the Program in Gender, Sexuality and Women’s Studies (GSWS), researchers highlighted the experiences of a wide range of caregivers—from facilities workers to tenured faculty—during the COVID–19

Illustration by Kilahra Lott pandemic. Their findings indicated that a majority of employees were frustrated by the University’s lack of clear communication of institutional policies regarding child care support. Policies like the Backup Care program and COVID–19 Childcare Grant, for instance, were limited to only one use, with the latter policy being removed this academic year.

There was also widespread dissatisfaction with the lack of specialized support for different types of care work, as the needs of infant caregivers are different from those caring for elementary–aged children.

Gwendolyn Beetham, associate director of GSWS and contributor to the report, says that the pandemic has brought increased awareness to the difficulties of finding child care options. She explains that during the height of the pandemic, working at child care centers became “high–risk work all of a sudden … because you're exposed to children

who can't be vaccinated.” As a result, many child care centers in Philadelphia temporarily or permanently closed, which created additional obstacles for parents who already had difficulty finding affordable child care.

While all caregivers are affected by the lack of child care options, there is no single story that can define the care crisis. Beetham emphasizes that certain employees at Penn experience the care crisis more acutely than others. “If you're working for facilities and still have to come into the University when many people can work from home, that's obviously going to affect you," she says, "and you're not going to have the same [access to] resources that a tenured faculty person does." In fact, she points out that at Penn, there are different child care policies depending on one’s employment category, with more limited support for part–time staff and lecturers. But in order to address the needs of all caregivers, “parental leave [and

flexible work] options [must] be equal across employment categories,” Beetham says.

To address this care crisis, the GSWS report recommends that Penn create institutional policies to develop better care infrastructure, including a “clear articulation of health and safety guidelines as they pertain to those with children under 12,” and increased support for campus–provided child care.

Penn already funds four child care centers near campus, but these often remain inaccessible for parents and families.

The Penn Children’s Center has a long waitlist for all age groups and even at its most affordable rate for staff members with family incomes under $63,000, the center costs more than $10,000 a year for full–time infant care.

This shortage of child care options is not just an issue for Penn employees, but remains a persistent challenge in the larger Philadelphia community. In the city, the median cost for full–time

infant daycare is $10,000 a year for full–time infant daycare, with high–quality care costing up to $25,000 a year.

With such high demand, it might seem like child care is a lucrative industry. But even before the pandemic, child care centers had difficulty recruiting employees as the low teacher–to–student ratio kept wages down. Child care centers face a cyclical issue of high employee turnover and high parental demand, forcing parents to seek out limited options with increasingly long waitlists.

Beetham notes that this contradiction between the high demand of child care and the low wages of child care workers is connected to the gendered distribution of care work. Despite the rise of two–parent income households, women are still responsible for the overwhelming majority of care work. Beetham says that this “feminization of care” causes the systemic undervaluing of both unwaged and waged child care.

The structural issues of child care have existed for years, but the lack of child care options has become especially pressing during the COVID–19 pandemic, which brought to light the glaring inaccessibility of the system. For many employees at Penn, it became clear that the University has a responsibility to support their ability to be caregivers. The inequities in care work should be critically examined, while advocating for a future that truly recognizes all forms of care as valuable.

MARCH 22, 2022 34TH STREET MAGAZINE

15

FILM & TV

Jon M. Chu: “I wanted to paint what it feels like to be a dreamer.”

34th Street speaks with the director of In the Heights and Crazy Rich Asians about his college days and being a leader for representation in Hollywood. | JACOB A. POLLACK

A

n hour before Penn’s Crazy Determined Asians: Jon M. Chu and the Power of Representation event began, the emerald– tiled Harrison Auditorium was silent with its green velvet seats entirely empty. Then suddenly, as if the great and powerful Oz himself had appeared, murmurs and conversations immediately rose with the arrival of a certain individual. At that moment, Jon M. Chu entered the room and began to admire the space’s grandeur and beauty.

“I was just looking out here and it looks like very Wicked colors,” Chu grinned as he referenced his forthcoming film, Wicked—Universal Pictures’ film adaptation of the Broadway show—starring Ariana Grande and Cynthia Erivo.

Chu, at his core, is a curious storyteller, who loves to be immersed in people’s heritage and culture. Hollywood can be a brutal industry, but this hasn’t fazed Chu, who remains a genuine, passionate, and down–to– earth filmmaker.

Before there was Hollywood Jon M. Chu, director of the cultural phenomenon Crazy Rich

Asians, In the Heights, Now You See Me 2, Justin Bieber: Never Say Never, two Step Up movies, and the upcoming Wicked, there was film student Jon M. Chu. As a student at the University of Southern California, Chu was given the opportunity to refine his filmmaking skills after spending his childhood in Los Altos, Calif., editing and filming movies for his friends and family. While Chu might be best known for directing films that celebrate diverse cultures, like Crazy Rich Asians, which, when released, was the first major Hollywood picture with an all–Asian cast in 25 years, Chu started off his professional career by avoiding stories that were personal to him. He admits that “in a weird way, [he] was rewarded for not doing [films] about [his] own heritage.”

In college, Chu watched a student’s short film about a girl’s dating habits where the final joke was her slamming the door on a man simply because he’s Asian; at this point, the whole audience, except for Chu, erupted with laughter. The joke didn’t connect with Chu because being Asian was not a joke to

16 34TH STREET MAGAZINE MARCH 22, 2022

him—it was part of his identity.

In response, he made a short called Gwai Lo: The Little Foreigner, a musical about an Asian American man torn between what his family and friends want him to be, which included personal experiences from Chu’s life growing up Asian American. But after insecurities over the film’s message, Chu never submitted Gwai Lo to film festivals. It would be over a decade before he directed another film that connected to his own roots: Crazy Rich Asians.

In recent years, there has been a “Jon M. Chu effect,” where Chu’s films like Crazy Rich Asians and In the Heights have become a launching pad for actors of color—including Awkwafina, Henry Golding, Gemma Chan, Constance Wu, Anthony Ramos, Melissa Barrera, Leslie Grace, and many other talented performers—to become leads in dozens of new projects. Chu’s championing of representation allowed these actors to be cast and have the spotlight to shine.

Here are edited excerpts from 34th Street’s conversation with Jon M. Chu.

Photo Courtesy of Andrew Yang

FILM & TV

JACOB A. POLLACK: What helped you make the jump into making more personal stories that are rooted in family and heritage like In the Heights and Crazy Rich Asians, after previously avoiding those topics in college and your earlier films, including Gwai Lo, which you chose not to submit anywhere?

JON M. CHU: It was a long journey. In college you’re very idealistic and naive to the world. I made Gwai Lo which means “white devil” in Chinese, and that’s what they called me when I went to Hong Kong for the first time, where everyone looks like you and you start to feel like, ‘Oh wow, they treat me like I’m family.’

But then at the same time, they’ll call you "Gwai Lo" because you’re not from there, either. In film school, you shoot and show your dailies to your class, and even the comments from my class where I was one of probably three Asians, people would question parts [in Gwai Lo] when people would call me names. And these comments questioned my experiences, as if I was overreacting or had too much victimization. When we showed Gwai Lo, it got a great reception. But I felt very sensitive about what I was saying in it. So I buried it and instead made another short called When the Kids Are Away about the secret life of mothers which had nothing to do with being Asian and that was the one that got me into the business [after Steven Spielberg watched it].

After doing Now You See Me 2, I just felt like, ‘What am I doing here? Anyone could have made this movie, and it didn’t

have to be me.’ So I went back to the things that I felt scared to talk about, and of course, it goes back to when I was in college and it was my Asian identity. It just so happens that this book [Kevin Kwan’s Crazy Rich Asians] that my family was reading was both commercial and had flowery, fun things. But at the core was Rachel Chu which was very much what Gwai Lo was based on.

JP: Why did you sign up to do In the Heights and how was casting similar to Crazy Rich Asians, where you tried to find undiscovered or underappreciated talent?

JMC: I signed up for In the Heights before [Crazy Rich Asians] because it spoke to this immigrant family community that I very much grew up in, even though it wasn’t Latino or wasn’t in Washington Heights. I understood that Lin[–Manuel Miranda] had this amazing ability for making his stories very universal, so getting into that story felt like we could do it again, and so rather than find the typical Latin stars, we went to go search for the ones that could rise, and for people like Leslie Grace and Melissa Barrera and Anthony Ramos, it just gave them a platform to do that.

JP: I am very jealous that you know Lin– Manuel Miranda, as I’m one of his biggest fans.

What is he really like?

JMC: He’s amazing and is just a kind person. He acts the exact same way off and on camera. You should meet him.

JP: Well, it’s a little tough to meet him, he’s a little busy right now.

JMC: [Laughs] Yes, that’s true.

JP: How was it like filming on location for projects like In the Heights in Washington Heights and Crazy Rich Asians in Malaysia and Singapore versus filming in a studio, which I’m assuming will be where Wicked is primarily shot?

JMC: Yes, we’re not going to Oz. When we shot Crazy Rich Asians, being in Singapore really dictated the look and allowed me time to learn about the style, and so I knew for In the Heights, we had to do it in Washington Heights. It was also the idea of, how do you take a Broadway show about a block and make it real? Lin wrote that music in the language of those blocks in rap and hip–hop and in all of the different styles and it was all around us as we framed our shots. We’re in Washington Heights, so where can we point the camera to?

JP: Many of your movies include food sequences, including the dumpling scene in Crazy Rich Asians and the dinner scene in In the Heights. How is food an aspect of storytelling, especially since you grew up around your parents’ restaurant, Chef Chu’s?

JMC: Food was so naturally a part of my life. I was around food and that’s how my parents communicated

their love for me. When you basically live at a restaurant, you tell stories to customers who are learning about our family, and so I see [the restaurant] as a house of stories.

In these movies, you have a great opportunity to show off a culture’s food and make it look delicious, instead of exotic and strange.

JP: In any film, you need to edit scenes. But for a movie musical, especially an adaptation of a Broadway musical, you must also need to cut entire songs out, which you did for In the Heights. How do you choose what songs to keep in the final version, as you look toward Wicked, which I assume you will need to cut some songs from. Or maybe not?

JMC: You never know, you never know. In a way, In the Heights was easier to translate because it’s not built like a movie, it’s very much a slice of life. It was also way too long, but it was almost like a buffet, finding scenes that moved me the most and then defining an order, which for me was Usnavi at the center, telling this story about his neighborhood to his children. That was our center, and anything that does not have to do with that is not needed.

JP: What is the preproduction for movies like Wicked and In the Heights which has years of preparation prior to the actual filming?

JMC: Well, for something like Wicked, it’s years, and I think they’ve been working on [Wicked] for 15 years, and I have just come on in this last year. You also got to shoot when you’re ready, and for me and Lin, it was about getting to know each other, and Quiara [Alegría Hudes, writer of In the Heights] and I had to break the script many times before we found the right combination. By the time we’re making the movie, I know what is important to everybody.

JP: Finally, In the Heights has moments of spectacle, but the story is very grounded in the community of Washington Heights, centered on Usnavi’s life and dreams. What was the importance of having the spectacle aspects and smaller character moments tied together?

JMC: I wanted to paint what it feels like to be a dreamer in a community because that’s what I relate to so much.

I grew up in a Chinese restaurant [Chef Chu’s], and my dreams were so beautiful and so much bigger than my town, and I know talking to Lin and Quiara that that was their experience as well.

When you are the child of immigrants and [your family’s] dreams and hopes are pretty high, you dream big, so we needed to visually show that. I wanted to give as much grace and elegance to people’s dreams and to the dreams of their parents and grandparents than any movie musical does for its characters.

M A R C H 2 2 , 2 0 2 2 3 4 T H S T R E E T M A G A Z I N E 17

FILM & TV

A World–Class Creative Team Can't Save 'The Batman' from Subpar Writing

The only thing that isn't perfect about the superhero's latest reboot is its writing. | KAYLA COTTER

Illustration by Sherry Li

M

att Reeves’ The Batman is almost perfect.

Visually, it’s stunning.

Performance–wise, it hits the nail on the head. Its soundtrack is immaculate and its action scenes are genuinely entertaining to watch. In fact, it falters where you least expect: the storyline. With a runtime of nearly three hours, the film is an over– glorified snoozefest, and it’s a real tragedy considering how much promise it shows.

The detective noir film follows Robert Pattinson’s vengeance–driven Batman as he uncovers clues left by Gotham’s latest serial killer: the Riddler.

He finds himself at the center of the mystery and must work with Zoë Kravitz’s Catwoman and Jeffrey Wright’s Jim Gordon to uncover the Riddler's identity.

In the same vein as Christopher Nolan’s The Dark Knight trilogy, the film adopts a darker, more realistic tone than previous iterations of the franchise; however, The Batman is unable to emulate what made Nolan’s films, Batman Begins, The Dark Knight, and The Dark Knight Rises, such fan favorites. Nolan’s trilogy invested me in the man behind the mask; this film made me forget there was one. Robert Pattison’s Bruce Wayne isn’t the charming, suave alter ego of a man trapped by societal com-

mitments. Instead, he feels emotionless, stiff, and just plain–out bored.

Now that isn't to say shirking the confident millionaire and playboy persona was a bad route to take—in fact, it makes sense given where the story begins (Pattinson's Bruce Wayne has only been Batman for two years). But, truth be told, effectively eliminating the Bruce Wayne character takes away from the movie's intrigue—it's an interesting artistic choice, but every time he appears, the film loses its spark. Without any natural wit or spunk to liven up his scenes, there's little to hold the audience's attention. Though this is an intentional decision

by Reeves that does reinforce his character arc, it doesn't make it any less true.

In fact, in what perhaps is a side effect of Batman's own underdeveloped character, many of the film's characters are underused despite a lengthy runtime.

The relationship between Bruce and Selina, for example, is a sudden development: Despite Pattinson and Kravitz's chemistry, it's almost cringe–worthy to watch the almost instantaneous progression of their teenage–like romance. Likewise, Bruce and Alfred have limited screen time together—their relationship just isn't fleshed out enough for me

1 8 34TH STREET MAGAZINE MARCH 22, 2022

to care despite the significance of it. Jim Gordon, one of the best (and most iconic) characters in the franchise, feels like half of a crime–fighting duo in a buddy cop flick. Though he's not the central character, the film never delves into his personal life or ambitions, and it's a shame considering Wright's portrayal of the character may be one of the best to date. Every interaction between these characters not only feels forced but purposeless when their relationships should be the backbone of the film.

Now, the runtime in and of itself isn’t the problem. There exists a myriad of films with a three–hour runtime that keep you engrossed in the plotline such as Titanic, The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring, and more recently, Avengers: Endgame. In fact, as blockbusters have gotten progressively longer, I’ve nonetheless enjoyed them because of the emotional payoff. This film simply doesn’t warrant it. The old–school mystery just isn't very entertaining in a movie that hinges on a superhero character and, in this case, a character with very little semblance of a personality no matter how much sense it makes. The mystery is overly complex and dragged out for far too long to retain the audience’s attention. It’s excruciating to sit

through, especially with such emotionally closed–off characters.

While a detective noir is a good approach to take for the character (the comic book accuracy of this film should not be understated), the style never quite realizes its potential. What the story requires often seems to be at war with the few conventions of the superhero genre that it aims to adhere to and its PG– 13 rating. It's dark and gritty, yet lighter than it perhaps should be. Despite the length it takes to identify the Riddler, many of the clues left by him seem to be solved faster than they should be, there are far too many scenes that don’t quite pay off, and for the first two hours, there aren’t many moments that leave you on the edge of your seat.

The film doesn’t quite stick to the tone so meticulously handcrafted by its creative team. It just can’t seem to choose which route it wants to take. While it’s clear this is supposed to be a realistic approach to the hero's beginnings, there are moments that ask you to suspend your disbelief, breaking the magic of the film. There are multiple scenes in which Pattison’s Batman takes more than he should be capable of, such as what is effectively a bomb to the face. It’s not surprising that he comes out

unscathed—this is a superhero flick after all—but in the context of the film, it’s a detail that seems wildly out of place, an incredibly unrealistic result in a movie that boasts a grounded backdrop.

It's an ambitious film, and one not hard to appreciate given its genuine positives such as the cinematography and performances—which, though understated, are some of the best in a long history of reboots.

However, I was disappointed.

Though it may intend to be a joyless film, one far too serious for its own good, and there’s little–to–no emotional payout for your time. From a nuanced perspective, the film is excellently crafted; however, for the general audience member, it drags on, requiring several rewatches to fully appreciate. Younger members of its target audience may not understand the themes it's attempting to convey.

That said, aside from some questionable writing, every creative decision shines throughout the film, and these are actors and a city I'm excited to see in the confirmed sequel. Hopefully, Reeves will complement his excellent creative decisions with writing that keeps you awake, and use his arsenal of characters to create something truly memorable.

OVERHEARDS

Overheards 03.22.22

O

"She's my role model … Oh, to be a tree."

U GIVE A FURRY A COOKIE

"I think Cookie Monster was my sexual awakening."

ALC

NTIAL DENDROPHILE

T

"I think you find white men novel despite having dated this many of them."

ER E

PU

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URPRISED AT WHITE MEDIOCRITY

IF Y

ST I

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F

This week: Greek mythology, senior societies, and Street continuously failing the Bechdel test OH

OLIC GSWS MAJOR

"You just get drunk with gay people. Is that praxis? I don't think so."

NG THE 'I' IN ILLITERACY TI

"Perhaps one might say I put the 'sis' in Narcissus."

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MARCH 22, 2022 34TH STREET MAGAZINE 19

STYLE

Ukrainian Influencers Are Using TikTok to Show the Truth

S

Can social media save the world? | EMMA MARKS

irens blaring, helpless citizens huddled in blankets, missiles shooting across the sky, cities ripped apart. These are just some of the horrifying things I can expect to see and hear daily when scrolling through my TikTok “For You” page—and these TikTok videos speak to me in ways that other forms of media don’t.

On Feb. 24, 2022, Russia launched a full–scale invasion of Ukraine. Due to the widespread use of TikTok in order to share information about the war, it’s being called “the first TikTok war.” New York Magazine dubbed it “WarTok.” Although there are many young adults documenting the war on TikTok, one in particular pops up in my feed daily. Her name is Valeria Shashenok, and she is a 20–year–old photographer from Chernihiv, Ukraine.

Right up until Feb. 24, Valeria’s TikTok profile was full of breathtaking shots of her traveling all over the world—from Italy to Portugal—taking photographs and enjoying her early 20s with friends and family.

Her content changed drastically after the invasion began, and she started creating videos which gave her viewers an inside look into her new reality of living in a bomb shelter with her family. She has now amassed over 950,000 followers on TikTok. Her most viewed video has an astounding 43.5 million views, and details her “typical day in a bomb shelter.”

Valeria incorporates humor into many of her videos, which allows viewers to empathize with and relate to her. She also makes use of popular TikTok trends, songs, filters, and dances, thus "[speaking] to TikTok users in their own language" all over the world and boosting her content 20 34TH STREET MAGAZINE

in the algorithm. In one video, she gives viewers a tour of the bomb shelter she lives in with the sarcastic caption “Welcome to my 5 stars hotel.” She then highlights the not–so–glamorous way of life, including showing herself sitting on the toilet and explaining that it is her “Place for reading books!”

never can’t imagine how people felt in the Second World War …

Now I’m living in this reality and feel scared of my life … Please, Putin, stop!”

In an interview with The Cut, Valeria expresses that people watching her videos need to know that “Ukrainian people are the strongest.” This is evident in

the Vietnam War was dubbed the “first television war.” Emerging technologies have been used time and time again to document wars, and, given the fact that TikTok was ranked the most popular website in 2021, it’s not surprising that it’s the platform of choice at this moment in history.

The White House held a

her own videos as her strength shines through. Despite being so young, she’s doing incredible work to open up people’s eyes all over the world.

While WarTok may seem unique due to the fact that it leverages TikTok as a platform to share information about the Russia–Ukraine war, it’s important to keep in mind that different forms of media have played a revolutionary role in disseminating information about many wars throughout history. For instance,

briefing where “30 top TikTok stars gathered on a Zoom call to receive key information about the war unfolding in Ukraine.”

TikTok influencers hold a lot of power because millions of people consume their content daily. The importance of educating them on the crisis so that they can share correct information with their followers is an important step given that TikTok has become such a widely trusted source of information.

The fact that TikTokers in

Illustration by Insha Lakhani Aside from her ironic content, Valeria also gives viewers a glimpse into her war–torn city during brief outings from the bomb shelter each day. Rubble, collapsed buildings, shattered windows, and abandoned homes are all around her. One particularly upsetting video includes footage she captured during the seventh day of the war, on March 3. She shows her friend’s house which has been bombed, and while standing outside of the destroyed building, she says, “I

MARCH 22, 2022

Ukraine can show the world what's happening in real time heightens the sense of immediacy felt by viewers and gets people talking. This is a good thing, but there are some potential downsides when it comes to watching the same people repeatedly.

There's the potential for viewers to see what Valeria goes through, for example, and think that it's the whole story even though it's just one person’s experience.

Just because we follow her story doesn’t mean that we know every story, and just because she's safe now—having fled to Poland recently—doesn’t mean everyone is. It's crucial to keep this in mind.

Putin has already taken extreme measures to censor Russian media, banning Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram, and TikTok has now banned Russian users from posting and viewing international content—only “pro–Putin” content is allowed. All of this comes after Putin enacted the “fake news” law, which makes it a punishable offense to post anything challenging Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, as an attempt by Russia to try and “control the narrative over its invasion of Ukraine.”

Many TikTokers like Valeria have shared that they post videos of their experiences to try to “combat misinformation in the Russian news that the country’s actions were a ‘military operation’ rather than a war that is hurting Ukrainians.” Even though Russia’s intense censorship makes that particular goal difficult, people in countries across the globe are still able to see the truth thanks in large part to TikTokers like Valeria, and that's extraordinarily meaningful.

ST YLE

Are Fashion Collaborations With Nonprofits Purposeful or a Profit Ploy?

Hermès recently released a scarf in collaboration with Coded by Kids—but how much of the profit is actually being donated? | SHELBY ABAYIE

I

n the current era of social activism, a brand's stance on social and political issues is more important than ever. Gone are the days where sketchy labor practices and ill–sourced materials are accepted without a second thought. More and more consumers are questioning the ethics of fast fashion, the implications of racist advertisements, and the problematic histories of established brands. Now, businesses are publicly pressured to put more effort into the core values they uphold and social causes that they endorse.

A study by Sprout Social has shown that an estimated 70% of consumers want a brand to take a stance on social and political issues. This sentiment is increasingly present in younger generations, who often prioritize the values of a brand over low prices.

Huge multinational corporations like Coca–Cola and industry juggernauts like Ralph Lauren have the power to create impactful social and political change, and fashion brands in particular have begun partnering with nonprofits to support underrepresented groups. However, their partnerships may be more performative than helpful.

The classic structure of these collaborations is creating purposeful pieces like clothes, purses, and shoes that tout the quality of brand as well as the social impact of supporting a certain cause. For instance, Hermès, a luxury fashion brand, collaborated with Coded

by Kids to create a silk scarf. The piece, a scarf touting bold bursts of tangerine and tasteful notes of sky blue brought together by a flying pegasus, follows a long line of intricate and timeless Hermès scarves.

However, the details of the Hermès and Coded by Kids collaboration leaves much to be desired.

The issue is that the consumer

has no details about the partnership and how Coded by Kids will be benefited, if at all—there's no mention of the profit split between Hermès and Coded by Kids on the Hermès website. Instead, Hermès relies on consumers buying the scarf guilt–free, aided by pre– existing trust in the Hermès brand, and assuming that it vaguely supports a good cause.

Unfortunately, boosting name recognition isn’t enough to create meaningful benefit to already established nonprofit organizations.

The real impact comes after consumers buy the product—when brands like Hermès should be transparently donating a sizable portion of its profit to their nonprofit partners.

The Hermès collaboration points to a greater issue with fashion brands partnering with nonprofits and other organizations: unfair profit splits. While it’s understandable that this can be difficult to navigate when the company is taking charge of production, arrangements where large pre–established fashion brands get to use a nonprofit or social cause as an accessory to sell merchandise are unacceptable. These collaborations only serve as shameless business ploys to capitalize on the plights of others and convince consumers to buy into feel–good campaigns.

When done right, purposeful fashion can be festive and effective. For example, the Spice Girls launched a simple but fun Pride 2021 T–shirt and black pouch featuring a play on the lyrics of the Spice Girls hit song “Wannabe.”

Victoria Beckham also made it clear in the online ordering process that 100% of the profits generated from the T–shirt will go to AKT (formerly known as the Albert Kennedy Trust), a charity that combats LGBTQ youth homelessness. The Spice Girls and

AKT collaboration is an example of fashion brands effectively taking a stance without losing focus on who is actually being helped or co–opting the image of supporting a good cause for financial gain. Beckham and the Spice Girls' transparency and advocacy shows the core principle that should guide these collaborations: They want to support LGBTQ youth in a genuinely caring, non–performative way. When mixing business and social values, brands need to advocate for the values they claim to uphold through measurable action. If not, it’s easy to fall into the trap of prioritizing profits over the greater good.

Since transparency amid collaborations is sometimes lacking, consumers have to pay attention to what they buy and why they buy

Illustration by Collin Wang it. Purchasing from a dubious collaboration doesn’t necessarily mean you’re helping a good cause, and it certainly doesn’t absolve you from any other moral responsibilities, such as directly donating to these

nonprofits and speaking up in your own social circles. Through this, it seems clear that real impact takes authentic consideration from both consumers and businesses to create change.

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Liberal Hoax! COVID-19 Testing Fake, Biden Just Really Thirsty for Human Saliva | MIKAYLA GOLUB

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his past Wednesday, Oval Office security footage was leaked.

The viral video showed President Joe Biden in his office receiving a cooler of 57 COVID-19 tests and swallowing them all, one by one. He then polished off the beverages by licking 36 nasal tests as one would a lollipop. He did this for two hours while watching YouTube videos on how to make the perfect pot roast.

The FBI's investigation confirmed President Joe Biden had been re-routing every COVID-19 test in America to the White House to drink them all. Moreover,

the report reveals that this operation has been in place for months.

One hour after the footage leaked, a Tik-Tok surfaced titled: "How I Exposed Slurpy Joe." In it, Brenton Myerson, a 25-year-old White House security guard, says that drinking Americans' saliva is not even the weirdest thing he's seen President Biden do in his office. He says, "I have hundreds of videos of him reenacting those sad as shit ASPCA videos. He even gets in a cage and everything, but there's isn't an audience. A lot of work for no audience."

The White House phy-

OP-ED: I Did Not Come To Moelis Family Grand Reading Room to Make Friends | LIWA SUN

sician, Colonel Kevin O'Connor, DO, USA (Ret.), recommended that the President get COVID-19 tested, given his mass consumption of saliva. However, testing proved difficult when President Biden ate all of his nasal swabs whole. The White House Medical Unit will continue to try to get an accurate test from President Biden.

This shocking news helps explain a recent rise in false positives, as test results nationwide have been randomly generated for almost a year now. The CDC released a statement: "We gave the President the tests because we

W

hen I yank out my Rose Gold Apple MacBook Air (Retina, 13”, Early 2020), you will know: I did not come to Moelis Family Grand Reading Room on the first floor of the Charles Photo by Liwa Sun / Under the Button Patterson Van Pelt Library to fuck around. I mean business. I am dead ass. I am on God. We live in a society of posers. Some people spend their nine to five clicking from tab to tab. Some people scroll up and down the same spreadsheet for hours on end. Some people open a word document and stare

22 34TH STREET MAGAZINE MARCH 22, 2022

thought he wanted to conduct every single COVID-19 test himself. At the time, he seemed truly dedicated to the well-being of the American people. An internal review will be conducted to ensure accountability in light of these events." The CDC then advised Americans to fill their test tubes with semen and cover their nasal swabs with blood to deter the President from continuing to snack on the coronavirus tests.

In response to the video, President Biden tweeted: "By ingesting the saliva of every citizen, I can consume your thoughts and, in this way,

connect intimately and effectively with the needs of the American public."

Political scientists praise Joe Biden's innovative polling method, calling it: "the greatest breakthrough in public opinion data acquisition." A USA Today poll reveals that 82% of Americans wish that at the very least Joe Biden would spit the saliva back into their mouths, one by one. Furthermore, 100% of the 82% preferred the mode of spitting to be "similar to that of a mother bird feeding a baby bird."

at it for a couple of minutes before moving on to wordle.

You can trust me that this is the case because I have seen them all. I have spent hours of my own precious time on God’s green earth to observe the behaviors of the regulars at Moelis Family Grand Reading Room. I have shaken my head so vehemently at the travesty I see that my chiropractor gasped when he felt my neck.

I though. Me. Moi. I am different. When I sit down by the majestic wool mural and set up my technological gamut, you know something is afoot. When

I swipe with three fingers on my trackpad to access all 12 of my desktops (each with a different photo of St. Vincent as desktop background), do not come near — the magnificence of it all might frighten you. When I click open the substack email from Angelicism01 and peruse it with superhuman certitude, don’t interrupt me (unless you are giving me a cookie as a reward). Yes, I avail myself of the vast offerings and resources of this University in a far superior, tasteful, and stately manner than you can ever imagine. Kneel!

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Ugh! I Can No Longer Let My Tongue Hang Limply From My Mouth in COMM 125 Recitation | JACKSON PARLI

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s you may have heard, Penn has lifted the indoor mask mandate. For many of you, this may be a relief. No longer will you be confined by the fascist and, worse, unfashionable demands of this administration. You can finally use your mouth to breathe and suck cock as HaShem intended. However, for me, this is a living nightmare because I can no longer let my tongue hang out of my mouth in my recitations.

You may be wondering, Jackson, why do you let your tongue hang out of your mouth in public? The answer: I think it is adorable. It reminds me of those dogs who

can’t put their tongue back in their mouths. Letting my tongue hang out of my mouth is like a private affirmation that I am cute and petite like a Yorkshire terrier. Obviously, these are very important qualities, more so than wisdom and altruism.

By reinstating its mask mandate, Penn is taking this away from me. By forcing me to put my tongue back in my mouth, I now feel like a disgusting elephant, lumbering down Locust Walk as passersby throw peanuts at my gaping maw. Wendell, I beg you to please reconsider lifting the mask mandate so I can still feel like the beautiful tiny petite squishy baby dog that I am.

Photo by Highland Canine Training LLC // CC by 2.0

Progressive! Penn to Rename FGLI Students P.E.A.S.A.N.T.S. | UTB STAFF

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n an effort to establish new initiatives to curate more awareness about firstgeneration and low-income students, Penn rebranded the confusing FGLI acronym with P.E.A.S.A.N.T.S. (Poor, Extremely Average, Sad And Not Trustworthy Students). After a school-wide study, mainly focusing on the means of transportation, electronics of students, and personal attires, it has come to light that FGLI students still have failed to be seen as equals.

In order to combat this force, Penn has vowed to provide all P.E.A.S.A.N.T.S. with a horse and carriage, one of Amy Gutmann's finest milking cows for trading school supplies, and 15 goats that can be cashed in for a new 2021 Macbook or a 10% off tuition coupon. Although many individuals may see this new initiative as “barbaric” or

“medieval,” Penn is sure that the new effort will allow former FGLI individuals to really stand out.

On top of all of this, Penn has decided to build a new dining hall dedicated specifically for P.E.A.S.A.N.T.S. stocked with common meals of low income students, such as hamburger helper, Bauernbrot (finest German bread on behalf of Gutmann), and two-week expired milk. Non-P.E.A.S.A.N.T.S. are highly encouraged to come and watch as there will be a viewing area and the entire building will be made of glass to illustrate the fragility and vulnerability of all P.E.A.S.A.N.T.S. Hence, now current first generation low income college students no longer have to explain their financial situation and can show the world what P.E.A.S.A.N.T.S. have to offer!

Go P.E.A.S.A.N.T.S!

Photo from pngimg.com / CC 4.0 BY-NC

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