March 2019
Sliding into DM
How sweet the sound
The final countdown to the 30 hours in the tent p.5
Amazingrace Coffeehouse’s place in Northwestern history p.10
Sweet dreams are made of this
Open Tab
A Northwestern alumna finds her place among the whispers of ASMR p.8
Just a Metra ride away, Kibbitznest offers a technology-free hygge haven p.14
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THE MONTHLY Contents
Sliding into DM
The final countdown to the 30 hours in the tent
Sweet dreams are made of this
As the ASMR sensation grows online, a Northwestern alumna finds her place among the whispers
How sweet the sound
Protest to performance: Amazingrace Coffeehouse’s place in Northwestern history
Open Tab
Just a Metra ride away, Kibbitznest offers a technology-free hygge haven
Reel Thoughts
‘Cold War’ tells a haunting, bittersweet love story set against a Polish backdrop
05 08 10 14 15
Staff of The Monthly Issue 18
Stavros Agorakis Madeleine Fernando The Monthly Editors
Catherine Buchaniec Ruiqi Chen Roxanne Panas Designers
Kristina Karisch Alex Schwartz Danny Vesurai Crystal Wall Writers
Daily file photo by Katie Pach
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Editors:
This time roughly two years ago, I was called into the editor’s office to discuss the future of The Daily’s arts and entertainment section. Admittedly, the paper had never been known for its artsy tone or first-person narratives. Next to the hot takes of the Opinion desk and the investigations that staffers across the newsroom ran on Northwestern and Evanston, there was no space for writers seeking to hone their feature writing skills. The editor and I brainstormed for hours, and after several revisions and a couple venti drinks, the first rough draft of The Monthly came into being. Some quarters later, it’s a little hard to let go. Reporters have come and gone, many rising in The Daily to become my own editors, (mostly) thankful for the skills and musical theater knowledge they picked up during their time here. So, as a farewell to the team that’s taught me the most, I want to thank everyone who made The Monthly what it is today. To Jane, Madeleine and Ruiqi, my beloved work wives, thank you for embarking on this journey with me. To every contributor and reader, thank you for your time and love. For all the late nights and 11th-hour edits, for all the music sessions and impromptu dance parties, for all the quotable moments over at the Norris couches, thank you. — Stavros Agorakis There’s no denying The Monthly has undergone changes since it first published in Spring 2017. As a then-assistant A&E editor, I had little idea where the magazine would go — if there would be enough content, if people would read it or if it would simply fade out of existence like many ambitious Daily projects often do. But in just two years, I’ve watched The Monthly transform from its humble beginnings as an eight-page insert into a full-fledged entertainment supplement recently crowned Illinois’ best. With every bold redesign, new reporter and ambitious digital project, The Monthly has spread its wings and found its voice on campus. And while I’ve been at The Daily ever since Fall Quarter of my freshman year, The Monthly is where I’ve found my home. You might call us crazy for spending hours editing one story or poring over a single page for the third time when it’s already 3 a.m. — but you’ll be hard-pressed to find a group of people more hard-working, creative and caring. I learned how to be a better journalist not just in Medill classes, but from working alongside my peers on Norris’ third-floor couches as Stavros taught me what makes a compelling story, and Jane showed me what an attention-grabbing lede really looks like. So thank you to every reporter, designer, photographer, collaborator and supporter that has made our humble magazine what it is today; and thank you to every reader who has joined us on this journey. — Madeleine Fernando I inherited The Monthly from its original designer, Jerry Lee, in the fall of 2017. I had created a few spreads with him before, but taking over as The Monthly’s sole designer was a daunting task nonetheless. But with the ridiculously enthusiastic and never-ending support of Stavros, Madeleine and Jane, I finished that first issue. And somehow, nearly two years later, I’ve designed 14 issues of The Monthly and received a glowing review from the Illinois College Press Association: “clean, simple design.” Be still, my heart. That might sound like a joke, but I have never witnessed more solidarity, love and laughter than at The Monthly, no matter how long it’s been since we’ve seen sunlight (the record? 11 hours). This makes me even more excited and happy to welcome two new designers to the family: Roxanne and Caty. Thank you to my editors Stavros, Madeleine and Jane for always cheering me on. Thank you to Jerry for starting it all. Thank you to Roxanne and Caty for continuing to love this magazine, and thank you to all the readers who keep us going. — Ruiqi Chen
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Sliding into
The final countdown to the 30 hours in the tent
by Crystal Wall
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From canning to block themes — what you need to know about NUDM 2019
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he first warm days of Spring Quarter at Northwestern are often relished in a campus-wide celebration. Students bike, jog and picnic out on the Lakefill, sink their feet into the sand at Evanston Beach, all the while combating their vitamin D deficiency from the everlasting winter. Rather than soaking up time in the sun, however, the Northwestern University Dance Marathon executive board spent that time last year locked in a meeting room to make one of the most important decisions of the quarter: picking the 2019 beneficiary. “I remember it was the first beautiful weekend of Spring Quarter. We were all strangers … coming from all walks of life and all in love with DM,” Medill senior Michelle Galliani said. “We didn’t know each other yet but we were told right off the bat that this would be the most important decision we would make — but the fact that it was our first one was intense.” And the stakes are indeed high — NUDM, which is often cited as the largest student-run philanthropy in the U.S., routinely donates seven-figure amounts to its chosen beneficiary every year. In 2018, the organization gave nearly $1.18 million to Cradles to Crayons, a nonprofit that provides supplies such as coats and backpacks to low-income or homeless children in Chicago. The application process for potential beneficiaries is competitive. Gallani, the group’s marketing co-chair, said NUDM receives upwards of 100 applications most years. GiGi’s Playhouse, the 2017 beneficiary, applied for 10 years in a row before finally being selected. So, after days of debating and deliberating, the executive board reached a verdict. This year, the event’s proceeds will benefit Communities in Schools of Chicago, a local nonprofit whose goal is to provide Chicago Public Schools students the means to succeed and graduate. The relationship between a beneficiary and NUDM extends far beyond DM weekend, though. Medill junior and marketing co-chair Jennimai Nguyen
described the partnership as a continued connection strengthened through followups from executive members, social media interactions and support from previous beneficiaries. “It’s not like once their year is over that we forget about them and never talk to them again,” Nguyen said. “We’re trying to get people to connect with these beneficiaries and engage and want to be involved with them.” As the marketing chairs, Galliani and Nguyen were faced early on with the daunting task of convincing NU students to dedicate 30 hours of their life to the cause, and all on a weekend when end-ofthe-quarter exhaustion is kicking in and exam season is in full swing. Nguyen recalled hearing about the organization at the activities fair when she was a first-year. She thought the idea of dancing for 30 hours straight was “crazy,” which is exactly what compelled her to sign up. But let’s face it: even without the activities fair, NUDM’s presence on campus is impossible to miss — a view echoed by Communication sophomore Billy Loveman, who will dance in the tent for the first time this year. Loveman, who transferred to NU from Syracuse University, said he was instantly drawn by the masses of students who cared about the event and its cause. Compared to his previous school, which holds a similar event every year, he said NUDM’s scope is unmatched. As a local from nearby Northfield, Illinois, Loveman said DM gave him novel reasons to interact with his neighbors back home. To raise money for his page, he went “canning” almost every weekend of Winter Quarter, submitting himself to doing pushups or “the worm” to attract the attention — and generosity — of passersby. “I ended up raising a lot of money each time,” Loveman said. “It’s pretty surprising how people are so caring and charitable for a cause like this.” As the productions co-chair, SESP senior Meredith Mackey is in charge of making
the experience enjoyable for Loveman and his fellow dancers. From reaching out to celebrities for shoutout videos to finalizing the 10 blocks’ themes, Mackey hopes to make the event unforgettable for all involved. Last year, American treasures like former vice president Joe Biden and actor Nick Offerman sent dancers into a frenzy with their pop-up support videos. Mackey said that while the process of touching base with these high-profile celebrities can be tedious, it’s ultimately very rewarding for everyone in the tent. “It’s so worth it to see people’s reactions,” Mackey said. “I even had a celebrity personally text me their video and (say) they’re going to tune into the live stream to see when their video is playing, so it really does build connections.” In the vein of keeping tent morale up, the productions team carefully chooses the block themes to be relevant, keeping with pop culture trends and to the cause. This year, the themes range from Block 3’s “Gimme Gimme Gimme a Block After Midnight,” dedicated to the musical hit “Mamma Mia” and iconic ’70s disco music, to the final block’s “School of Block,” a subtle tribute to CIS Chicago. Mackey has been on the productions team since her freshman year, and will soon be joining DM’s 120-hour club, which recognizes dancers involved in the organization all four years. She said NUDM has played a key role in shaping her Northwestern experience, from Block 9 adrenaline making her unknowingly tear her Meniscus two years ago, to Block 10’s community and tears of joy ultimately making the sleep deprivation worth it. At the end of the day, Mackey said NUDM isn’t about dancing in a tent, but rather about contributing to a larger cause. “We never claim to save the world — we’re just trying to do what we can with what we have,” Mackey said. “Someone on exec last year put it best when he said, ‘If everyone could experience one moment of the magic of Block 10, the world would be a better place.’” ◊
Photos: Noah Frick-Alofs, Sophie Mann, Colin Lynch, Katie Pach, Jeffrey Wang, Ruiqi Chen, Colin Boyle, Brian Meng, Alec Carroll
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basement computer lab where she worked. Her fiancé, Ben (McCormick ’15), who she met at NU, said he has yet to watch a full ASMR video. He was surprised when he found out early on in their relationship that Gibi watched them to fall asleep. “I’m a very scheduled person,” Ben said, “so I was just like, why the hell do you need to watch something to fall asleep? Just go to bed at the same time every day.” Gibi said she had wanted to start making her own ASMR videos for a while, but it wasn’t until the summer before her senior year at NU that she finally decided to take the leap. “If I wanted to have the free time to start a channel, it had to be now.” By January 2017, Gibi had already reached 100,000 subscribers. That year’s reduction in School of Communication requirements, along with credits she’d racked up taking summer classes, meant that she could take that Winter Quarter off to focus on creating videos full-time. As her channel took off, Gibi said she began asking her film friends at NU for technical advice, though she still remained “shy” about her budding career on YouTube. She said she remembers having to film at night while her roommates were all out at bars to minimize outside noise, and that her video quality was “heinous.” By the time Gibi graduated from NU, her channel had over 350,000 subscribers. Just a year later, that number reached one million. Now, Ben manages the business side of Gibi’s channel, answering emails, tracking online metrics and setting up product sponsorships. For him, it’s a way to apply his business
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community — ASMRtists, if you will — often refer to this sensation as “tingles,” elicited by different triggers like crinkling paper, playing with slime or simply whispering in a soothing voice. Nearly 10 years later, YouTube has a catalogue of tens of millions of ASMR videos from thousands of channels. The phenomenon has its own subreddit with over 150,000 members and too many Facebook groups to count. It’s attracted celebrities like Jimmy Kimmel, Sarah Silverman and Cardi B, and was even featured in a 2019 Super Bowl ad. As ASMR has become mainstream, so has Gibi. In the two years since she went full-time with her channel, she’s about to hit 1.7 million subscribers. Her videos — ranging from her tapping on a piece of cork to cosplaying as Linda from “Bob’s Burgers” — have been collectively viewed over 400 million times. “It’s something that I never, ever, ever thought that I would be doing,” Gibi said. “I always wanted to do entertainment. I always wanted to, you know, be myself and be able to talk to people.” Gibi said she started watching ASMR videos during high school when she went down a “YouTube rabbit hole” and began using them regularly to fall asleep and deal with anxiety related to sleeplessness. They were still a big help to her once she got to Northwestern — she’d even play them in the background when writing essays in the Fisk Hall
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he YouTube video opens on a smiling young woman facing the camera. She makes soft fluttering noises with her fingers, moving them from side to side as she slowly and delicately whispers into a highly sensitive microphone. Her cadences crackle like gentle rain on a windowsill: “Good evening. My name is Gibi. Welcome to my channel.” There’s not an all-caps clickbaity title or an incessant plea for subscribers in sight, no trace of Logan Paul, Miranda Sings or a Vine compilation. This is another side of YouTube, where relaxation takes priority over vlogs and pranks and funny cat videos. It’s the world of ASMR, and Gibi (Communication ’17) is riding a wave of whispers straight to the top. The term “ASMR” was coined in 2010 by Jennifer Allen, one of the first people to push research on what was then a tiny community of people furtively whispering into their webcams, just trying to help each other fall asleep. The pseudoscientific acronym describes the pleasurable feeling some people — including Gibi, who asked that her real name not be revealed for privacy concerns — experience when they hear certain sounds or voices, look at satisfying videos or pictures or experience physical touch through haircuts or massages. Members of the ASMR
training from NU in addition to working a corporate job — he described the ASMR community as a business “playground.” While standing in front of a camera for hours may seem daunting to some, Gibi said her background in theater and film prepared her well for it. “When I talk to a camera, I’m very aware that people are going to see it,” she said. “So I really do feel like I’m talking to somebody…. It definitely makes me radiate positivity from the inside.” After having uploaded more than 370 videos, Gibi likes to think that she’s gotten the hang of it. However, having such a huge following on the internet has meant that not all of Gibi’s viewers are her friends. “You’ll have the haters … they’re jealous. They just don’t like you,” she said. “And then you’ll have the people who are in love with you, which are honestly more scary.” While she was still a student, Gibi said she received messages from people who were trying to find out where she lived, so she filed several preemptive reports with campus police explaining the situation in case an incident were to occur. Gibi said she, like all other famous YouTubers, had to become much more savvy of her online presence since creating her channel, and that she keeps her “private life very private,” going
through cyber security lockdowns and not releasing her real name to the public. But, for the most part, the ASMR community has been much more welcoming and positive than other communities on YouTube, Gibi said. She’s received countless messages and comments from people who say her videos help them with insomnia, anxiety and even PTSD. She attributes this to the positivity and relaxation that ASMR videos provide, because she’s been on the other side of it too. “I watched ASMR because I had terrible anxiety at night, because I couldn’t sleep, so I get it,” she said. “You’re just so grateful that somebody is making this content that you can fall asleep to, that you can relax to and everything, but it’s still mind-blowing when somebody comes to me and says that I can do that for them.” ◊
As the ASMR sensation grows online, a Northwestern alumna finds her place among the whispers Photo courtesy of Gibi ASMR
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How Amazingrace Coffeehouse found its place in Northwestern history
by Kristina Karisch 10
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ust over 40 years ago, there was a little bit of magic on Northwestern’s campus. Born during the Vietnam War protests in 1970 and forged in Scott Hall and Shanley Pavilion, Amazingrace Coffeehouse quickly became the stuff of legend. One part food hall, one part music venue, one part counterculture collective, it remains singular in the University’s history. “There were many, many shows that we would walk away from going, ‘We got magic tonight,’” said Benj Kanters (Communication ’75, Bienen ’02). “Magic happened.” But before there could be magic, there was a war. In the spring of 1970, a student strike erupted in protest of the shooting at Kent State University, which had been embroiled in its own protests of the U.S. invasion of Cambodia during the Vietnam War. It was a time to make statements, said founding member Jeff Beamsley (McCormick ’72), and students did so in large numbers. Northwestern students stopped going to classes and became vocal in protesting the war. Student protesters took down campus fences and erected a barricade on a south campus stretch of Sheridan Road — it stayed up for about a week and blocked traffic — which required constant supervision lest it be dismantled by police. “We not only are not going to go to school
anymore, but we have to do something to indicate to the rest of the world that we believe that something needs to change,” Beamsley said. And every revolutionary cause needs a little bit of fuel. Amazingrace formed “out of necessity,” Beamsley said. He and other students ended up “liberating” a basement kitchen in Scott Hall that was closed in anticipation of the Norris University Center opening. They received food donations and cooked meals for the protesters. Thus, the Scott Hall Grill Committee was born. The protests might’ve stopped after that spring, but the students in Scott Hall remained, with a plan to keep serving food and expand their concept. They came from various schools and majors — there were engineers, film students and everyone in between — and pooled their talents, helping out wherever was needed. The University recognized the committee as an official student organization and helped the group transform the Scott Hall kitchen into a venue that accommodated student performers. They began inviting live musicians to play sets, and not long after, the coffeehouse filled up night after night. After a local act closed out their set with a rendition of “Amazing Grace,” it quickly became tradition, said Darcie Sanders (Weinberg ’79). Eventually, the venue’s founders — affectionately dubbed ‘Gracers — painted the song’s name on the wall by the serving area in Scott Hall and dropped the second ‘G.’ The name stuck, and Amazingrace was born.
How sweet the sound As the group formalized, members bought a house on Colfax Street where they could all live together. Then, in 1972, after NU determined the group needed to vacate Scott Hall — which was slated to become office space — they moved across campus into Shanley Pavilion. The Shanley years were formative and allowed the group to cultivate their own sound and reputation as a music venue. They weren’t trying to create a bar, but an all-ages space for food and music.
Margot Myers (Communication ‘75), another member of the group, said she first started out in Amazingrace’s kitchen in the summer of 1973. She began working in the Shanley kitchen, cooking lunches and dinners throughout the week. The ‘Gracers worked in shifts and were known for their big-batch meals, granola and fresh bread — healthy fare with lots of vegetables that could be served cafeteria-style. Meyers said the menu changed depending on what they were able to get delivered and that often, they would make up names for the dishes. If a recipe didn’t turn out quite as planned, there was a funny name to hide the mistake. Amazingrace in Shanley was a cozy affair. The building held about 240 and was outfitted with a commercial kitchen and serving counter. A stage to the left and a set of turntables rounded out the space. Seating was limited, so most guests occupied the concrete floor. In the spring and summer months, when shows would sell out or there were multiple performances in one night, the ‘Gracers opened the windows and set up loudspeakers so the sound could travel outside. There was something special about attending a concert at Amazingrace: there were close to no barriers between the audience and musicians. According to Beamsley, “the performance didn't stop at the walls of the structure.” He recalled one performer who asked
audience members to hold hands during a portion of a set. The loudspeakers were on that night, and when he looked outside, he could see that people had formed a circle all around Shanley. They, too, were holding hands. To Beamsley, it was pure magic. “That was really the drug that we were all addicted to,” he said. “The audience might experience it once, or if they come often, maybe several times. But they didn't realize that was our experience every night, two shows a night every night.” Sound was crucial to the ‘Gracers. They were able to record the Shanley concerts and create a technical quality that was appreciated by performers and audience members alike. “We were doing things technically that nobody considered doing in a nightclub environment,” Kanters said. “It was like sitting in a giant living room with a big stereo system. … The musicians kind of looked at it as musicians' club and the audience within it as a listening club, and so everybody came pretty happy.”
Grateful Dead or nothing, f—k your other ‘big name groups’ In 1973, the ‘Gracers teamed up with Chicago-based Jam Productions to book a major act for the homecoming concert. Though the Grateful Dead agreed, the University was more apprehensive; it wasn’t until a group of students protested at the Rebecca Crown Center that the administration was swayed. The concert was scheduled for McGaw Hall, which now houses Welsh-Ryan Arena. Back then, the building was a wide open space and not known for its acoustics. Andy Frances (Communication ’71) recalled that the band’s location scout — known only
as “The Kid” — came to look at the space and wasn’t particularly impressed. To try to better the acoustics, the ‘Gracers bought reams of parachute fabric, which they hung from the rafters using a rented cherry picker. They remember having to dunk the fabric in flame retardant after being reprimanded by the Evanston fire marshal. Pressed for time, the parachutes couldn’t be left to dry and they scrambled to re-hang them while they were still sopping wet. “The fiberglass bucket (on the cherry picker) started to split because of the weight from the parachutes,” Beamsley recalled, “and every time we took another one up the split got bigger.” In retrospect, Kanters admits, the parachutes didn’t do much for the acoustics after all. But the band brought along an
enormous construction of speakers and PA systems — which were the precursor to their infamous “wall of sound.” The concert, for all intents and purposes, was a hit. The preparation and setup “nearly killed” them, Beamsley said, and the night was amazing, but it wasn’t quite the same feeling the ‘Gracers were able to produce in their own space. “It was … another one of these accomplishments of a small group of people who loved and trusted each other, and were willing to do whatever it took to get things done and didn't care about the rules,” Beamsley said.
went to Eugene, Oregon to continue living and working in a collective. Both groups eventually fizzled out, and by 1980, Amazingrace was a part of history. Still, the ‘Gracers remain friends — some have even married each other — and they count their time with the group as formative in their lives. “I can liken it in a certain way to teenagers putting together a band,” said Flawn Williams (Communication ’74). “Only in this case, it was a band of producers, a
band of very highly artistic and energetic and politically focused people.” Bill Graessle said he felt something special the moment he stepped foot in Amazingrace. “I immediately became friends with them,” he said. “It was like I had been waiting my whole life to meet my real family.” ◊
Becoming Northwestern history As Amazingrace grew in popularity and became a bona fide music venue, the ‘Gracers started graduating. Pretty soon, only two of them were still enrolled as students. This put into question the group’s status as a student organization. At the same time, Evanston’s brothel law pressured the ‘Gracers to vacate their house on Colfax Street. The situation came to a head and the group’s Shanley haven soon dissolved. One group of ‘Gracers stayed in Evanston, founding Amazingrace at Main Street and Chicago Avenue, while another
Photos: Charles Seton, Posters: Copyright 2011 by Amazingrace Ltd. Used by permission.
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Just a Metra ride away, Kibbitznest offers a technology-free hygge haven. When most people get dressed for a night out in Chicago, they might pick a festive shirt and some sleek pants, maybe adding a flashy pair of shoes if they’re feeling up to it. But as some friends and I got ready to head down to Kibbitznest Books, Brews & Blarney in West Lincoln Park, I was rummaging through my closet in search of my most comfortable sweater. Run by a nonprofit of the same name whose mission is to encourage face-to-face communication, Kibbitznest is a self-described “bookbar” that invites you to “take back control of your humanness.” That means comfy chairs, lots of board games, and — gasp — no WiFi. Kibbitznest may be the only bar where you can’t rely on your phone during every lull in a conversation. Evidently, the folks behind the space think its “WiFi-Free Zone” will make those conversations more meaningful; after all, the Yiddish word “kibbitz” refers to standing around, talking and making wisecracks. But if you’re worried about it being awkward, don’t be intimidated by the screen-averse atmosphere — there’s plenty of distractions to pique your interest at Kibbitznest. Walking in, we were greeted by a stand of glossy magazines and newspapers, a wealth of cozy seats and shelves filled with a plethora of board games. The walls are lined with books, knick knacks and decorations — it evoked a Brooklyn hipster vibe, but not in the pretentious way of an actual Brooklyn bar. Typewriters sat in front of bar stools, and the only screens in sight were a few televisions playing old movies. We picked up a game of Bananagrams and headed to a room in the back where classic rock records spun and colorful paper lanterns hung from the ceiling. After claiming a table and skimming the menu, we went to the bar to order some conversation fuel. But beware: Opening up a menu at Kibbitznest might remind you of anxiously confronting Caesar during registration. The “Economics” section includes marinated Photos: Alex Schwartz /Daily Senior Staffer
olives, spiced marcona almonds and dried fruit. “The Classics” offer a jumbo Chicago-style hot dog along with a selection of decadent cheese plates. “Poetry” caters to those with a sweet tooth: local, homemade Bobtail ice cream, cookies, brownies and their relevant combinations. There’s also gourmet tea and coffee courtesy of “The Natural Sciences.” Nonalcoholic beverages are — no-brainer — listed under “Religious Studies.” By the end of the night, you just might leave Kibbitznest having ordered a full class schedule’s worth of items. The cocktail tab features Kibbitznest’s takes on the classics as well as their own concoctions. My friends ordered a “1941 Moscow Mule” (made with small-batch vodka) and “Don Pedro’s Paloma” (a dangerously fruity mix of blanca tequila, grapefruit juice, lime and blood orange juice). I went with a pot of rich, fragrant hibiscus tea (had I felt more adventurous, they also offer it spiked). To complement our drinks, we split a cheese plate that arrived blooming with apples, grapes, crackers, jam, honey and bread. Yes, it was $21, but let me tell you: It was some really good cheese. With our drinks and cheese in hand, we sat down for a highspirited game of Bananagrams (which I lost, per usual). Soon, and after switching to the less-competitive Taboo, we had a hankering for dessert and ordered an ice cream sundae: scoops of cookies and cream, cookie dough and salted caramel pretzel drizzled in chocolate sauce and topped with real whipped cream and a cherry. It may have been partially
— by Alex Schwartz
due to the rain outside that evening, but I couldn’t help but cozy up in the hygge haven that Kibbitznest offers. And while the bar asks its visitors to divorce from their phones for the evening, it doesn’t feel like stepping back into the past. Instead, it shows us an alternative for the present — one where we take the time every so often to disconnect, eat, drink and be a little more human. ◊
Reel Thoughts ‘Cold War’ tells a haunting, bittersweet love story set
ny by Dan
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against a Polish backdrop
ills Database Source: Movie St
This piece discusses suicide and includes spoilers for the movie ‘Cold War.’
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n a brisk 89 minutes, “Cold War” makes you feel like you’re falling in love for the first time again. And it does so through another language, and in black and white. Nominated for three Academy Awards, the Polish movie unfurls a romantic epic spanning decades. Starting in the aftermath of World War II in Poland, the film follows a man and a woman as they fall in and out of love in a repressive world. The man, Wiktor, is a composer who seeks to find Polish folk songs and share them with a wider audience. He and his colleague Irena set up an academy in an abandoned church, where they invite people to train a traveling ensemble. There, Wiktor meets Zula, who auditions with an earthy, raw singing voice. The rest of the movie unfolds like a dance, with Wiktor and Zula revolving their lives around and teasing each other, falling apart before coming together. The tension and sorrow that always lie between them propel the movie forward. Wiktor, a soulful idealist, struggles against the rigid Soviet authority that oversees the traveling ensemble and yearns to escape Poland. Zula, a realist, just wants to survive, and is willing to go along with the government’s demands to sing odes about Stalin. So, when the two get an opportunity to escape to West Berlin, it’s not surprising that Zula stays behind with the troupe and she and
Wiktor separate. But it hurts, because we feel like Wiktor and Zula would flourish together in another world, one where they don’t have to worry about the Soviet government, one where they can focus on creating the music they want to. Alas, writer-director Pawel Pawlikowski strings us along their tumultuous journey. The black-and-white cinematography is stunningly beautiful, and it serves to further emphasize the dreariness of the world the characters inhabit. Without vibrant, playful colors that shout for attention, you can focus on the poetry of the Polish language and its music. A scene I haven’t forgotten since I left the theater is one where the camera follows Zula floating down a river as she sings a Russian love song. The shot follows Wiktor and Zula having an argument, and Zula jumps in the river as an act of defiance. But much like the song itself, the calming, strong way she sings it reflects the movie’s overall tender, touching side, even as it contrasts its spikier, brutal tone. The music is rich, genuine and haunting, pulling forth buried emotions and unwanted tears. “Cold War” explores the intersection of love and music, and how expressions of love can manifest through the form. The fact that there is no clear, generalizable message about that intersection doesn’t make the movie any less beautiful or any less touching. In that way, it’s similar to 2018’s beloved hit, “A Star is Born.” Both films use music to construct vivid love stories with real, flawed characters, and
both look at how the production of music reflects love. “Cold War” differs in that the atmosphere is a major plot drive: Wiktor and Zula have to struggle against both their personal desires and those of the Soviet government. Another, this one unfortunate, similarity between the two movies is that both involve suicide. “Cold War” ends with the couple taking cyanide pills together, tired of dealing with the world’s problems and wanting to die together. It feels like a cop-out, a too-neat solution tacked onto an otherwise complexly woven story. Even more importantly, such a portrayal of suicide continues to romanticize it and portrays it as inevitable. The choice feels like a sucker punch because it comes out of nowhere — up until it happens, the movie doesn’t grapple with questions of suicide, and it ends too suddenly to leave any room for unpacking the characters’ motivations. But such an ending shouldn’t completely rule out watching the movie, because it’s still so beautifully human. Ultimately, Wiktor and Zula are forced to deal with questions of their national and artistic identities, who they are and who they want to be. Maybe that’s why the film is so resonating; it asks us to question what it means to love someone when you’re still figuring out who you are yourself. ◊ “Cold War” will be available on Amazon Prime starting March 22.
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