post- 10/18/18

Issue

In This

Seth Higgins 2

Federal Funding, Cultural Cost

Landmarks Sydney Lo 4

Too Close for Comfort

Divya Santhanam, Jennifer Osborne, Kasturi PananjadY 4 Pia Mileaf-Patel 5

Tofu Time Kaela Hines 6

When We Were Lunar

postCover by Brenda Rodriguez

OCT 18

VOL 22 —

ISSUE 6

FEATURE

Federal Funding, Cultural Cost

The Risky Implications of a Scientific-Technological Elite

By Seth Higgins Illustrated by Cricket McNally

P

resident Dwight D. Eisenhower’s 1961 farewell address is best remembered for its dire warning about the dangers of a “military-industrial complex.” Another famous presidential farewell address, delivered by George Washington in 1796, cautioned against the formation of political parties.

Although these warnings have faded with time, they nonetheless persist in the memory and subconscious of the American people. However, Eisenhower delivered

Letter from the Editor

Welcome to October 18th, 2018—a very

a third, largely forgotten warning: He foretold of an emerging “scientific-technological elite.” In his words: Today, the solitary inventor, tinkering in his shop, has been overshadowed by task forces of scientists in laboratories and testing fields. In the same fashion, the free university, historically the fountainhead of free ideas and scientific discovery, has experienced a revolution in the conduct of research...The prospect of domination of the nation's scholars by

Federal employment, project allocations, and the power of money is ever present—and is gravely to be regarded.

Yet, in holding scientific research and discovery in respect, as we should, we must also be alert to the equal and opposite danger that public policy could itself become the captive of a scientifictechnological elite.

Though fifty years have passed, it’s possible his

at the finality of today’s pieces— nobody

special day; once the sun has set, there

could say it better and nobody will! Behold:

will be nothing new left to say. Looking

A warning against the coming dangers

back, historians will argue over causes—

of the scientific-technological elite that,

some blaming the increased fluoride in

dear God, we will not be able to act upon!

our water supply, others crying global

A tour of College Hill landmarks that will

warming, and one sizable contingent, pale

be immortalized as a landmap by students

as sheets, endlessly repeating the words

of the future! A handy guide to the many

“Brett Kavanaugh”— the fact remains

different strains of college roommate—

2. Your epidermis

inarguable. The discourse has stagnated.

diverse and friendly students you will never

The conversation has dried up. Every movie

know! A glowing write-up about Sun &

3. Burn all your midterms

is a remake. All the jokes have already been

Moon, a Korean restaurant whose food will

told. In time, we will become aliens to one

leave you speechless (lol, just kidding, you

5. The tea

another, and humanity, a pack of roving

already were!). And finally, the definitive

6. The Canada Goose you stole from the Nelson

nomads lacking a common tongue. Instead

review of the Neil Armstrong biopic, First

of sharing meals, we’ll nibble at our avocado

Man! As though Earth weren’t enough of a

7. Your overheated laptop

toast in silence.

silent, barren wasteland already! Gee whiz.

Therefore, this magazine represents the final collection of original human thought by anybody, ever! They’d all be terrific conversation starters, were that still possible. So instead, take time to marvel

2 post–

Goodbye Forever,

Julian

section editor

Ways To Stay Warm 1. Stand underneath BioMed vents (bonus points if no mouse smell)

4. A cuff

8. Voting (Please vote!)

9. Blanket burrito 10. Standing in the Andrews breakfast burrito line

words will sound eerily familiar to those of us at Brown, as we interact with or even identify as the scientists, professors, researchers, public officials, politicians, and even students that make the backbone of the scientific-technological elite.

Thus, President Eisenhower’s words are worth revisiting in our modern times. Currently, the United States spends about 3.5 percent of our yearly GDP on the military and only 2.5 percent on higher education.

Comparing higher education and the military is challenging for many reasons, mostly because education is financed through a complex combination of federal, state, local, and private funds. Conversely, the military is overwhelmingly funded by the federal government.

Despite these difficult considerations, Eisenhower’s point remains: Higher education, scientific research, public policy, government, and money are now permanently wed. This is a cause of concern. Institutions of higher education, including Brown University, are increasingly becoming part of this complex web. Proof of this relationship with the government, and the continued cultivation of a scientific-technological elite, becomes clear under closer consideration. In the 2017 fiscal year, 19 percent of Brown’s revenue was derived from grants and contracts, with the only larger source of income being tuition.

These government grants often appear benign.

Take, for example, the $9.8 million given to study “the role of rogue DNA elements as a molecular mechanism that may undermine health during aging.”

Or the $1.8 million given to the study of “the molecular mechanisms by which alcohol co-opts the brain’s natural reward-related memory circuitry to produce alcohol cravings.” On the surface, they appear to be little more than grants going towards the pursuit of science, but they in fact fund scientific studies that are used to inform technocratic government policies. For example, the government clearly has a policy interest in giving Brown $2 million for a “study of why college students engage in the risky behavior of simultaneous alcohol and marijuana use,” or the $1.6 million given to study “whether Medicaid expansion has helped to reduce racial disparities in care for end-stage renal disease.” These are public problems that politicians, who are accountable to their constituents, must solve.

By bringing Brown into the process, the government makes Brown complicit in government decisions that are based on our research.

While this may not seem explicitly harmful, we must remember that Brown is not a government agency, and that government agencies are not institutions of higher learning. If government-funded research at Brown is used to inform government policy, the University is complicit in the policy making process. We would no longer be an institution of higher learning, but rather an organ of government.

One of the most jarring examples occurred in 2009, under the newly passed American Recovery and Reinvestment Act. Through this act, Brown was awarded $33 million in federal funding, comprised of 47 individual research grants. This was part of the stimulus package designed to pull America out of the Great Recession. However, Brown’s endowment in 2009, during the worst year of the recession, was

still a staggering $2.2 billion. As many sectors of American industry as well as many American families faced the prospect of bankruptcy, Brown remained fiscally healthy, continuing to pull in large sums of government aid. To understand the power of this money, approximately 22 percent of all federal funds in 2009 spent in Rhode Island went to research and development. During this time of economic crisis, one would have expected that federal funds would be siphoned to those in need rather than research, yet the coffers of the scientific-technological elite continued to receive substantial funds.

As we examine these crucial revenue streams for Brown, it is best to reflect on Eisenhower’s warning.

Government grants, while appearing innocuous in isolation, fit into a larger picture—non-governmental institutions of higher learning increasingly act as de facto government bureaucracies, isolated from the will of the people.

The marriage between government and universities extends still further. Perhaps most alarming, Brown assists in forming what Eisenhower feared—the creation of a permanent, entrenched scientific-technological elite. Many graduates of Brown go on to be major influencers in government, policy, and research. About a third of all Americans have a bachelor's degree or higher. Yet for many civil service jobs, a bachelor's degree is required to advance past GS-5 positions, which are rather low in the hierarchy of federal employment. Most members of Congress and senior Cabinet-level officials not only have advanced degrees, but advanced degrees from America’s most prestigious institutions. In other words, tomorrow’s scientific-technological elite now conduct government-funded research under the supervision of today’s government-employed elites.

This process ensures the new intellectual class is here to stay.

Thoughtful critics will point out that if a permanent scientific-technological elite indeed emerges from places like Brown, it is not inherently harmful to our country, especially if the research and government grants are being used to advance society.

But if the current relationship is followed to its natural conclusion, we will become a society governed not by laws written by elected officials, but by public policy that strays further from the democratic process. The need for public input and acceptance will be replaced with research papers and data, cultivated at elite institutions and implemented by officials. Government of the people, by the people, for the people will cease to exist. In its place will be a network of America’s top academics and scientists, clustered in universities and public agencies.

To get a sense of how inaccessible government is in some regions of America, one need look no further than my home, Elk County, Pennsylvania. Culturally Appalachian but with a Rust Belt economy, 36 percent of its economy is devoted to manufacturing, with another 24 percent lying in trade, transportation, or utilities. Less than one percent of the economy is derived from government. Saint Marys Area School District, where I went to school, serves as another powerful comparison. The district of 2,200 students has a 2018 budget of $36,283,000, but only $527,000 of it came from federal sources—in other words, only

1.5 percent of the school’s budget comes from federal dollars, which equates to $240 per student. To many Americans, the government remains somewhat of a distant mystery, and the idea of multimillion-dollar government grants are a foreign concept.

It is worthwhile to cast a critical eye on Brown and ourselves. Are we indeed complicit in this evergrowing relationship between elite institutions, government, money, and public policy? My own involvement with the Watson Institute would suggest so.

Evidence of my ascent into this entrenched elite is already present. As part of my studies at the Watson, I am to complete a three-month consultancy with an organization that is involved with some manner of public policy. I contacted my hometown’s mayor to inquire if I could conduct my consultancy with the city government. He and the city manager expressed

The need for public input and acceptance will be replaced with research papers and data, cultivated at elite institutions and implemented by officials. Government of the people, by the people, for the people will cease to exist. great interest in the possibility, but something came across as concerning: Not only were they interested in having me work for the city for three months, they also hoped this would create an enduring relationship with Brown, and indirectly, government money. The irony is clear—this opportunity was only made possible by my newly minted elite credentials. My community has shrunk in recent decades and continues to struggle in the aftermath of the recession. Part of its future rests on gaining legitimacy in the eyes of Brown and cardcarrying members of the scientific-technological elite like myself.

If we now ask what may be done, I’m afraid I do not have the answer. I myself am captive to the very forces Eisenhower predicted. My education, like that of most students, is at least partially dependent on the ever-steady flow of research sanctioned and funded by the government. We, as individuals and as a university, may finally have to confront this relationship. By illuminating this phenomenon with a critical eye and a clear mind, we may begin the process of freeing ourselves from the continual influence of government money.

President Eisenhower held institutions such as Brown in high regard and viewed universities as the historical “fountainhead of free ideas and scientific discovery.” He understood that their success in this role rested upon their economic freedom. But until Brown exercises a willingness to find alternative funding sources, we will remain unfree. Yet perhaps with a little more sunlight our chains will begin to erode, and in our liberation, we may pursue knowledge of our own choosing.

“What would love be without the prospect of betrayal?”

“Podcasters are the third most discriminated group in America.”

“My digestive tract is eccentric...”

October 18, 2018 3

NARRATIVE

Too close for comfort

The 5(+1) People We Met in Our Freshmen Dorms

By Divya Santhanam, Jennifer Osborne, Kasturi PananjadY Illustrated by Lauren Marin

1)

The Alarm Clock Every day exactly at 8:01 p.m., the boy would pass the common room lounge as he went to see his girlfriend. It became so routine that we would refer to him as the "Alarm Clock." In fact, I no longer needed to check my cell phone for the time. Every Tuesday, as I finished my calculus homework, at 8:01 p.m. on the dot, I would hear footsteps passing the lounge and a familiar, slightly nasally voice calling out the name of his girlfriend who lived at the end of the hallway. “The Alarm Clock has arrived,” my friend would say. He was a clock that never stopped ticking, unfortunately. He always took my seat in the lounge and left his banana peels on the table. Oh, I’m not bitter. Three years later, I saw him and the very same girlfriend at Jo’s on a Friday night. Instinctively, I checked the time. It was 8:02 p.m.— I guess some things do change.

2) The Lounge Dweller One day at 4 a.m., in my sleep deprived state, I realized I had left a book in the lounge. Half-squinting as I entered the common room, I saw a large pile of blankets underneath the table. “Strange,” I thought to myself. As I reached for my chemistry textbook, I felt a breeze near my feet. Something in the blankets was stirring. “Mice,” I thought to myself and screamed as I jumped back from the table. To my surprise, it was not a mouse, but rather, two very red human eyes that stared out at me. The girl under the desk shook her head and receded beneath the covers, but not before I caught a glimpse of Sesame Street porn on her laptop.

When I woke up the next morning, I thought I had dreamed it, but alas, no one could dream up what I saw on Sesame Street.

3) The Orange Virgin I met a boy from upstate New York during my third night at Brown. He came from one of those families you read about in fairy tales, where four generations live close together in the woods in houses with rhubarb patches. In high school, he dated a girl from a dairy farm. For him, coming to Brown meant being exposed to a particularly wide set of new experiences. His first

4 post–

Ratty orange was also his first real-life orange—all the fruit he’d eaten growing up came in slices in plastic pouches or off of upstate New York’s famed apple trees.

I taught him to peel that first orange, gave him his first mooncake, poured him his first alcoholic beverage.

That last experience took a little too well. A month later, he crashed his bike into the Van Wickle gates and woke up to find his first-readings copy of Sonia Sotomayor’s My Beloved World torn in two equal halves, right down the spine. Two months later, he had to be pulled out of the EmWool hallway ceiling on a Friday night. Three months later, he was found in a corner of a party playing with stripped electrical wires and owl-patterned earmuffs. We spent most of the rest of that year either fighting or not speaking as he went to CAPS sessions and rebuilt his life. Now, he saves his drinking for Thursday nights with his varsity sports team (where he is known for being a sensibly moderate drinker and respecting people’s personal space) and spends his Friday nights reading post- with yours truly.

4) The (Business)man with a Plan One of the first friends I made at Brown received an email introduction from his freshman year roommate in mid-August. He read me snippets of the three-page treatise one night during orientation— his roommate had spared no details, whether about his home (Tbilisi, in the Republic of Georgia, a real concrete jungle!) or his approach to learning (to take courses only in BEO so as to avoid being a jack of all trades and master of none).

A few days later, I met the roommate in the flesh— to avoid seeming like a creepy stalker, I asked him the usual introductory questions. He enthusiastically told me about Tbilisi, in the Republic of Georgia, a real concrete jungle; about BEO, and his resolve to take courses only in BEO to avoid becoming a jack of all trades and master of none. I also learned that he was fond of Coca-Cola and Donald Trump. As the year went on, I saw less and less of him, and when we bumped into each other for the first time in over a year during sophomore spring, I discovered that he had become a frequent cyclist at the Nelson and now studies Econ among other things. He seemed mellow.

I speculated about whether he had shed his penchant for soft drinks and conservative politics, and still wonder who he hangs out with now, and if they see any trace of his freshman self.

5) The Harping Anglophile Picture the scene. A wardrobe entirely composed of bonnets and princess gloves. A “miniature" wooden model of a tea clipper in the corner that, in truth, takes

up about half of a tiny dorm room. Tea strewn under the bed. An accent that would drive Henry Higgins crazy.

And, as if speaking fluent Latin and writing three peer-reviewed treatises on Chaucer by age 18 wasn't enough, imposter syndrome had her learning her fourth instrument in the early hours of the morning.

The only thing more annoying than hearing scales at five in the morning is hearing slightly-off scales at that hour, especially after a late night at the Herald.

Often, I attempted to deduce which of the 50 states she could be from while waiting for the noise to stop and made mental notes to watch some British comedy on YouTube with her to try to break the ice. +1) The Roommate You Forgot Existed I saw her on the first day, with her brown lanyard and dazed expression. The only evidence of her presence after that was the half-eaten food and mismatched socks that so often dotted our living space.

She only ever wanted to get meals at weird hours and constantly told me how little time she had. Once in a blue moon, while on my way to the bathroom at 4 a.m., I would see her furiously working in the lounge and eating a cookie pizza.

Landmarks

A Walk through Campus

By Sydney Lo illustrated by Halle Krieger

T

he traffic lights at the intersection of Waterman and Brook change despite the empty streets on Saturday mornings, flashing red and green against the usually wet asphalt. Broken glass and crumpled beer cans catch in the gutters littered with fallen yellow leaves. In the quiet, a RIPTA bus announces that it is turning. A flock of tree sparrows peck at crumbs outside the entrance of Subway. I pause beside Minden Hall, watch a singular Toyota Corolla cross the street, and continue on my way to the Nelson.

My walk down Brook Street is comfortingly solitary, disrupted only by a foraging squirrel and someone returning home from a night out. Red Solo cups, along with an empty Flatbread Pizza container and half-filled cans of Pepsi, litter a few of the student house porches. A sprinkler pulses back and forth on a narrow lawn. I pass the row of rose bushes behind the Wheeler School, white buds reaching out to my fingertips. I hop over cracked pavement and pass the faded crosswalk at Euclid Avenue that’s recently been covered with

ARTS&CULTURE construction markers, moving more from memory than anything else.

It is difficult to conceptualize this landscape as anything other than routine. When talking about university with people I meet, I do not mention these insignificant observations: the back street, the affinity I have for the little walks between north and south campus. When friends come to visit, I don’t take them on a tour of the awnings at 257 Thayer, where people smoke and write phrases in the dust on the nearby air vents, or show them the corner of Meeting Street that floods when it rains. Yet, more than Faunce Arch, University Hall, or even Thayer Street restaurants, the minutia of Brook Street is the reality of my time at Brown.

There is a certain selectivity in characterizing a university campus and advertising it as an aesthetic belonging to the academic experience.

Brown University connotes red-bricked buildings, lacquered gates, and sprawling greens speckled with oaks and maples. Tours map out the bear sculptures, art installations, and imposing libraries. When I arrived at Brown three years ago, I pictured myself passing through the Van Wickle Gates, doing readings on the steps of the Stephen Campus Center, and spending evenings finishing homework at Blue State Coffee.

While I’ve passed and appreciated each of these College Hill landmarks during my time at Brown, my regular paths through campus establish more subtle touchstones for my life here. If it’s raining, which happens more often than not these days, the expansive puddle in front of MacMillan greets me as I walk to class. I glance at Sidney E. Frank's overpass and count the circles etched into its glass walls as I make my way to Smitty B. Beside Caswell Hall, the smell of fresh laundry and the warmth of the dryers seep onto the sidewalk on my route to the Science Library. Brook Street lies beside them all, my unnoticed foundation for navigating campus.

My routine path has changed with classes and extracurriculars and living situations, with construction, new buildings, and even boredom.

I’ve observed the permanent for-sale signs, the pastel-colored houses, and the half-hidden clinical and legal offices of Bowen Street, Prospect Street, and Hope Street. I’ve spent time studying in 70 Brown Street, in the secluded garden behind Kassar House, in the dimly lit hallways of Barus and Holley. These places are where I am, existing quietly beyond the polished version of Brown.

I turn before I reach the Field House, passing through the narrow entrance to Pembroke Field, which is scattered with rabbits darting across the open space. I pass another student leaving the Nelson and wonder where they are going, what they see as they walk through campus, what their landmarks are.

Tofu Time

Reviewing Sun & Moon Korean Restaurant

by Pia Mileaf-Patel Illustrated By Stephanie Wu

I

grew up blocks away from Koreatown in New York, so for me, soon tofu, a soft tofu stew with kimchi and usually pork, is as comforting as my mom’s chicken soup. She’d usually make chicken soup when my brother and I were sick, but in a pinch, this was her go-to. Out of all the times I’ve been sick while in Providence, I’ve made chicken soup just once. Other times, I’ve ordered soon tofu from the several restaurants on College Hill that offer Korean food. While the ingredients are the same—red gochujang-spiked broth, silky pieces of sweet tofu, salty bites of pork, and a soft egg hidden inside—the dish always falls short. Den Den’s soon tofu is fortified with tiny pieces of zucchini (ew, vegetables), and the broth is less thick. Higher up on Thayer, Soban’s version is heavier and saltier than I can handle, especially in an effort to battle congestion.

In comes Sun & Moon in East Providence, with the best soon tofu I’ve had in the area. Keep in mind, I’ve tried maybe three other soon tofu selections to validate that claim—so if you have any thoughts, send them my way. I could always do more research, but I’m happy to stop here. This stew was rich but not heavy, with tiny dried pepper flakes embedded in the chili-paste broth, and enlivened with soft egg yolk to be mixed in. The tofu, custard-like, tasted fresh and homemade.

Sun & Moon sits across the street from Asiana Food Market, a small store with excellent produce, where I used to go with my roommate to buy Alphonso mangoes in the spring. The restaurant looks vaguely like someone’s home. When you first walk in, there’s a Kelly-green, tiled counter with tiny mirrors in front of each seat, almost as if the set designer for the 1972 Russian version of Solaris had been hired to decorate a sushi bar. It’s amazing.

Then, there’s a larger room in the back with regular restaurant tables and a offshooting small room that is entirely mirror-lined. Two staircases lead upstairs, making it feel like you’re about to eat in somebody’s mom’s dining room. It is BYOB Tuesday and Wednesday; other nights, you’re free

to order rounds of beer like the large group sitting next to us did.

I went with my roommates, and we split everything—in my opinion, it’s the ideal way to eat.

Alan Yang phrased it perfectly in a food diary he wrote for New York Magazine’s Grub Street: “I have a policy where I just order as much stuff as possible and share it all. Basically, if you don’t want to share food, you can’t be my friend.” I’m less steadfast about this friend policy than Yang claims he is, but I agree with the basic idea. Luckily, my roommates are in on this ordering scheme.

We split the soon tofu stew as well as bibimbap, which a rice dish with vegetables, ground meat (that can easily be made vegetarian), and an egg. The rice gets crisp and fried at the bottom of the hot dish—it’s pretty hard to portion control yourself with this one.

We also ordered japchae, sweet potato noodles stirfried with vegetables, onions, and a combination of sauces (mostly savory with a touch of sweet). I tried to recreate japchae later in the week after going to Good Fortune Supermarket, Providence’s recently opened Chinese supermarket about a 10-minute drive away from College Hill. It was good, but nothing compared to the japchae at Sun & Moon. A small side note here: Check out Good Fortune next time you need to stock your fridge, especially if you are as prone as I am to steaming frozen dumplings for a second dinner at 1:30 a.m. six nights a week.

The unexpected combination of a homey environment and excellent food makes Sun & Moon a place to fulfill Korean food cravings and try new things. A futurist Art Deco bar when you walk in, the restaurant itself is both familiar and intriguing.

East Providence is also a 10-minute RIPTA ride from Thayer Street, or a five-minute drive, if you have a car or can convince a friend with one to drive you. Now that October has settled in, and midterm season stir-crazy is tangible in the air, it’s a good excuse to get off campus.

When we got up to leave Sun & Moon, the couple at the table behind us had overheard us talking about wanting to get donuts. Like the true Italian I am, besides sharing food, I tend to talk about other meals I want to have in the future while eating a meal. I don’t think this is likely to change.

They told us about a new place called Proud Mary’s, also in East Providence, and we will probably check it out this week. I’m stalking it on Google Images right now… and it looks excellent.

October 18, 2018 5

ARTS&CULTURE

When We Were Lunar Now Playing: First Man

By Kaela Hines illustrated by Rémy Poisson

T

he brief appearance of Ryan Gosling’s penetrating blue eyes and husky voice sparked a flurry of gasps and exclamations throughout the Avon Cinema. In light of the moon landing’s upcoming 50th anniversary, one would question whether most of the audience truly cared about the milestone or saw the movie as another opportunity to be enraptured by Gosling’s “bedroom eyes.” Whatever the viewer’s reason, the movie’s opening throws them headfirst into the harsh perspective of engineer and astronaut Neil Armstrong (Ryan Gosling). We are trapped in a confined space until the reflection from Armstrong’s visor unveils a tranquil stratosphere of blues and violets—a moment of peace and beauty that answers the question of why Armstrong does what he does.

On land, we see Armstrong’s family life and meet his daughter, Karen, who has a brain tumor. Though a man of immense intelligence, Armstrong cannot figure out how to save her. He relies on calculation and analysis, but to no avail. We witness intimate moments between them before a final image of his finger cradling her hair cuts abruptly to her funeral. Director Damien Chazelle jumps between such moments of elation and sorrow throughout, perhaps emulating the highs and lows of the astronauts’ lives and their unstable closeness to death. There were numerous deaths on NASA’s long journey to the moon, including astronauts who had become Armstrong’s friends, such as the caring Ed White (Jason Clarke). Due to explosions and technical difficulties in the spacecrafts, every “practice run” before the landing failed. Along with Armstrong, we are reminded of the looming presence of death—a reality often neglected in narratives about the Apollo 11 mission.

Armstrong’s stoicism solidifies as a result of these deaths. This sternness is a point of tension in his relationships, though Gosling plays it equally for laughs. Armstrong’s reactions to successes are often hilariously dismissive and bland, such as when he gets chosen to be the head pilot (aka, the first person to walk on the moon) and responds with a brief “Okay.”

Although it is hard to discern whether Armstrong has an ill-sense of humor or is just serious, we nevertheless develop sympathy for him due to his daughter’s passing. Armstrong sees Karen often, Chazelle's way of reminding us that Armstrong is hurt.

Through Janet Shearon, his wife at the time, we are offered more insight into Armstrong. But she stands well on her own as Claire Foy delivers a powerful performance as a strong, takes-no-bullshit matriarch.

Shearon is depicted as a comfortable member of the Astronaut Wives club, a group of era-conforming housewives that chat poolside about their kids and the weather, but she represents more than that. She battles her daughter’s death, motherhood, and a lonely marriage to a neglectful husband whose death she anticipates. Shearon softens Armstrong’s tight, stuffy disposition while wrangling him back to earth and his fatherly responsibilities. Scenes of the couple are often adorned in delicate shades of brown and filmed through an inside-outside lens, keeping the viewer a distant observer of the Armstrongs’ almost intangible chemistry and understanding of one another. The couple is often staged in dark spaces, with one light lit on Sharon's side, perhaps to signify her role as “the light” of Armstrong’s life. As corny as that sounds, I felt myself relating more with Janet and appreciating her presence as a source of balance. I also awaited her fiery moments, which echoed a central question: Was the moon landing truly worth it?

With its 2 hour and 21 minute running time, First Man moves past the visual stunningness and difficulty of spaceflight and into the depths of the people most affected by making universal history.

There are moments where the film loses its effectiveness. Chazelle falters in moments that construct the historical context of the moon landing.

“Therefore, while both cardboard and toilet paper may ultimately get the job done for the Sharpie Scribbler, the former may be preferable because of its enhanced durability.”

Leon Lei, Calligraphic Characters 10.19.17

“The kids wander everywhere, break windows with bricks, and use their innocence to bum money from strangers to buy ice cream, which makes it taste all the better.”

Zander Kim, We’re All in Moonee’s World 10.18.17

It is set during the Cold War, the “who has got bigger muscles” contest between the United States and Soviet Union that devastated various countries, mainly affecting people of color. The film showed the leftist protests of the Vietnam War, exemplified by Gil Scott-Heron’s song “Whitey on the Moon.” This was also a rare time when nonwhite people were shown in the film, as scenes of the control center at NASA were overwhelmingly white. True, during this era, the known leaders of NASA (and of everything) were white men; it would be unrealistic to ignore this truth.

However, the film would have been more powerful if Chazelle expanded on the Cold War and stressed the importance of protests. With prominence given to the moon landing, the protests came off as background noise, as if the film was saying, “Yeah, people were dying in America, but look how hard it was to land on the moon!”

Finally, amidst jumbled space talk, we arrive on the moon. The CGI is stunning and resembles real images.

The cinematography of the film was dazzling from its purposeful lighting to visuals of the stratospheres to the fluid movements of the camera. I almost didn’t notice that Armstrong was never depicted putting the American flag on the moon, the iconic image that many critics pointed out Chazelle missed. I would argue that the film symbolizes American pride adequately enough that the flag was not missed; Chazelle himself said that his focus was on the unknown moments of the landing and Neil Armstrong. Overall, this movie completed its purpose and a bit more, showing us who Neil Armstrong was and how America ended up on the moon, an integral moment in American history.

With its two hour and 21 minute running time, First Man moves past the visual stunningness and difficulty of spaceflight and into the depths of the people most affected by making universal history.

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF

NARRATIVE

HEAD ILLUSTRATOR

Jennifer Osborne

Managing Editor

Remy Poisson

a

Celina Sun

CO-LAYOUT CHIEFS

FEATURE

Section Editors

Jacob Lee

Managing Editor

Divya Santhanam

Nina Yuchi

Anita Sheih

Jasmine Ngai

Layout Designers Amy Choi

Section Editors Kathy Luo

COPY CHIEF

Jiyeon Park

Sydney Lo

Amanda Ngo

Steve Ju

Assistant Copy ARTS & CULTURE

Editors

WEB MASTER

Managing Editor

Mohima Sattar

Jeff Demanche

Josh Wartel

Sonya Bui BUSINESS LIAISON

Section Editors Julian Towers

HEAD OF MEDIA

Liza Edwards-Levin

Samantha Haigood

Saanya Jain

Want to be involved? Email: post@browndailyherald.com!

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