Noir is Back

After reading Stein’s article about Millennial Noir, I started picking up on specific differences between types of noir in the Veronica Mars episode and the Gossip Girl Episode. Stein says that noir today is either nostalgic or connotative.

Let’s take a look at Veronica Mars first. I loved the scene where Keith comes into the kitchen and starts imitating Humphrey Bogart’s rough, low drawl. Veronica calls him “Phillip Marlowe,” making a reference to the 1920’s detective that Bogart embodies in “The Big Sleep.” (It’s a great example of a traditional noir, full of black shadows, many sexually ouvert women, gunshots, and dirty money…). This kind of noir is obviously nostalgic, and not only does it make viewers like me feel intelligent about the reference, and thus feel more intimately connected with Veronica and Keith, but it also legitimizes the teen detective show as following in the same tradition, 60 years later.

In Gossip Girl, Chuck goes on a hunt for a mysterious femme fatale woman who ends up double-crossing him. This also represents the nostalgic noir, especially lighting-wise: Chuck’s only memories of the previous night are dark, shadow-filled glimpses of a rich mansion lighted by candlesticks.

A good example of the connotative noir – noir that calls on old noir techniques in order to enhance the intrigue – is in little details of the Veronica Mars episode: constant ambulance sirens float through the windows of Keith’s office, which through green and red lighting has a gritty, ugly, and almost surreal feel to it. Wanda invokes the double-crosser by hiding an ugly, corrupt side of herself from Veronica while simultaneously pretending to save the miserly. And Logan represents the corruption and confusion of the rich, by being both the snobby, superior classmate who uses his fame to get what he wants, and being victimized by the affects of the money that has corrupted his parents.

College Community Chorus

One thing I’ve missed most since leaving home for college is singing. I’m definitely not an American Idol, but I’d taken classical singing lessons in high school, joined the Chorale senior year, and even had my own solo singing a Negro spiritual. And after swim practice, I always sang in the shower. It helps relieve stress, I swear.

Freshman year I got placed in the women’s Glee choir, but (and here I may ruin your fantasy of the glittery, energy-injecting Glee club Fox presents), I just didn’t dig singing old songs on school nights from cold benches, trying to make my sore throat land extraordinary A sharps. I missed my voice teacher, the wonderful Cathy Goto, and male tenors and basses who would have smoothed out the shrill Rachel Berry-like soprano next to me. (Every choir has one).

Even singing in the shower was out; I doubt anyone on my hall would have appreciated my rendition of Mick Jagger’s “Miss You.” So when my friend Sam asked me this semester if I wanted to join Middlebury’s College Community Chorus, as skeptical as I was about singing with old fogeys from town, I said yes.

And I love it. Every Sunday night, I pack myself into a group of mostly 50 -70 year-old men and women, and sing away. Madrigals from the 16^th century. Traditional folk songs like Shenandoah. My favorites are three Morten Lauridsen songs from Nocturnes—as smooth as honey, I imagine they drift out of the cracks of Mead Chapel and then are sucked swiftly away by the darkness.

Besides the gospel song (why oh why do choir directors think gospels are fun? The repetition feels I’m slowly drilling a screw into my head), I love wrapping up the week this way, letting sound waves carry away whatever heaviness and stress I’ve been feeling. It doesn’t matter how good any of us are, cause believe me, I’ve definitely heard better. But we’re not bad. And that’s really not what it’s about for us. I’m inspired by watching these Vermonters who come to every rehearsal and find a way to be a part of the community – they’re still young at heart.

emBODYed in twilight

I thought the Twilight article on sexuality was pretty interesting to read, which made some insightful interpretations from the book about the message of the female body and sex. However, I have a hang-ups with one argument:

In the 4^th book, Bella, who has wanted to become a vampire ever since she started dating Edward, finally transforms. 

McGeough explains, “Underneath the theme of romance is the story of a girl who wants to belong, and through bodily transformations, Bella is able to find her place of belonging…. Bella’s easy transition into a new body suggests girls can grow into their bodies and have positive experiences with, through, and because of their bodies.

Is McGeough serious? Are we supposed to believe that in becoming a vampire, which is a violent, painful, near-death procedure reminiscent of all-over plastic surgery gone wrong, Bella finds belonging? I doubt young girls take this as a message of learning to grow into their bodies. Instead, I think this message tells a story of a teen doesn’t ever learn too embrace her body nor see the beautiful in it that others can see. Reversely, she may encourage young teens to buy into plastic surgery, bio-cosmetics, tanning booths, diet pills… in order to “fix” what they think is wrong about their bodies. In fact, Bella’s obsessive desire to become a vampire in order to “belong” with Edward shows that she probably places far too much emphasis on appearance instead of personality. She doesn’t comment much on how she feels about Edward’s own damnation – she simply thinks something that looks that good must be good to be with.

I hated the film’s decision to cast Kristen Stewart as Bella (back when I actually was into the book series…). Mostly I found her far too apathetic and disengaged. I couldn’t place myself in her position – Stephanie Meyer wrote Bella as someone detailed enough to be sensitive, proud, and sad, but also vague enough that most girl readers could become Bella momentarily as they read from her point of view (and thus why so many girls fell in love with the symbol Edward Cullen). But Stewart doesn’t have enough charm.  

Body-wise, she seems to lack one – I don’t mean to say that girls aren’t allowed to have stick-straight legs and pointy faces, but book Bella says, “I had always been slender, but soft somehow, obviously not an athlete.” This Bella lacks the softness that could add sensuality, but I especially wonder if the filmmakers played on this generation’s unhealthy obsession with skinny models as examples of beauty, in order to present an appealing Bella to teen girls.

But to end on a positive note: In the film’s make out scene, Bella shows her desire for experiencing sexual pleasure, much like in the books, as McGeough points out. Bella says she’s less “strong” than Edward since he stops first, controlling himself so he doesn’t bite her. But I always took these types of scenes in the books, and more obviously in the movie, as a way of showing Bella’s power, and therefore strength, over Edward, in being able to so easily seduce him, and make him worried about going too far.

Jet Laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaag

Three hours of sleep since friday

                 too much sun exposure

                                 missing the tamtameroonikins,
not to mention my pads, the beach, warm humid air
I physically can't write anything more than this: moi moi

Roaches, Pedis, and Cults

None of my friends from high school are back on the aina this week for spring break. But here is the reason why it’s worth flying through 6 time zones, on 3 separate planes, with 1 major jet-lag, to get home for spring break: the fam.

You doubt me? Fine, I’ll admit that not everyone has pads* like mine. Did you’re mom come running into the kitchen this morning to kill a three-inch cockroach with a paper towel and her bare palm? Probs not. But here are some ways to make a family-filled weekend an ass-kickin’ fiesta.

My sis and I kicked off our first day back by kicking off our slippas** and getting pedis with the maj. I had no idea pedis involve back messaging chairs. Now I have a jewel on my toe for the first time and I can’t stop staring. (Shout out to Quan my boy, a midkid who’s mom owns the nail salon. Quan, you rock).

Last night we went to a do-it-yourself wine bottling place, Oeno Winemaking, where I learned how to fill, cork, seal, and label pinot noirs. Greg, the owner, let us taste his specialty chocolate-flavored ports before we left for dinner. These would taste great with cheesecake, especially on a 21^st birthday that happens to be coming up…

This morning sis went off gallivanting with her Williams home girls so I had the pads to myself, and we went on a beautiful hike up Olamana ridge. Naturally, none of us brought a camera. But at the top a nice middle-aged guy took a picture of us with his iphone and emailed it to me right there. (Who’s the millennial now, huh? (Why am I so tech-deficient?)). This picture doesn’t capture the amazing 360º view of the jagged Ko’olau range and sparkly blue ocean.

Along the trail I found out that my town has its own cult. Funny, since I just watched the Veronica Mars cult episode. (Don’t you love that feeling, when your reality starts mimicking the surreality??) Ours is a surf cult. (Mmm hmm. Only in Hawaii). All I know is there’s a “queen” who sits out on the red zodiac while her “servants” surf. She wears a long sleeve rashguard, hat and gloves – no one can see her skin. And they all live in a few houses on a compound in Lanikai where all the windows are boarded up.

And on that note of beachy mysteries, where did that old boat in front of our beach path wash up from? And why did it say “Kapu” on the side above a skull and bones? Dun Dun Dun…

*Short for padres.

**Never say flip-flops in Hawaii if you don’t like beef from a 375 pound moke***

*** A moke is a huge Polynesian guy who talks pigeon (“eh braddah, try move outta da way. Or I go make stinkface atcha auntie”).

**** translates to forbidden/sacred in Hawaiian

Religious enemies... angels and pregnancy

Supernatural and The Secret Life of the American Teenager take two pretty different approaches to using religion as a theme in their millennial representation, but I think they were both fairly effective and intriguing.

First of all, Supernatural is clearly a magical world where the fantastical is accepted on a daily basis, even though it doesn’t stop sneaking up on the characters in new types of creatures. In the article Renegotiating religious imaginations through transformations of "banal religion" in Supernatural, Peterson says that shows like Supernatural take mainstream Western religious myths and reshape them. Building on and distorting institutionalized beliefs appeals to the viewers, keeping them entertained by the new and in the loop.

Here are some of the myths I noticed Supernatural revised: Deans memories of hell involve red and black, colors often associated with the devil in religious iconography since probably even before the Renaissance. It takes an angel to raise Dean out of hell, much like it took an Angel (Beatrice) to get Dante out of hell in the Inferno, written back in the 1400s. The angel still has wings, although now they’re black. The setting feels pretty western for being Illinois, with all the plaid, gruff men, and cowboy-like speaking. This rings true since the rural west has traditionally been a coming together of Christian ideals and the unexpected, unruly wild.

Another interesting twist to religious representation is the intertwining of technology, which we millennials will relate. The tv turns on when demons and angels are nearby. An ipod replays a car stereo. And the angel’s voice sounds like static.

In The Secret Life of the American Teenager, religion does not deal directly with biblical figures – it’s sort of twice-removed because people practice it in their daily lives (prayers, church, chastity pledges) instead of encountering godly manifestations. Yet it does become very confrontational.

Religion’s biggest enemy here is sex. All the kids are obsessed with it, or with not doing it, or by the problems it causes… pregnancy. The show’s protagonist is purposefully a good girl, and not in an overly-showy way like the cheerleader Grace. She’s cute, nice, a hard worker, and doesn’t deserve to have a jerk knock her up. This show’s message right off the bat tells millennials that teens, no matter how Christian, or how innocent, will make mistakes. I’m interested to see where religion goes on this show: it’s unclear to me if religion will become more positive or negative, or continue to have a mixed effect on the characters’ morals.

Meet the Macaron

I keep swearing my next post will not involve food. Even though I’m a college student, I do more than eat, homework, eat, sleep, and eat. Did I mention eating? No really, I have a life. Like last night, I went to the Anaïs Mitchell concert – she’s a doll. And a toga party. And I started synchronized swimming. But it’s hard to act natural with a D40 hanging from your neck in a bathing suit or bedsheet. So alas, here’s another food post…

My study abroad experience could be called: Kaylen in Paris: A 5-month Critical Investigation into Every Single Patisserie Shop in the City. (Forget criminals, Veronica. This is the real stuff). I spent so much time in Pierre Hermé, the god of the macaron, (sorry Ladurée), that I started getting free macarons from the cute assistant. (I thought he had a crush on me, until I brought my whole family in and realized he was just relieved to see I had friends. How embarrassing).

What is a macaron? It’s a French almond-based cookie with a buttercream or jelly filling that comes in every color and flavor imaginable. Chocolate passion fruit. Hazlenut truffle. Chestnut green tea. Figue fois gras (should have steered clear of that one). My tried-and-true favorite rose. (It’s pink!). I can’t even describe the delight of biting into one – so many different textures exist in such a small, delicate beauty.  

This weekend my copaines of La Maison Française and I made Chocolate Salty-Caramel macarons. The recipe wasn’t too hard to follow, but apparently macarons are finicky things – they need to be shiny and ooze the right way as batter, must be whapped and left alone in peace for some precise time before put into the oven, can crack in humidity, become overly hard if they aren’t taken out at the right time, must be turned after precisely 3.5 minutes, and should be firm but sort of jiggly afterward. So it takes a few tries, or a Cordon Bleu student (it pretty much rocks that I have a pastry chef living upstairs) to master them.

All in all, ours came out delicious. What made the event kick ass was the fact that I decided to neglect homework and spent the sunny afternoon in the kitchen, actually speaking French while making French pastry with my French-loving ladies. I’ve promised myself I’m going back to Paris one day. But til then, I’ll be making macarons.