Alicia Sowisdral

The Girls’ History and Culture Reader: The Nineteenth Century

payal — Thu, 17 Mar 2011 08:00:00 +0000

Edited by Miriam Forman-Brunell, Leslie Paris

In 1982 Harvard professor Carol Gilligan published In a Different Voice, a revolutionary body of research articulating the unique psychological experience of being female in America. Responding to research that drew conclusions from studying boys, Gilligan’s exploration of the female experience was one of the first to focus on girlhood as an independent site for research rather than as a sub-category of Women’s Studies.

Since this formative publication, much headway has been made in researching girls’ lives both in and out of the academy. Following the format of a traditional academic collection, editors Miriam Forman-Brunell and Leslie Paris have succeeded in compiling a thoughtfully organized collection of girls’ historical research published in the past few decades. Though limited to American history and culture, the The Girls’ History and Culture Reader includes a diverse selection of essays that explore both the personal and political aspects of girls’ lives and lends itself to deeper reflection of girls’ participation in contemporary American Society.

A thoughtful introduction by the editors suggests, “In the nineteenth century, girlhood took many forms, reflecting the nation’s diversity, its divisions, and the particular circumstances of individual girls’ lives.” The The Girls’ History and Culture Reader explores the significance of age, education, race and class structure and the ever evolving and diverse experiences girls have with their bodies. Developing almost chronologically, each essay in one way or another leads up to the one that follows making for a coherent and well-executed read.

The collection begins with “The Life Cycle of the Female Slave” by Deborah Gray White, which documents adolescence on the plantation and the shift of younger girls’ socialization in sexually integrated atmosphere to a more strict separation when entering the workforce. This piece is followed by Anya Jabour’s “Grown Girls, Highly Cultivated,” a biographical telling of two sisters that offers an insightful look into female education in the Antebellum South. An insightful reflection on prostitution, Christine Stansell’s “Women on the Town” investigates the complex reasons for girls’ participation in this still stigmatized profession such as homelessness, companionship and autonomy. However, the essay I found to be most thought provoking and relatable was Carroll Smith-Rosenberg’s exploration of “The Female World of Love and Ritual.” Smith-Rosenberg highlights the importance of female relationships and the safety of female intimacy. The text relies on diaries and correspondence between females whose affections, though not physical, would challenge contemporary sexual categories. This essay also pays particular attention to mother-daughter relations positing a mother’s stable domestic role created a “closed and intimate female world” for girls to grow toward womanhood.

Written by: Alicia Sowisdral, March 17th 2011

Monica & David

barbara — Thu, 23 Dec 2010 00:00:00 +0000

Directed by Alexandria Codina

HBO Films

One of the many things people take for granted—Americans especially—is free will. Basic human rights. When you are able-bodied, physically able to take care of yourself, the ways to access free will seem limitless—there are plenty of things you are able to participate in, such as having a job, living on your own, and preparing your own meals. In Monica & David, novice filmmaker Alexandra Codina documents the wedding and first year of marriage between Monica and David, two adults living with Down’s syndrome.

The titular Monica is Codina’s cousin and it is clear to see why the filmmaker was interested in filming the couple. The best moments celebrate the tenderness between the couple whose love for each other is more than apparent through constant physical affection, pet-name-calling and emotional support. They exude a genuine excitement about spending their lives together and take pride in calling each other husband and wife. In an especially touching moment, Monica shares a letter she’s written to her birth father, who left when she was very young, and David sits next to her holding her hand and offering soft words of encouragement.

Codina’s footage offers a personal glimpse into issues around independence, identity, and care-taking: how we construct who we are in relationship to who we are to others. The dependent relationship in the roles of parents and children is highlighted by Monica’s mother, Maria Elena, and step-father, Bob, who are sincerely trying to offer the couple autonomy but cannot quite loosen their grip. Having both lived in their parents’ homes, as a couple Monica and David move into a separate wing of Maria Elena and Bob’s house, the parents who appear to be more financially equipped to support the couple. A discussion of financial privilege and women’s work would have been effective here, but Codina fail to flush out these issues. There is a brief mention of Maria Elena’s experience as a single mother who worked her way up from an airline flight attendant to VP of the company so that she‘d be able to provide for her daughter.

Overall, had Codina given more attention to the experiences of Monica and David’s mothers raising their children, it may have made for a richer film. Both hardly twenty years old when their children were born, the women immediately faced resistance from their doctors. Maria Elena recalls the doctor walking in to her room at her first ultrasound and announcing “Your child is a mongoloid,” while David’s mother was persuaded to give her son up for adoption. Here Codina misses an opportunity to bring this experience into a larger dialogue surrounding reproductive rights and our nation’s pro-natal “family values” narrative. Perhaps this drawback points to the flaw in researching your family, but the lack of subtext is ultimately the flaw of the film.

Written by: Alicia Sowisdral, December 22nd 2010

Surfer Girls in the New World Order

barbara — Wed, 22 Dec 2010 00:00:00 +0000

By Krista Comer

Duke University Press

I was twelve years old when my mom moved to South Florida and I was first introduced to surf culture. My step-dad’s shed was filled with boards all different shapes and sizes and on the few rare occasions I did paddle out, it was always with him by my side—and with his help navigating the powerful ocean. I was interested and wanted to learn, but I was scared. I wouldn’t be good enough, I wasn’t strong enough, the boys would make fun of me, I’d get in their way, they wouldn’t like me. I had never been one to be intimidated before, especially by boys, but standing on the beach in my first bikini made me acutely aware of myself and of the dozens of boys that dominated the landscape. No matter how I longed to rush into the water and ride waves, my feet remained planted on the beach.

Krista Comer recognizes these and a host of other issues and arguments related to girls’ experience in surf culture. But rather than positing girls as victims of alienation, Comer explores the innovative and inspiring way in which girls have participated in a traditionally male-dominated sub-culture and what this means for women’s presence in the growing global economy.

Immersing herself in girl surf culture, Comer has constructed an accessible body of research that, while very readable, offers a fiercely intelligent commentary. Seeking a deeper understanding of women’s relationship to surfing as play and profession, and how this constructs and re-constructs traditional female gender roles, Comer focuses her research on the emergence of female professional surfers and their role in developing surf camps and trainings that enable girls and women to learn to surf. Positing surf culture as a unique site where community, play, environment, and economy intersect in a common narrative shared by most who participate in the culture, Comer pays specific attention to how female presence in the growing surf industry is part of an increased presence in the greater global economy: “Surfing thus constitutes rhetoric of optimism about the potential of globalization to advance the greater good.”

Beginning with an analysis of Gidget and the Las Olas Surf Camp, Comer deftly articulates how participation in surfing offers girls a space for the “expansion of gender norms related to femininity,” while also remaining critically aware of the traditional gender boundaries that remain intact, granting access only to a certain type of surfer girl. The author calls into account the privileged position of those who fit the “babe” archetype, such as World Champion and a-typical “California girl” Lisa Anderson, while offering examples of talented surfers such Mexican native Sofia Silva Sanchez, whose opportunities for professional development are hindered by their “non-babeness.” While the bulk of the industry has been created in Mexico, Comer points out not a single Mexican women owns or even manages a surf business and even as recently as 2004, no Mexican women or girls surfed the local break, the first being Sanchez.

Surfer Girls in the New World Order is thorough and acute; Comer situates her argument in the lived experiences of surfer girls and women while also drawing important connections to surfing’s place in the broader context of social and economic ideologies. By dedicating a significant amount of her process to exploring gender construction in the surf world as it is related to girls, her work continually celebrates the “playfulness of girl culture.”

Written by: Alicia Sowisdral, December 21st 2010

This – A Literary Webzine

beth — Sun, 24 Oct 2010 00:00:00 +0000

Edited by Lacey N. Dunham

Early this year, I began writing for Elevate Difference. Over the past few months, I have written more prolifically; built relationships with a handful of supportive, feminist artists; and above all, gained greater insight into my own writing through feedback from editors and readers. This – A Literary Webzine is another example of a space on the Internet that provides a forum for writers to produce and publish while joining a community of their peers. Created by Hollis University graduate Lacey N. Dunham, a former Elevate Difference contributor, This zine employs a volunteer group of editors and seeks submissions from a variety of genres.

If you are a writer looking for exposure, This is an easy way to publish your work; however, it may get lost in the cluttered text of the homepage. A photo dominates most of the space, and it took me a few minutes to realize one of the three columns below the black and white image was the essay that accompanied it. The other two columns were occupied by the Poet Spotlight and Editor’s Note, and further down the page there are links to other writings that are organized by category.

When it comes to websites, aesthetics are important, but This’s appearance is messy and lackluster. Their effort to be simplistic reads as boring, and the lack of creativity in the design gives an impression of immaturity. Although the zine references itself as an issue, it lacked any coherent theme or sense of imagery. The blog, however, includes much of the same content as the webzine, just in a more interesting and readable format.

This is successful in its aim to give all types of writers an accessible outlet for developing their craft. With a little help from a talented graphic designer, it has potential to become a valuable resource for the writing and publishing community.

Written by: Alicia Sowisdral, October 23rd 2010

It’s Kind of a Funny Story

mandy — Fri, 15 Oct 2010 08:00:00 +0000

Directed by Ryan Fleck, Anna Boden

Focus Features

It’s not very often that people take the time to explore the mind of a teenager and it’s even less frequent that this exploration takes place on the Silver Screen. In the current cultural climate, teenagers are nearly an endangered species; 1.6 million are homeless, and those fortunate enough to have a roof over their heads face daily struggles with bullying, body image, sexual predators, and the intense stress of a failing educational system. Even, or maybe especially, those of privilege, who come from stable homes and elite educational institutions are crippled by an overwhelming expectation to succeed.

In It's Kind of a Funny Story Craig (Keir Gilchrist) is one of the latter: a white, upper class, sixteen-year-old whose anxiety level is so unbearable that he checks himself into a psychiatric ward out of fear that he may commit suicide. Merely moments after being committed, Craig is faced with the reality of his decision—a schizophrenic wanders the halls shouting, his roommate hasn’t left his bed for weeks, and hospital policy requires Craig stay for a minimum of five days. Except for the presence another young patient, Noelle (played by the charming Emma Roberts), Craig is certain he doesn’t belong there. Yet, over the course of a school week, Craig receives an alternate education in life, love, and self-discovery. And believe it or not, it is kind of a funny story.

Anna Boden and Ryan Fleck, who co-wrote and co-directed the film, have an exceptional ability for constructing emotionally vibrant stories that focus on what are often perceived to be deviant relationships. In 2006’s award-winning Half Nelson, the duo chronicled the cathartic friendship between a meth-addicted middle school teacher and his adolescent student. It's Kind of a Funny Story also utilizes this dynamic to further explore the invisible barrier between youth and adults when Craig befriends Bobby (Zack Galifianakis), a fellow patient more than twice his age. And just as Half Nelson created a space for the unheard voices of addicts and an inner city youth, It's Kind of a Funny Story breaks the silence of another pair of marginalized groups: teenagers and the mentally ill.

Gilchrist is effectively genuine in portraying Craig’s awareness of his inner turmoil while lacking the ability to articulate it. Instead of weighing down the script with gratuitous dialogue, the film’s journey into Craig’s mind through the use of flashback, animation, and one kick-ass rock 'n roll fantasy provides a subtle testament to arts education. Though his role in The Hangover has practically guaranteed Galifianakis a career as the peculiar yet hilarious sidekick, It's Kind of a Funny Story offers the North Carolina School of the Arts alum an opportunity to transcend typecasting and delve into a more nuanced and dimensional character. Galifianakis nails it. Without saying a word, he has the ability to be both hilarious and touching while offering Craig a chance to do what he was unable to on the outside: just live. Free from confines of parental expectations and a highly competitive peer group, Craig liberates not only himself, but those around him.

Ultimately, the lesson in this film is one of perspective. It's Kind of a Funny Story is a heartfelt reminder that even flawed adults can be role models and the minds of the youth are worth inhabiting.

Written by: Alicia Sowisdral, October 15th 2010

In the Time of the Girls

brittany — Wed, 29 Sep 2010 16:00:00 +0000

By Anne Germanacos

BOA Editions

When do you stop being a girl? When do you start? And, perhaps most importantly, what does it mean to be a girl? These questions are necessary ingredients in order to fully ingest Anne Germanacos’ debut work, In the Time of the Girls. An exploration of history and individual experience, the book forsakes the traditional plot-driven narrative for a collection of short stories which themselves are a mosaic of prose and dialogue infused vignettes, each individually titled.

Feminist theory discourages identifying women as a definitive group whose lives are bound to each other on the basis of a shared gender. However, I am consistently reminded how my experiences mirror those of the women I’ve encountered throughout my life. Germanacos shines in her ability to tap into the collective consciousness of women as she deftly articulates the moments where our lives intersect.

“Men on Crosses” is an abstract, yet poignant, story that uses biblical allegory to explore pregnancy, abortion, and the ever-present dichotomy of choice. “Sundering Twins” explores identity and sexuality through the relationship of two outcast individuals—“He was an orphan, she the lesser half of a pair.” My favorite stories include the titular chapter, “In the Time of the Girls,” a celebration of the many ways of being a girl, and “Infinity,” which begins by asking, “But was it a doll or a person, or both? And, who could say? The girls, I guess, who read the stories, or the mothers who read them to the little girls who couldn’t.”

In its best moments, In the Time of the Girls reads like a lost diary of your favorite Women’s Studies professor—one part feminist prose and one part academic text. A cacophony of insights, Germanacos bravely and creatively tackles gender, race, religion, imperialism, and more, always returning to the nebulous experience of being “girl.”

Written by: Alicia Sowisdral, September 29th 2010

Easy A

mandy — Thu, 23 Sep 2010 16:00:00 +0000

Directed by Will Gluck

Screen Gems

Remember when Superbad was released and everyone was freaking out about what a great teen film it was? Did you wonder why the story didn't include the ways girls break the rules in high school? I did. But the film did have a minor yet interesting female role, Jules, who was made memorable by the candid humor of newcomer Emma Stone. In Easy A, Stone effortlessly tackles her first starring role, and presents a realistic story of teenage identity, friendship, and the challenges of self-discovery.

Olive is a smart and funny, albeit socially invisible, high school student. After being badgered for details about her weekend by her potty-mouthed best friend, Olive lies about losing her virginity to an imaginary guy. One lie leads to another and soon Olive is supposedly sleeping with half the school—mostly misfits and outcasts excluded for being gay, fat, or anything else that doesn’t align with the heteronormative high school experience. Emboldened by her reputation, Olive embraces martyrdom and actively plays into the role she’s inherited. She hypersexualizes her wardrobe and stitches a scarlet letter “A” to her chest. However, while the reputations of the fellas she claims to have provided favors to blossom from the fruits of imaginary intercourse, Olive’s life becomes more complicated and lonely.

Eschewing just enough raunch to earn a PG-13 rating, first-time screenwriter Burt V. Royal’s script subtly navigates the tenuous relationship between reputation and reality, while attempting to leave its protagonist with agency. One brief yet poignant scene calls into question teen dating violence, male privilege, and the commodification of the female body. The painful relevance of these moments is cushioned by the accessibility of the dialogue and Stone’s fearless goofiness.

Director Will Gluck could have easily relied on his leading lady’s searing wit and deadpan delivery to carry the film; instead, he enabled Stone's performance with a dynamic supporting cast of positive, if flawed, role models. As Olive’s trusting yet concerned parents, Patricia Clarkson and Stanley Tucci offer consistent comic relief, and Thomas Hayden Church and Lisa Kudrow make welcome returns to the big screen as faculty members battling their own deviant behavior.

Stone is also equally matched by her peers. Amanda Bynes’ ironically pious villain is a refreshing turn away from the predictable good girls of her past, and Gossip Girl’s Penn Badgley is an adorable reminder of the exciting innocence of first love.

The bottom line is you either like teen movies or you don’t. If you’re like me, or my friend Sabrina who sat next to me squealing every time John Hughes was referenced, you grew up with the teen classics of the eighties and spent your twenties believing that quirky outcasts, like Pretty in Pink’s Andie, transcend high school politics, and Mr. Right is a unique hybrid of Lloyd Dobbler, John Bender, and Happy Harry Hard-On. With Olive, Gluck and Royal have given a new generation of female viewers a different kind of teen fantasy: the girl they want to become instead of the boy they want to date. This makes Easy A a teen film representative of its time.

Written by: Alicia Sowisdral, September 23rd 2010

High Water

brittany — Tue, 14 Sep 2010 02:00:00 +0000

Directed by Dana Brown

Apostrophe Films

In his second full-length documentary, High Water, surf journalist Dana Brown composes a love letter to Hawaii’s North Shore by chronicling the Vans Triple Crown of Surfing big wave competition. Home to the largest rideable waves on the planet and nicknamed “The Seven Mile Miracle," this stretch of sand is the place where legends are made; a natural Mecca for those who worship the sea and a place where one wave can change your life. The son of famed surf photographer and documentarian Bruce Brown, whose 1966 documentary The Endless Summer was the first to bring attention and awareness to surfing, Dana Brown grew up on beaches around the world, saturated in surf culture. Concerned that surfing has been eroded into a competitive sport and lucrative commodity, Brown was inspired to capture what he fears are the final glory days of a lifestyle choice rooted in love for the planet and a deep commitment to community.

Perhaps the most obvious difference in the changing surf landscape is the proliferation of female bodies on the North Shore, where the women’s pro-tour garners nearly as much attention as the men's, both in sponsorship and spectators. Brown relates this point via the development of women’s surf clothes, currently a billion dollar industry that was nonexistent twenty years ago. There is a loyalty among surfers that is unique to a competitive sports environment, and an absence of traditional social markers like race and gender. Surprisingly, all of the men interviewed by Brown were receptive and supportive of the growing participation of women, though the sport has been historically male dominated and testosterone fueled.

Local legend and infamous badass Sunny Garcia grew up on the North Shore, where surfing is a private and personal relationship to your environment and your community with distinct places of belonging. If you’re not getting your ass kicked by the ocean, you have just as good a chance getting it kicked on shore. The contrast is that these hyper-masculine bodies who punch each other’s lights out over a wave are the same bodies that channel the energy of the sea and navigate the movement of the most powerful waves on the planet.

The submission to and respect for something much larger than humanity is what makes Brown’s film as inspirational as it is educational. Interviews with surfers, lifeguards, photographers, parents, and craftsman all with their own personal anecdotes, mythical stories, and life philosophies form a collective voice paying homage to the supreme authority of the ocean. The most powerful example of this is illustrated by the response to the death of competitor Malik Joyeux, one of the best big wave riders of his generation. Taking to the water, friends, family, and competitors sit on their boards in a giant circle, splashing laughing and crying out “Malik” as a helicopter rains flowers from above.

Whether you’re a surfer, an ocean lover, or neither of the two, High Water is an emotional tribute to “meaningful meaninglessness” and a reminder of what awesome beauty exists in our own backyard.

Written by: Alicia Sowisdral, September 13th 2010

Picture Me

brittany — Sun, 12 Sep 2010 18:00:00 +0000

Directed by Sara Ziff, Ole Schnell

Strand Releasing

There is a moment in Picture Me, a documentary about the fashion industry, where model Sara Ziff’s father recalls hearing his daughter’s look described as the girl next door. The camera closes up on Ziff in a two page Tommy Hilfiger ad. “I guess that depends where you live,” her father quips, flippantly alluding to the exclusive world of high fashion. Filmed largely by Ziff and then boyfriend Ole Schnell, Picture Me documents Ziff’s developing modeling career from her first trip to Paris at eighteen to her eventual burn out at twenty-three and, along the way, exposes the human side of an industry built on solely on image.

Picture Me began as a homemade video diary and it maintains that feeling throughout. Adorable, sometimes cynical, animation by The Boos punctuates the various themes of the film. The visuals of notebooks and grade-school graffiti offer a consistent reminder of disrupted youth and the choice to forgo education; many of these models are simply schoolgirls, invited into this world as young as twelve and aged out by their mid-twenties.

I commend Ziff’s bravery for sharing her personal experience; however, I was disappointed by the lack of attention given to the privileged position she was in, especially in regards to physical appearance. “Modeling just happened to me,” Ziff states as she recounts being approached on the street as she walked home from school on day. Yeah, it happened to you because you’re tall, skinny, and blonde and you were walking down the street in New York City. Turns out Ziff’s ambivalence is rooted in deeper emotional issues such as putting off college. She also struggles with the age-old dilemma of using her body as a commodity by comparing modeling to stripping and when shortly into her career she begins to out earn her father, a college professor, Ziff wonders why she should make so much money for being “pretty and on time.”

This film is rife with contemporary social issues, especially around work and women’s bodies. Most interesting were the admissions by the models who share everything from being sexually assaulted by photographers to being told they are fat in a host of different languages. The models interviewed are cognizant of the way they are being treated, like a “robot” or a “prop” but are unaware of how to resist or respond. Ziff offers many of the most poignant insights herself—“Skinny is power. And it’s the one thing you can control.”—and her relationships with the other models are refreshingly sincere and drama-free. Unfortunately, the filmmakers missed an opportunity to connect their story to a broader social context and the many feminist issues are either ignored or under-developed.

Nonetheless, Picture Me is an excellent platform for discussion and would serve well as an educational tool, especially for media entrenched teens.

Written by: Alicia Sowisdral, September 12th 2010

Going the Distance

brittany — Fri, 10 Sep 2010 02:00:00 +0000

Directed by Nanette Burstein

New Line Cinema

When I first read about this film in the making, I was psyched. I’m a huge Drew Barrymore fan, and it appeared that finally, a romantic comedy was in the works that presented a more modern interpretation of male female relationships. It looked like it might actually include both sides of the story rather than just a fairy tale version of the woman’s desire to be desired.

Mission accomplished… sort of. A reflection of a modern day romance challenged by location, work, and common fears of intimacy, Going the Distance takes a small step on the road to diversifying the romantic comedy genre. But it’s a slippery slope, especially in the Hollywood Hills. I’m certain that many viewers will see themselves and their relationships reflected on screen; I know I did. However, both the plot and dialogue reinforce a dominant misconception of feminist thought—in order for women to heard, and in this case dateable, they have to join the boys club.

Going the Distance chronicles the courtship of Erin (Barrymore) and Garrett (Justin Long) as they meet, fall for each other, and struggle to maintain their relationship between NYC and San Francisco. Erin and Garret are introduced at a bar when he discovers she is ERL, the Centipede videogame high-scorer he has been working to beat. Flabbergasted that ERL is a girl, the rest of their evening follows suit as the beautiful Erin chugs beer, devours chicken wings, and trades crass jokes with the dudes. Apparently this behavior is just what it takes to get the commitment-phobic Garrett to fall in love. The reality of Long and Barrymore’s off-camera relationship is impossible to separate from that of the characters they play in the film, but it works. While many moments are contrived, the chemistry between the two is infectious, especially in the beginning when the cinematography fools you into thinking you’re watching a documentary.

Taking a cue from Knocked Up, Going the Distance offers the bulk of its humor via the supporting cast of men and fails in providing another interesting female character. Garrett’s overly-involved buddies Charlie Day and Jason Sudeikis steal every scene they are in, whether by dj’ing the couple’s hook-up or convincing Garrett to grow a moustache in order to pick up older ladies. Erin’s support comes in the form of a cynical, disapproving sister, the always enjoyable Christina Applegate. Just like Leslie Mann in Knocked Up, Applegate’s character is dull and stereotypical forcing the usually hilarious actress to idle through meager screen time and meaningless dialogue.

Barrymore is one of the few ladies in Hollywood with some real power in her pocket and, flawed as it may be, does her part to shift the traditional perception of women in film in favor of a more realistic, multi-dimensional character. When a co-worker asks where she is going, Erin, a grad-student and aspiring reporter, who have just been through the wringer with her editor, retorts, “I’m thirty-one and I’m an intern. I’m getting wasted.” As a thirty-one-year-old aspiring writer who has recently applied for a few internships herself, I immediately resonated with this character. As the film develops we watch Erin struggle with building a career in a dying industry, falling in love and eventually, having to choose between the two.

Written by: Alicia Sowisdral, September 9th 2010

Splash

admin — Wed, 25 Aug 2010 08:00:00 +0000

By Jeremy Jay

K Records

I spent a few years as a DJ for the college radio station during graduate school, and quickly learned that the fastest, most accurate way to asses if you’ll like an album is to pay attention to the label. If you really dig a band, it’s worth your time to research the label that produces their albums–chances are it will be home to other artists you’ll enjoy. Such is the case for K Records, distributed by Secretly Canadian, and home to some of my favorites like anti-folk heroine Kimya Dawson, dance-pop loveliness The Blow, and low-fi folk rocker Jason Anderson.

It is easy to hear how pop-folk artist Jeremy Jay found a home at K, but if the aforementioned artists are seniors at the top of their class, Jay is a freshman with plenty of room for improvement jotted in his report card. Though Splash is Jay’s third release on K, at just over twenty-five minutes, it plays more like a debut EP. One song is no more diverse or interesting than the last; I was in the middle of track three before I realized the album had played all the way through and was on its second rotation. The album’s title conjures images of excitement and disruption that would be more fitting for an artist poised to make waves. But Jeremy Jay is not that artist.

Every song reflected the influence of another musician, but never did I get a feel for Jay’s own unique voice or style. “Just Dial My Number” is an upbeat, summer ditty but the use of piano is so similar to Peter Bjorn and John’s “Young Ones,” that every time it played I thought I was hearing the latter. There are moments when he channels Morrissey; I even heard a little Tracy Chapman on “Someday Somewhere.” But the most notable comparison is to Magnetic Fields front man, Stephin Merritt. But whereas Merritt’s distinctive bass subtly demands you to pay attention to his lyrics, Jay’s more delicate timbre only adds to the ambiguity of his songwriting.

While he certainly evokes the mood of agenda-free days of exploring the city, the lack of imagery and individuality leaves Splash too malleable to make an impression. It would serve well as a soundtrack to a film where visual images and plot might add some heft and dimension to his sound.

Written by: Alicia Sowisdral, August 25th 2010

Also Known As

admin — Tue, 24 Aug 2010 08:00:00 +0000

By Elizabeth Robinson

Apogee Press

Being a writer is often a difficult endeavor. It’s not the desire nor the passion that is constraining but more often the discipline, the dedication. Sometimes what writers struggle most with is the publicity of the written word. Once something is printed, with your name next to it–there is no going back. It may be one of the reasons so many authors choose to publish under a pseudonym, a fictional name created to hide the identity of the author in order to create a truly private space where creativity can thrive.

Elizabeth Robinson has taken this practice one step further. In her latest book of poetry, Also Known As, Robinson “interacts” with the work of Portuguese poet Fernando Passoa in an effort to “explore the opportunities and limitations of persona(e).” What is interesting and challenging about this task is that Passoa wrote most if his work under “heteronyms,” alter-egos with distinct personalities and unique poetic voices. As introduction, Robinson opens with a poem by Richard Reis, one of Passoa’s most well known and prolific identities.

Robinson doesn’t merely rely on the inspiration of Passoa’s work, but rather invokes an exploration of identity that is both darkly ambiguous and yet deeply personal. By refraining from use of gender based descriptors and pronouns, Robinson relies on the collective consciousness of anyone who seeks to be identified. Her work is simultaneously brave yet cowers to self-consciousness – I, who loved to fondle the antonyms, was caught red-handed. – “Intermediary”

Poetry is a form of literature that many people shy away from, out of fear of not understanding or lack of connection to the material, often because of the way it’s presented. Robinson balances gracefully on this tightrope, and offers a collection of work that is both intellectual and accessible. On the power of poetry, I must agree with Travis MacDonald who suggests “The cumulative result is a seamless (if eerily disjointed) whole in which the individual edges of authorial identity become indistinguishable from the tangible act of each poem’s performance on the page.”

Written by: Alicia Sowisdral, August 24th 2010

Game Night

admin — Mon, 23 Aug 2010 08:00:00 +0000

By Corrin Campbell

Corrin Campbell is a Wisconsin native who enlisted in the US Army shortly after graduating high school. A combat-vet and former member of the 1st Calvary Division, Campbell trained at the Armed Forces School of Music in Norfolk, Virginia, before beginning her career with the Army Materiel Command Band. As a US Army trained bassist, Campbell has performed for troops around the world before joining forces with her current band, The Election, to create and perform original music. Unfortunately, Campbell’s biography is more interesting than her music.

Game Night is fourteen tracks of high energy, rock complete with grating guitar, wrenching vocals and the occasional pop-infused number. Campbell has drawn comparisons to Heart, a band she is said to idolize, and while the similarity is apparent, so is the irrelevance. Pioneers of female fronted bands, backed by aggressive, guitar driven rock, Heart was at the height of their career in the late seventies and into the eighties. Their last commercially successful album was 1987’s Bad Animals and the current generation is likely more familiar with Fergie’s cover of “Barracuda” than Heart’s original recording.

The Wilson sisters also feature as inspirations, but Campbell’s efforts are way more imitation than influence. Though some might view this as nostalgic, it is more aptly described as dated. Game Night would be more accessible if Campbell had succeeded in breathing new life into a sound she finds inspiring, rather than attempting to re-create it.

Laden with pastiche notwithstanding, Campbell is clearly invested in her craft, utilizing her songwriting to explore her experiences over the years. As she states on her website, “These songs are my attempts to be true through the trials of life and find a healthier way to get through these personal complications.” In a world full of man-made pop idols, Campbell deserves recognition for creating music she loves, with people she respects and on her own terms.

Written by: Alicia Sowisdral, August 23rd 2010

Despicable Me

admin — Mon, 19 Jul 2010 20:31:00 +0000

Directed by Pierre Coffin, Chris Renaud

Universal Studios

A few years ago my eleven year old sister was writing an essay on violence in schools. During our discussion of different types of violence, she astutely pointed out that not all violence is physical, and that a mean comment can be just as violent as a punch in the face. This led to an involved conversation about bullies in which, at one point, my sister looked at me and said, “I think bullies are mean to the kids at school because no one is nice to them at home. No one is giving them love.”

Despicable Me is the story Gruu (Steve Carell), a young boy whose dreams of traveling in space were thwarted by an uncaring mother and resulted in a grownup bully most proud of being the world’s greatest villain. That is, until he is bested by the younger, sleeker Vector (Jason Segal) and must enlist three orphaned girls in his grand plan to steal the moon. While the title of the movie suggests this is a film about a villain and his despicable acts, it is truly a love story about the bonds of parenthood, and the many ways people create family.

Like many animated features, Despicable Me appeals to both adults and children by providing timely social commentary amidst silly sights and situations. The beauty of animation is that it allows imaginary caricatures to perform acts that are very real, and very human. The title alone is a reflection of the human condition, for any one of us can be the “me” in question, participating in any variety of despicable acts on a daily basis.

As the titular Me, Steve Carell adds another credit to his list of bumbling anti-heroes we love to see succeed. Though his accent is mildly distracting, audiences will recognize the same humble wit that endears us to him week after week on The Office. Segal is equally impressive as Vector, a geek turned villain in response to a consistently disappointed father. But it is the always awesome Kristen Wiig who is perhaps the most despicable of all.

As orphanage headmistress Miss Hattie, Wiig delivers her lines like glass of sweet tea with razor ice cubes—sugary sweet and viciously sharp all in the same mouthful. Clearly a jab at the adoption system, as well as gender and class privilege, she callously sends Margot, Edith, and Elsie out the door with the despicable Gruu, who offers no credentials or identification, but is simply disguised as a doctor.

While the film neglects one of my cardinal rules of feminist filmmaking—having positive female role models—it did call into question traditional roles of masculinity, especially in response to parenthood. Margot, Edith, and Elsie were role models in their own right, emulating and each serving as a manifestation of responsibility (Margot), skepticism (Edith), and unquestioning affection (Elsie). In addition to having some of the funniest lines in the film, the sister’s camaraderie and confidence in their own relationship, as well as their unconditional love for each other and those around them, is what eventually turns Gruu from super bad to Super Dad.

Written by: Alicia Sowisdral, July 19th 2010

The Carrie Diaries

admin — Sun, 18 Jul 2010 08:00:00 +0000

By Candace Bushnell

Balzer and Bray

Sex and the City the television series ended six years ago. One might find this hard to believe, considering the characters and the lavish lifestyles they live have been far from gone in the mainstream media. The latest installment in the SATC enterprise is The Carrie Diaries, author Candace Bushnell’s young-adult novel that introduces audiences to Carrie Bradshaw as they’ve never seen her before—seventeen, virginal, and unsure of how to fulfill her dream becoming a writer. The young Bradshaw struggles through adolescence the same way her adult self struggled through her thirties, and with just as much, if not more, wit and insight. It’s easy to see how Carrie became Carrie as Bushnell chronicles a very real, and entertaining, teenage experience using the skills we’ve come to know her for: realistic dialogue, relatable, yet flawed, friendships; and capturing the excitement and emotion the first moments of love.

As a feminist scholar and critic, and an advocate for girl-friendly media, I was plagued by very familiar annoyances in the reading. Although adult Carrie admits in SATC (season four, episode seventeen) that her father left when she was a toddler, Bushnell posits high-school Carrie as the eldest of three girls being raised by their father since their mother died a few years earlier. Although a single dad raising three young women is certainly an alternative to the status-quo, it is not more or less feminist than a mother working full time and raising three daughters. And in the case of the latter, it provides something very important missing in both fiction and film—positive female role models.

The debate over Bushnell’s characters and their choices has been raging since the debut of the original series. In The Carrie Diaries, the author offers her own feminist commentary that is neither subtle, nor convincing. In a chapter dedicated to Carrie’s discovery of feminism, the twelve-year-old visits her local library to see her mother's favorite (fictional) feminist Mary Gordon Clark speak. The young Bradshaw is chagrined by the woman’s gruff and judgmental manner, leaving her to ponder “How can you be a feminist when you treat other women like dirt?” An excellent question, though I’d be interested in asking Bushnell “Why all feminists must be represented as angry, elite meanies?”

Unlike her adult counterpart, whose friendships offered support, honesty and resilience in the face of obstacles, the high school Carrie is surrounded by a group of friends that are competitive, highly emotional, or just plain bitchy. Her most passionate moments include falling for a narcissistic but gorgeous guy who eventually cheats on her with her best friend, developing her voice as a writer with the support of the Brown-attending George, and eventually being published in the school paper, with the help and support of the paper’s editor—her friend’s boyfriend.

As lover of pop-culture and an advocate for media literacy among the youth, especially girls, I was encouraged to find the positive elements of a story that will surely resonate with a large audience. Although Carrie’s mother is absent in reality, she is ever present in the lives of her daughters, all of which are struggling to maintain her legacy while evolving into who they will be as individuals. The biting yet quirky humor that endeared me to Carrie on SATC punctuates the tensest moments in the novel as Carrie offers teen-appropriate insights like, “Funny always makes the bad things go away.”

Unfortunately, comparing the young Carrie to the character she became on the series leaves me no less than disappointed. The Carrie created here comes out an evolved and matured being, moving forward into the next phase of her life, something that was remiss of her character when the SATC series ended, and further exacerbated in the following two films. In fact, I’d favor a film version of The Carrie Diaries over both SATC films.

Written by: Alicia Sowisdral, July 18th 2010