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METROPOLIS

INSTIGATORS: St. Trinian's; St. Trinian's II: The Legend of Fritton's Gold; Wild Child; Angus, Thongs, and Perfect Snogging
SYMPTOMS: striped ties, pleated skirts, field hockey sticks, and attempts at mischievous pranking
DIAGNOSIS: British boarding brat disorder
DESIGNATED NAME: Josephine "Josie" Jones
SOUNDTRACK TO THE MADNESS: "St. Trinian's Theme"-Girls Aloud, "One Girl Revolution"-Superchick, "Oh My God"-Ida Maria, "What I Like About You"-Lillix, "I'm Not Your Toy"-La Roux, "That's Not My Name"-The Ting Tings, "Knock Em' Out"-Lily Allen



All boarding school films capitalize on a type of societal perversion. Humankind loves seeing supposed innocents misbehave. For the same reason angel and nurse costumes continue to be a hit year after year, we enjoy watching these supposedly straight-laced youths corrupt themselves. There is, however, a few definitive differences between the period and the modern boarding school film. The appeal of the 1950s boarding school film is generated by its superhero factor: Chaucer and Latin verb conjugation by day and barefoot revelries and illicit rendezvouses by night. Today's boarding school films don't bother a pretense of studiousness or virtue, they operate purely on the blatant misconduct of those who we know should be purer. It is their snappy insolence and mischievous pranking that generates the allure.

Heidi, a runaway teenager as portrayed by Abbie Cornish, certainly is not your typical style icon. Yet, I feel I have learned from her in the same way I have from Audrey Hepburn or Grace Kelly although the ways in which she is able to teach us differ greatly. Heidi possesses the kindness and innocence of a Disney princess and, simultaneously, an extremely powerful sexuality with which she has not yet quite come to terms. This gets her in trouble when she kisses her mother’s boyfriend, resulting in her self-imposed exile from the house. She heads to a mountain town and finds work in a local gas station and company in the local bar. At one point, upon being questioned about why she continues to bring strange men home, she answers simply that she does not want to be alone. Thus, a strange conflict in conduct is presented, childish impulses serving as the impetus for adult behavior.

25 December 2010 (Christmas!)
INSTIGATORS: Mona Lisa Smile, School Ties, Dead Poet's Society, The Emperor's Club
SYMPTOMS: sinful quantities of red lipstick, vintage cardigans, hair ribbons, records, and attempts at coy fliratation
DIAGNOSIS: Retro schoolgirl fervor
Designated Name: Ms. Joan Brandon
SOUNDTRACK TO THE MADNESS: "Smokey Joe's Cafe"-The Coasters, "The Twist"-Hank Ballard, "Little Bitty Pretty One"-Thurston Harris and The Sharps, "Yakety Yak"-The Coasters, "Rockin' Robin"-Jackson 5


I have always been a sucker for the classic, fifties-era boarding school/college film. There is something immensely appealing about the pure wholesomeness and the good ol'fashioned values that go along with the land of rigid academia. I will admit however that the majority of the appeal does not seem to be generated by the few cursory minutes the students spend packed into the chapel for initiation or the few shots of them pouring over musty old schoolbooks. Rather, it is the hours full of close-ups of the gamine girls and roguish boys racing off with rosy cheeks, loosened ties, and bouncing curls to sneak in their evenings of rock n' roll and elicit cigarettes that keeps me coming back for more. 


The Fickle Femme: Confessions of My Multiple, Film-Inspired Personalities
I believe that the root of my problem can be identified in my childhood, beginning with my first year on this planet as the shy, introverted little squirm that I was, continuing all the way through my childhood and into my adolescence. I believe that much of my psychological instability can be attributed to a slight withering of the brain due to lack of exposure to the juvenile limelight. Even those who spent no time on the stage, the playing field, or the concert hall (and these children are few and far between) generally put on a show or two in the privacy of their own homes or at least did a few sing-a-longs with their friends. Yet I had absolutely none of this, too emotionally delicate to even spend time with children my own age, much less to ask them for their attention while I pranced and crooned and twirled. Instead, I spent much of my time hidden behind a book or a television screen, far more comfortable quietly reliving the fabulous adventures of others than chancing my own embarrassment in the real world. From there I contracted my disease, which has been designated the Latin name identicus anonymiticus. Lacking any discernible personality of my own, I took on the identities of my favorite film and book characters. As a young girl, I spent a good amount of time as Harriet (the Spy, not Tubman) and even more as Arriety Clock of The Borrowers. As I grew older and my taste diversified, I alternately tried out Holly Golightly, Susan Vance, Miranda Priestly, and even Danny Zuko (really my lifelong aspiration has been to be a greaser but for some reason or another that's really never quite worked out for me). As I've grown older and been exposed to more and more, my affliction has only become more severe (some films like American Beauty being quite dangerous for a person such as I). Thus, several of my therapists have suggested the documentation of my fluctuations on an online blog so as to externalize the infiltrators and attempt to connect with some personality of my own.


Lanky hair, a skeletal form, copious eye makeup: no, it's not someone too high to care, it's a fashion concept. In the past few years, we have seen some of our favorite celebrities seemingly reduced to shadows of their former selves. The cherubic Olsen twins, freckle-faced Lindsay, little J. Humphrey. My peers have been bemoaning the fall of their childhood favorites. I, however, have really enjoyed the new look. Maybe its an interior battle against my inclinations toward granola and bike riding? Just as President Clinton declaimed "Heroin Chic" in the 1990s, I too cannot support "glamorized addiction." Yet, I must say I find it exciting when people begin to transform, moving further from something that resembles human form. Take ballerinas for example: were our rib cages really ever meant to show? were we meant to stand on tiptoe? But there's something glamorous about it. I sort of feel the same way about coked-out celebrities. It's hard to get hair that stringy or legs that wiry. And I feel there's an eerie beauty about it.


-Cleo

First and foremost, let me say that Skins is above and beyond my favorite television show ever made. It is incredibly smart but simultaneously extremely trashy (a prerequisite in all my tv viewing). The trashy part arises from the main characters all being teenagers, and the plot consequently revolving around their drugie, sexy, warped, adolescent lives. The intelligent part is that the characters do not conform to stereotypes: the metal heads fall for the ballerinas, the popular girls are lesbians. From a sartorial perspective, you can also see the complications in the characters' personality play out in the way they choose to dress themselves. The outfits they wear are not pure reincarnations of trends, but rather are interpretations of various styles that suit the characters' personalities. Each episode goes into more depth on the character, giving information on their habits and families, making it increasingly apparent why they look the way they do.

The trend began in 2007 with Ellen Paige's portrayal of a knocked-up teenage eccentric and made it all the way up to this year's group of screaming, dancing, vomiting bridesmaids; funny women have been making a comeback. There have always been countless film stars fulfilling the ideal of style, confidence, and poise; it's the classic quality with which they angle their heads, hold their drinks, angle their feet. Yet, I find that when it comes to filling the hours I allot in my schedule to mindless YouTube-ing, it is these new comediennes to whom I constantly return. It's Ellen Paige drawling "forshiz" and Emma Stone's adorable lisp and Kristen Wiig and Maya Rudolf dancing like fools. It's that I constantly find my friends and I parroting their lines to one another like fools, and that I constantly find myself assuming their facial expressions.


One of Hollywood's main functions is to take regular people-- politicians, criminals, alien hunters-- and fabulize them until they become something you'd actually be willing to look at for 2 hours. In Cameron Crowe's 2000 film, Almost Famous, Kate Hudson plays a groupie, Penny Lane, like a sexy, effervescent sprite, as she dashes carelessly in and out of musician's hotel rooms and private jets. Her whole life seems very glamorous and exciting until the tour begins nearing New York where the band's wives await and Hudson is suddenly treated like a commodity, at one point bet by a band member in a poker game against 50 dollars and a pack of beer. In this way, the film somewhat touches upon the grim realities of groupiedom. It is, however, a Hollywood production, and thus Hudson never for a moment loses her glamour, morality, or desirability.

Watching tourists walk around Times Square, you can see them looking around in a big mass of fanny-packed confusion for an actual New York resident. The sad truth of it is that Manhattanites are simply too cool to hang on the streets. In the winter, they hole up in the contaminated warmth of subway stops or, preferably, in cozy corner cafes. And now that it's summer you certainly won't find them blindly searching through their sweat for the nearest Duane Reade. No, the people of the city have taken to the roofs; there is really no reason for them to leave these cool, concrete heights, up there you can find everything you need: art, gardens, restaurants. Moreover, the roof is a unique experience in that it possesses the hard-to-find combination of being both scenic and illicit. An excellent example of this phenomenon in the Rooftop Films festival, gracing the city's roofs every summer.


 
1. PERCHED PIGEONS ON GRECIAN FIGURE
2. INSIDE MOMA, AERIAL VIEW
3. UP IN ARMS

Occasionally I hear about something happening in the city that has me wishing I were cool enough to appreciate it--Japanese artist Ryoji Ikeda's the transfinite is probably the perfect example. A visual and sound installation opening at the Park Avenue Armory, the transfinite is math-inspired, massive, and mostly just incredibly cool. It opens today at the 55,000 square foot Wade Thompson Drill Hall (643 Park between 66th and 67th) and will be up through June 11th.  For a cool $10 you too can stand in front of/on these enormous screens and contemplate the place of the digital in the modern world, or just stare mesmerized at some strobes. I mean, making the intellectual beautiful sounds like it's right in line for a great Art History comparison (Rivera's Man at the Crossroads? de Chirico's Song of Love? Just me?) but mostly the idea of a glowing data wall inside some huge steampunk aircraft hangar is just really kick-ass. Any hipsters out there feel like taking me up on this?




1. LADY GAGA "S" TRAIN
2. TRAILER PARK LOUNGE AND GRILL, 271 W. 23RD ST.
3. NOH SANG-KYOON, FOR THE WORSHIPPERS (2008)
(giant buddha made from sequins)

Getting dressed for my first outing back in my home state, Massachusetts, the thought I had as I was going out the door was, "You know what would really complete this outfit? A beer." I feel like people stereotype about Massachusetts; when I tell them where I'm from, I can see their imagined ring of pilgrims, cows and white picket fences circling my head. Consequently, they probably also assume that the residents of Massachusetts dress in multiple popped polos, madras shorts, and those leather loafers with the little sailboats emblazoned on the side. And, truly, in the town I live in, which is primarily inhabited by people with names like Worth Johnson and Clayton Sanders, people often do show up in shorts with crabs appliques all over them (obviously not understanding the irony inherent within this decision).

I toyed with calling this a Shuffle Saturday, despite two things. One, inarguably, is that it’s not Saturday. The other is it’s not a shuffle. Heading off for the semester has really brought out the nostalgia in this newly rising sophomore(!). Blame my unwavering optimism, something in the air, or the fact that finals really are over: here are five songs for your roadtrip home, or rather some roadtrip while home, seeing as I’ve been rather more occupied by reunions than by blogging this week. Also, I may have gotten a bit excited and stretched the home theme to a just general leaving theme, so sue me. I’d been itching to head out of Manhattan towards decidedly sunnier suburbia, and here I am. I’ll be missing Morningside in about three days.


1. New York City's Killing Me- Ray LaMontagne
2. Move over Mama- Justin Townes Earle
3. Don't Haunt This Place- Rural Alberta Advantage
4. Killed Myself When I Was Young- A.A. Bondy
5. As Far As I Can- Greg Holden

Gillian Zinser
In New York, where we are constantly so concerned with being thoroughly buckled, zipped, and corseted into our spandex and denim and leather , why can't we, wait what's the terminology they use over there on the opposite side of the nation? Ah yes, "hang loose." 
The other day, I saw a girl wearing a string hair wrap, and was instantly inspired. My fellow Manhattanites might say tacky, overpriced mark of a 3-day Miami vacation. I say inspired, sartorial choice worthy of great admiration. The girl who wears a string bikini, cutoff jeans, and Birks will undoubtedly attract attention in New York. When everyone else is angstily foot-tapping in the out-the-door line at Starbucks, she's the one who waltzes in and is immediately handed a complimentary frappucino. While we're packed into sweaty subway cars, she carelessly breezes down Broadway on her longboard.
    So what say you? You run the risk of looking out of town, but I say we bleach out our blacks, cutoff our skinny jeans, and join this wild girl for a summer!

METRPOLIS doesn't have much by way of words of wisdom this week, but we can only hope that you sit your finals, pack your boxes, and say your tearful goodbyes with a spring in your step--toward that end, here's a playlist we imagine is at least marginally more interesting than Kant and Hume (or, you know, Wikipedia. If we're being real here). In fact, maybe a cheesy homeward bound playlist was really in order here, but don't consider this post a missed opportunity. After all, we've still got a few days yet...


1. You Don't Know Me- Regina Spektor
2. Arc of Time- Bright Eyes
3. The Wild Hunt- Tallest Man on Earth
-Two songs lost to the ether!- 



1. AN ASTOUNDING ASSORTMENT OF HEADBANDS AT ZITOMER (MADISON AND 76TH)
2. WALL MURAL UPPER WEST SIDE
3.  PARTYING WITH HERODOTUS

METROPOLIS knows Snoop Dogg isn't all you wanted to hear this sunny Saturday, and if you're like us, you need a break from crying into your pillow about the sorry state of affairs that is your term paper/last problem set/final exam schedule. Never fear, METROPOLIS has all the answers, conveniently accessible in five song form. Remember, these last two weeks will be over soon, whether you like it or not, and you might as well spend a few minutes humoring us as we all try to ignore that ticking, ticking clock.

4/30/11 by NYC METROPOLIS on Grooveshark

1. To the Alps- Princeton
2. Blue Song- Mint Royale
3. People Like Me- K'naan
4. Blue Skies- Noah and the Whale
5. Fixin' to Die- G. Love

As my first year at Barnard draws to an end, I increasingly find that my peers and I have adopted the habit of feminist critique. A bit bored on the subway, I find myself pulling it out like I did my Gameboy in the fourth grade: "God, that woman's outfit is so offensive, 'Juicy' right across the butt. It's because of women like her that it took us 70 years to get the vote.

This week's Shuffle Saturday comes including the 90s one-hit-wonders without which any playlist is truly incomplete. It's all about the jams, man, and give yourself a chance to enjoy them this morning--I think we both know nobody's going outside today. METROPOLIS recommends that for all our sakes you pray to the weather gods, or pray to the Easter God, or raise up a fine shiraz, whatever floats your boat (and you're going to need one, assuming you wanted to go get a bagel from that cart on 107th today).

4/23/11 by NYC METROPOLIS on Grooveshark

1. In the Twilight- Alexander
2. The Wilhelm Scream- James Blake
3. Middle Brother- Middle Brother
--Two songs lost to the ether!--

In the sweltering month of August, as I spent hundreds of dollars of my parents' money on textbooks, I made one very important promise to them: that I would not become a pretentious academic. If I was going to spend eighty dollars on my intro Anthropology textbook, that was fine, but they didn't want me to start throwing around words like "performative" over Thanksgiving dinner. Somethings, however, are too good to pass up and what, pray tell, is better than paintings of heads made out of fruit? A little ironic, a little psychedelic, certainly not overly academic! So here are the works of Giuseppe Arcimboldo, the sixteenth-century Italian composite painter for your enjoyment:

Spring

"The Hours" is kind of a mixed bag - alternately dreary and glorious, thoughtful and overtly sentimental, but it's a movie I'd recommend to most people, if you're into the mystery of the feminine psyche and all that. But the visuals are splendidddd and the costumes are no exception. I for one really loved the simplicity and dreaminess of the Woolf-period.


I call this "wispy elegance". Love the slightly disheveled chignon, the askew necklace, the brooch, and the orange drop earrings. Everything is so subliminal and adds to the look of the character, never taking away from Nicole Kidman's hypnotic gaze. Colors of pink and orange highlight her English-rose complexion.


I doubt I’d ever choose Philadelphia over New York, except maybe when it comes to cream cheese or giant bells. (Once, a road trip wrong turn almost landed me and a friend lost in North Philly, in the middle of the night, not winning the city any points in my book). But if there’s one area where the City of Brotherly Love has us entirely snowed, it’s in incredibly charming public art installments. It’s been a city known for street art and murals since the 80s--Philadelphia's Mural Arts Program has been a unique tool to counteract graffiti and help at-risk kids for years—and the latest in the legacy is the absolutely lovely A Love Letter for You

Terrence Malick is a name you should know, because even if you haven't seen any of his movies ("Thin Red Line", "Badlands", "The New World"), his name will come in handy if you ever find yourself in the midst of cinephiles and feel the need to sound culturally highbrow, just say "Malick. I like Terrence Malick a lot", and all the aesthetes will murmur in agreement and look upon you favorably.

Lars Von Trier is, for those unfamiliar with him, another filmmaker who carries a lot of cred in the cinematic circles, and whether he's a misogynistic sadist or the most visually distinctive and visionary director of our time, it's considered super chill to bring up his name in any film conversation.

ANYWAY. "Tree of Life" and "Melancholia" are beyond doubt, the two most anticipated movies for a good majority of cinephiles. It's really a Very Big Deal. The trailer for Malick's "The Tree of Life" was released several months ago, and once the internet got over its collective visualgasm, the trailer for Lars Von Trier's "Melancholia" came out. What struck everyone right away was 1) how much the trailers perfectly represented the heart and style of their respective directors and 2) how much thematic content of the two movies seem to complement each other. They're like twins, with "Melancholia" being the evil twin/dark counterpart and "Tree of Life" its sunny, shiny, good half.

Watch the trailers below. One after the other. It doesn't matter which order. Afterwards, eat something like a cookie, just so you can enjoy an act that is concrete and simple, the polar opposite of any Malick/Von Trier movie.


It's Saturday afternoon and time for a new METROPOLIS feature, in the hope of interrupting your dark days of research paper scribbling and coffee inhaling with a singular ray of light: a 5-song playlist that took less time to mix than this sentence just did to read (METROPOLIS has papers too). Shuffle Sat. represents the results of an utterly* random iTunes shuffle, left entirely** to the gods of chance (much like your paper grades may appear).
*that is, somewhat:

**with minimal human oversight--eg, removal of Mighty Morphin' Power Rangers theme song. We have some dignity to preserve.

4/16/11 by NYC METROPOLIS on Grooveshark

In the interest of (retrospectively) preserving the list if songs fall out of the list on Grooveshark (bookkeeping, ladies and gents, we're all about it):

1. Anna Sun- Walk the Moon
2. Wings- Josh Ritter
3. Dog Days are Over- Florence
4. Harlem River Blues- Justin Townes Earle
5. Contact High- Architecture in Helsinki

Here are some quick and informal thoughts on the production of Arcadia on Broadway, which I saw tonight with my English class. Essentially, it was mindblowing. In the most subtle way possible. Granted, its verbose and complicated nature makes it extremely inaccessible. I feel like everything my English seminar (titled “Science Literature & Culture) has been studying so far has been leading up to the sole goal of reading, seeing, and comprehending Arcadia, from reading Plato’s theory of education and Darwin and the chaos theory to Sherwood Anderson’s “Winesburg, Ohio” and Zora Neale Hurston.

And maybe some of the people (or friends) of higher intellectual capacity will read this post and scoff at the idea that I needed an entire semester to train myself to understand Tom Stoppard. But it was so worth it. If you’ve ever had that feeling of complete and utter harmony, that certain “click” when everything slides into place and the universe feels infinite and beautiful, whether it be realizing the theme of a novel or the mechanism of a scientific process, then you can probably empathize with how I was feeling after watching Arcadia.

The Columbia Science Review, Scientists and Engineers for a Better Society, Postcrypt Art Gallery and CU AMSA have joined forces to organize Through the Looking Glass – an art and science exhibit aimed at exploring these two seemingly disparate fields. With generous funding from the Gatsby Foundation and the P&P Fund,  we aim to break down boundaries and create meaningful interactions between artists, scientists and viewers. The world that we live in is becoming increasingly diverse and interdisciplinary.
 

We hope to take the idea of interdisciplinarity even further, and spark conversation between science and art. Like in last year's exhibit, we plan to bring together a diverse group of media and topics by Columbia students and affiliates. Each one explores scientific imagery and concepts in an attempt to bridge the gap between what we conventionally think of as two separate worlds. The event will take place on April 15th in Wien Lounge 5-7 pm. Refreshments will be served.  Free tickets are available at The Tic and online here.

-Allison Cohen 


PHOTOGRAPHS BY AIDA LALEIAN

If your morning is missing some beautiful views of the city, sharp and funny commentary from unconventional New Yorkers, and insight into an art form you didn't know existed, have we got some (old) news for you.  For three weeks in 2009, Sky High Murals partnered with Stella Artois to document a traditional Belgian beer-pouring ritual on a 20x50 SoHo wall. And this is one ad that actually deserves more than a passing glance--in fact, it's earned a beautiful short documentary film: Up There

While filmmaking is a massively collaborative endeavor, there are some remarkable individual performances by enormously talented actors which can largely determine the audience's experience of the whole work.  Javier Bardem gives such a performance in Alejandro Inarritu's film, Biutiful, and that gets as close as would be possible to saving this irredeemably flawed film.  

Biutiful carries us into a grim world inhabited by undocumented workers struggling to survive in contemporary Barcelona.  The cinematography renders the world with a convincing, gritty realism, and the desperate circumstances of the characters unfold with a brutal, directness. Bardem portrays Uxbal, a small time criminal, working in the pay of a Chinese underworld figure, marketing the exploitation of undocumented Senegalese and Chinese laborers. It goes without saying that this system has devastating effects on the lives of the all the workers and their families, and no one can be surprised when this leads to a catastrophic, lethal event; a horror for which Uxbal is at least partly responsible.  

1. THE PEACE FOUNTAIN SCULPTURE AMSTERDAM AVE.
2. SATAN'S STRINGS
3. VIEW DOWN 111TH ST.


I am someone who loves good, reasonably priced food, and sometimes in New York City, depending on the area, the only good food is expensive, and the only cheap food is greasy. Consequently, one of my favorite places to eat is Popover Cafe (Amsterdam Ave. & 86th St.).
Like the name connotes, their delicacy is popovers, with strawberry butter. I like to consider myself an afficionado of popovers, and have found those at Popovers to have a certain warm, moist taste. The average popover is dry and crunchy on both the inside and out, creating a rather bland flavor. Popovers’ popovers are not like that at all, and the strawberry just enhances the moist flavor and adds sweetness. The other food to be found there is on the more ordinary side, but well made.
Admittedly, the interior does have a somewhat musty smell, which can detract from the food and comfort of the environment. Yet, Popovers’ food and prices do make up for the smells and slightly grungy décor, making this a necessary stop on any Upper West Side visit.


-Esther Brot

Two gorgeous English redheads, two soul singers with 2011 edge? These ladies are practically screaming for an If You Like, Then You'd Like! Onwards, readers, into another pairing designed to expand your distinctly American horizons, featuring an artist the Brits have been loving since '09. I, your steadfast matchmaker, offer you once more a musical love connection--Here's a  solid and sturdy link among those cocktail party recommendations and blind Pandora guesses that form the fringes of your musical awareness: If you like Adele, then you'd like Paloma Faith.


The Beginning:
Reader, I am a fan. On Friday night, when I should have been drilling political science theories into my resistant mind, I went to see Jane Eyre. It was not so much a matter of whether or not I had time (who does in college?). It was more about how many of my Jane-Eyre-loving friends could come with me.

I ended up going with two other lovers of 19th century novels, one of them an avid fan of Jane Eyre, with high expectations and whole chapters memorized. I promised her that if she said lines along with the actors, as she warned that she would, I would create a buffer between us (in the form of our third friend). I dreaded hearing Rochester’s declaration of love suddenly develop an undertone of femininity from the voice next to me. I did not carry through with the plan. As the seating arrangement went, my friend made endearing gasps and chest clutches throughout, while an older lady next to me showed some matured version of that same reaction (which manifested itself in orders to her husband to take back the popcorn and shushes all around.)



  1. View through the window of Two Little Red Hens bakery
  2. Dragon door of a 5th Avenue apartment 
  3. Abandoned milk jug on a Bronx sidewalk