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(10/21/91 9:00am)
A terrible thing to lose one's mind, how true that is. So spoke Vice President Dan Quayle, and taking the mangled phrase to heart, he apparently has passed the words of wisdom on to his son. But hopefully Tucker Quayle's grades are better than his father's. Tucker Quayle, teenage son of the vice president, took a private tour of the University yesterday, visiting such picturesque scenes as Franklin Field and Irvine Auditorium. Starting yesterday at noon, Barbara Lewis, president of the Kite and Key Society, took Quayle the younger and two other men on a low profile visit. Despite the national importance of Quayle the senior, College senior Lewis said that there were no secret service men to escort Tucker, and that the other two people in the group were a prospective applicant and his alumni parent. During the visit, Quayle declined to answer any questions about his intentions to apply to the University or where his parents were, saying only, "This is a private tour." Lewis, his guide, was less than pleased at the prospect of an interview during Quayle's tour, describing any queries as "inappropriate." Later, however, Lewis said that Quayle was basically similar to most other college applicants, and that in fact, he knew more about the University than most who take the tour. "Tucker asked a lot of intelligent questions," said Lewis. "It is unusual [for students] to be familiar with the programs [at the University]." Lewis added that she did not know if Quayle would apply to the school and said that he was applying to other colleges. The curious group followed a tried and true route for prospective admittees, starting at Houston Hall, strolling past Irvine Auditorium, and later entering the renovated Furness Building, which is now a staple of campus tours. Then Quayle, dressed in tan chinos, docksiders, and a grey checked sweater, and sporting his father's familiar sandy-brown hair, followed his guide down Smith Walk, into Franklin Field. During his hour-long visit to campus, the private group then sauntered over to Bennett Hall, and stopped for a bite to eat at the Food Court. They enjoyed a meal from Bassett's Original Turkey.
(07/11/91 9:00am)
Writer-director John Singleton doesn't like his lunch. "Is salmon the only thing you got?" he politely asks the waiter who presented him with the beautifully-prepared dish. Singleton's taste for the Hollywood-financed high life of the press luncheon is still slightly unsophisticated, admits the 23-year-old former USC film student. And Singleton's casual clothes, highlighted by a black baseball cap emblazoned with "South Central LA" across the front and leather jacket stating "Black Cinema in Effect," brand him a newcomer to the world of elegant dining rooms and heavily-primped reporters. Yet this neophyte is already a veteran in many respects, having written and shot his first feature film, Boyz N The Hood, (which refers to Los Angeles' drug-torn neighborhoods), opening tomorrow in Philadelphia theaters. · Following the path laid down by Spike Lee, who Singleton recognizes for pioneering the current popular emergence of black filmmaking, Boyz N the Hood carves its own identity as a stunning first feature, made with emotion and conviction. Boyz tells a classic coming-of-age story, jarringly strewn across the turbulent background of urban decay in South Central LA. In Boyz, three black teenagers struggle to lift themselves out of their self-destructing environment, one through sports, one through studying and one through dealing crack. But they are ultimately entangled in and forced to confront the mindless violence which drags them down to the level of blind, murdering marauders. This strightforward and moral story forms a staggering microcosm for the problems of black urban America, as Singleton sees them . . . and has lived them. "Everything in the film has happened to me and my friends," he states bluntly. Like Tre, the film's studious protagonist, (newcomer Cuba Gooding, Jr.) Singleton went to live with his father in the Englewood section of South Central LA when he was 12 years old. He calls that decision "a catalyst for change in his life." Singleton's father inspired the character of Furious Styles, (played forcefully by skilled character actor Larry Fishburne, whose insight and power drives the film). He was a strong-willed man, both hard and compassionate, who takes the responsibility to forge his son into a mature adult, a duty which many black men fail to fulfill, says Singleton. "The only way to make a change [in society] is for the black man to be responsible," he says, summing up the central message of his film. "Hopefully, this movie will provoke thought as to the state of black men in America and the need for black men to raise their children." Singleton straightforwardly states that without the guiding role his father played during his adolescence, he would have turned out just like Doughboy, (played by rapper Ice Cube) the character in Boyz who does nothing but sell drugs and hang out on his front porch drinking malt liquor. The dearth of strong, positive black male role models for developing children is seen in many levels of urban society, elaborates Singleton. Singleton cites in his film and in person the frighteningly high levels of black-on-black crime and failure by black members of the police to fulfill their vital responsibility to the community, a problem he refers to as "dangerous Uncle Tomism." One of the most powerful moments in "Boyz" comes when Tre and his football-playing friend Ricky (Morris Chestnut) are randomly stopped on the street and viciously manhandled by a violent, gun-wielding black police officer -- solely because they themselves are black. Boyz has many densely emotional moments. One of the film's greatest strengths lies in the many powerful slices of life, ranging from an entire scene to a short glance, which intertwine to viscerally convey the neighborhood's despair and the decay of human emotion and values. When Tre finds and returns a neglected child to its drug-addict mother, the pathetic woman offers to have sex with him in exchange for money to buy crack. Or when Tre's girlfriend Brandi (Nia Long) is studying in her room and she winces and breaks down into tears at the sound of automatic machine gun fire and screaming outside. Solid acting by these film newcomers combined with Singleton's up close and personal style of direction sews the poingant vignettes into a patchwork quilt which brings the "hood" to life. With police helicopters constantly zooming overhead, evoking sounds and images of Vietnam, the grim reality of Singleton's "hood" is juxtaposed with the mundane activities of ordinary people trying to live in a warlike environment. The violence in Boyz N the Hood is not taken to an adventurous extreme like in New Jack City, which also depicted the conflicting lives of inner-city youths, and the characters are not exaggerated. When they extract revenge for one amoral shooting with another, it is tragic, not heroic. These are real people trying to persist with dignity and strength while the world is collapsing around them. Boyz N the Hood slams the plight of the urban poor in the face of a shocked and disbelieving audience. But, Singleton's film cannot be ignored or dismissed -- it is reality. · Singleton's inspiration to become a filmmaker did not come from the "hood" which gave him his subject matter, but from quite a different source -- outer space. George Lucas' Star Wars, "a damn good movie" which he says he saw twelve times in the theater, so impressed young Singleton that he devoted his time in high school to writing screenplays. This led him to USC's Filmic Writing Program, in which he won top awards; and while still a student in 1990 he was signed by the prestigious Creative Artists Agency. Singleton appreciates his opportunity to make films, and is thankful that he has a medium to speak his many opinions, which provide a creative outlet -- "if you don't have one, you are at conflict with yourself." Indeed, if Boyz has a major flaw it is that so many ideas and emotions are crammed into one movie that some of them are underdeveloped and flat. From sexual politics to the role of the armed services, this film touches upon an extremely diverse range of themes. Perhaps Singleton's microcosm is too complete. · When dessert finally rolls around at the press luncheon, Singleton receives a fruit custard pastry, surrounded with delicately arranged swirls of cream and raspberry syrup. But the young man in the wire-rimmed glasses cannot bring himself to eat the exquisite creation. Instead he pushes it aside, claiming it's "so pretty, I don't wan't to eat it." Despite all his recent Hollywood accomplishments, at heart, John Singleton remains a boy from the hood.
(06/27/91 9:00am)
The Egyptian Sphinx, magnificently posing in the desert sun; the battleship USS Constitution, surging against monumental waves in an ocean tempest; a court jester, silently pouring himself a glass of liquor before his performance. None of these three diverse 19th century paintings are classics. Nor were they created by renowned masters of art, nor do they reflect brilliant innovations in art history or even a common aesthetic theme. But each of these paintings is worth a thousand words. Each follows in the tradition of narrative art -- depicting a single event which inspires viewers to imagine an entire story. "[The enhibit is] thematic, not the best or the most innovative," said Susan Danly, the show's curator. This rarely-examined theme of narrative art is featured in Telling Tales: 19th-Century Narrative Storytelling, which will be showing at the Academy museum, located at Broad and Cherry Streets in Center City through April 19. Danly, emphasizes that the exhibit portrays the popular works of art that the general public would admire during the 19th century; these are the paintings which would travel thorughout the American countryside, accessible to all, from poor farmers to the wealthy art collectors. Often reproduced in other mediums, including books and on fabric, these paintings tell the stories that American people wanted to see. Danly, who designed the show, says the exhibit, which was selected from the Academy museum's extensive collection, examines how narrative paintings reflect and shape the popular cultural views and values of those who originally viewed the art -- the American everyman. · The Academy, the oldest art museum in America, is pefectly suited for an exhibition on narrative art. Having first opened its doors in 1805, it gave special emphasis to narrative painting throughout the 19th century. The museum's original mission was to educate both art students and the general public alike, and it therefore collected narrative paintings as teaching tools. Telling Tales is geared towards educating today's students as well, Danly says. The paintings' labels provide particularly detailed information on the artist and the work's historical background -- the work's stories could fit into an American history student's curriculum. Centering around American artists and painters who spent their careers in the US, the 50-work exhibit focuses on three categories of tales which the paintings depict: traditional stories from the Bible, classical myths and European history, stories documenting American history and everyday life, and fictional stories created from the artist's imagination. These paintings served as a backdrop while the American people were building the set supporting their eventual emergence as a world power. And the cultural traits reflected in this exhibit persist in modern American society as well, according to Danly. · Some of the characteristics which the paintings reflect about American society are brutally accurate. Telling Tales shows that Americans have perpetuated myths and deceived themselves about their past for centuries. Edward Savage's work from 1800, "Penn's Treaty with the Indians", shows a group of Quaker statesmen making a civilized pact with local Indians and exchanging cloth while churches are being built in the background. The flaw with this idyllic scene, says Danly, is that William Penn never made a legal treaty with the Native Americans; the event never occurred. Danly sees the reason behind the gross historical inaccuracies of the narrative paintings as a reflection of a trait in American culture to perpetuate myths which suit the ideals of the times. In "Penn's Treaty," the American habit of romanticizing and sanitizing the cruelty of the nation's past in order to rationalize current immoral actions -- in this case the land-grabbing justification of Manifest Destiny -- is dramatically brought to life. But the purpose of the Academy's show is not meant solely to drive home America's flaws, and not all the insights into the nation's culture which Telling Tales shows are so ignoble. William Sidney Mount's 1938 narrative painting "The Painter's Triumph" portrays an artist illuminating a simple fisherman through his artwork. The painting implies an accompanying story, says Danly, which the viewer is meant to create in his mind. "The Painter's Triumph" reflects a common American cultural theme, that art appreciation can bestow sophistication and bring educational development. A few of the paintings featured are interesting solely because they create a beautiful and imaginative tale, and not for such complex sociological and cultural reasons. Thomas Buchanan Reed's 1868 work "The Flight of the Arrow" shows a glowing, sensual rendition of Aphrodite, the Greek goddess of love. The narrrative painting alludes to a classic tale of how her son Eros fires his arrows of love. But whether you gain a greater understanding of American society or simply thrive off the paintings in Telling Tales as inspiring illustrations, these works of art are certainly worth a thousand words. Maybe even more.
