Tag Archives: By Katia Mathews

False Dichotomies in Ida

Movie Review: "Ida"

Paweł Pawlikowski’s Ida (2013) features dichotomies that are not as starkly different as they seem. The film’s main characters are a contrastive aunt/niece pair. Wanda Gruz Agata Kulesza) and Anna/Ida (Agata Trzebuchowska) differ in the big things: lifestyles, religion, and personalities. In early 1960s Poland, Anna is a young novitiate, forced to visit her only remaining relative before completing her vows. The women are immediately compared when Anna arrives at Wanda’s apartment; they take long, silent seconds to size each other up. Anna enters and Wanda’s one-night stand leaves. Their introduction establishes stark differences between the two and gives the role of judge to Anna despite it being Wanda’s profession. Wanda,under Soviet rule, was a well-known communist prosecutor and sentenced Polish nationalists to death. During this visit, Anna learns her real name is Ida Lebenstein. She and her aunt come from a Jewish family. Her parents, and Wanda’s son, were hidden by a Christian family during the Nazi occupation of Poland, but a member of that same family later murdered the Lebensteins. After learning this news, Ida wants to find where they’re buried and so the two go on the road: a young, solemn, Christian nun and an older, promiscuous, alcoholic judge. 

While following leads about their family’s suspected murder, the two women drive through Poland’s empty countryside and pick up a hitchhiking musician, Lis. The movie opens in near silence at the convent, with bare rustles of everyday activity as the only sounds. When Ida goes to see Wanda, the city’s bustling crowd introduces a bit more sound, but it isn’t until Wanda shares family pictures and stories with Ida that there is diegetic background music. Music is used to contrast Wanda and Ida. Throughout the film, music is associated with Wanda and her more casual lifestyle. Music plays in her apartment, in her car, and in her final, culminating moment. Also, Lis’s role is a seducer, using music to sway Ida’s conscience: to “know her effect” and give “usual life” a try. He invites them to see his jazz show while they’re in town, and although she goes, she isn’t tempted at first. For Ida is associated with quietness, which is reflected in her behavior: what she lacks in dialogue she makes up for it in facial expressions and the subtle flick of the eye. Surprisingly, as their trip progresses, the audience gets to see that while Wanda and Ida continue to clash, they share this trait. Often, in their conversations what is said is less important than what isn’t. Their similarities arise to show the two aren’t actually all that different.  

As with sound, Pawlikowski uses cinematography to create another false dichotomy; between the women and within the country itself. The film is shot entirely in black and white, making the most of natural light to illuminate scenes and draw the eye of the viewer. This decision evokes the association of white with goodness and rightness and black with badness and wrongness. However, Ida brings a subtle complexity to this overused trope. The film sets Ida up as good, Wanda as bad, and dramatically emphasizes their differences. In many shots, the natural light falls on Ida, emphasizing her association with goodness.  

But as the film develops, Pawlikowski begins to introduce the idea of nuance and layers in characters. Their archetypical contrast implies the Madonna-Whore complex; however, labeling them as so would demonstrate a shallow understanding of the two women. Despite Wanda being categorized as ‘bad’, there is no demonizing of Wanda or her lifestyle. The director does not pass judgment on her and encourages the audience to not do so as well. Through arguments with Wanda, Ida’s assumption of what is right is challenged. Wanda forces her to rethink certain things about life and encourages her to “sin” before she takes her vows. Black and white also serve to highlight present and past social tension in Poland. Shooting in this way calls to mind the two prominent narratives about Poland during Nazi occupation: Poland as a victim, or complicit. In response to the government’s “Holocaust Law” — which criminalizes those who voice the opinion that Poles are complicit — Pawlikowski challenges the narrative of Poland as a victim. He does so by complicating a stereotypical binary by introducing nuance. His use of contrastive characters, sound association and black and white film help to introduce the binaries that he later undermines. 

These dichotomies in Ida, that are later proven to be false, complicate our binary thinking and create a thought-provoking film. It’s important to understand that after the years of the Nazi occupation and Soviet rule, it was difficult to trust fellow countrymen when it was possible they committed atrocities. This information will help set up the viewer to understand the social tension during the 1960s, as well as the subtlety in which it is portrayed. Viewers are in for a delight if they desire three-dimensional female characters. Ida and Wanda have a complicated and interesting relationship throughout the movie, and it’s only made more so in the final ten minutes. Pawlikowski asks for viewers to watch with a historical critical eye, but for his characters, he asks only for empathy.

This is How Not to Make an Argument

Letter to the Editor

To the Editor:

 In his New York Times opinion piece, This is How Scandinavia Got Great, David Brooks makes a deceptive cultural comparison between the educational systems in Scandinavia and the United States, purposefully simplifying the factors involved in order to make a polemical point.

Brooks attributes Scandinavia’s success to a holistic education that impresses upon students a balanced sense of responsibility towards the needs of the individual and of society. He compares this to America’s educational system which he claims focuses on “the transmission of specialized skill sets,” and doesn’t instill a high level of social trust in students. His assertions about “social trust” are far too simple. According to Brooks, Nordic countries enjoy a high level of social trust, but, in the United States, it has been on the decline for decades. Are we to assume that the US system of education is the only thing in today’s society that leads to low social trust? Are we to ignore the powerful influence of continued systematic oppression? 

By creating a false dichotomy, Brooks implies that either one receives a holistic education and contributes to high social trust or one receives a skill-set-focused education which results in low social trust. Implying that a different approach to education is what leads to more empathy and social consciousness is not proving it so. He dishonestly manipulates the evidence to fit his ideological needs. Doing so is not uncharacteristic of Brooks, though it is especially striking to sing praises to holistic education while feigning ignorance to our most pressing contemporary issues.

What the Fluff?

Feature Report

What the Fluff?: A Tribute to Union Square Innovation, more casually known as The Fluff Festival, is an annual celebration of Fluff in Somerville, Massachusetts. In 1917, the confectioner Archibald Query invented Fluff — the spreadable marshmallow creme — in Union Square. He developed the recipe in his kitchen before selling it door-to-door. But the festival didn’t begin until 2005 when a non-profit dedicated to economic development and historical preservation in the neighborhood created it; now it draws about 15,000 people. The organizers ask for community input in choosing the theme from year to year and Somervillens have yet to fail. They’ve thought of “Fluff Travels” where all roads lead to Fluff, and a “Fluff the 13th” centered around all things magical and slightly superstitious. The festival features newer inventors in a part of the square called Innovation Alley, alongside the invention of Mr. Query

Each year, they highlight a few local innovators, but the main action of the festival happens on and in front of the stage. The open space in the square that occasionally transforms into a farmer’s market throughout the year, hosts the stage now. There are a range of activities to entice the crowd, such as a Fluff joust and a Fluff hair do contest. While watching the joust it is impossible to stay clean. When the jousters whack their Fluff covered pool noodles, it’s with victory in mind — not the tidiness of their audience. Once, a nicely sized dollop of Fluff hit my cheek and I could feel it slowly sliding down my face. With no napkins in sight, I scooped as much Fluff off my face as I could and ate it — a surprise treat! As contestants mold the hair or beard of their partner, a chorus of hoots and cheers fills the air. In this activity, it’s only the participants who get Fluff all over themselves. Festival attendees roam the square to the sound of live music played by local bands. In between sets, other groups take the stage; The Flufferettes, a Rockette inspired group, are a crowd favorite that put on a show every year. 

Every business in the square integrates Fluff into a temporary new menu item. While peanut butter and Fluff is the typical combination, there’s a cooking contest for original recipes. There are signs featuring these creations everywhere that change every year: Want a sip of port with a dollop of Fluff on top? Have a hankering for Fluff perogies? Care for a fluffle, a chocolate peanut butter Fluff truffle? Biting into a Fluff pierogi was a contradiction of the senses. Despite knowing that the change to the traditional recipe would make the pierogi sweet, it was a surprise when my first bite didn’t leave a savory taste behind. My friends jabbered at me, insisting on each taking a bite. As the pierogi made its round, each bite left either a wrinkle of the nose or a considering look on my friends’ faces. 

The first time I went to the Fluff Festival was the third weekend of September in my sophomore year of high school. My friends and I walked around the transformed Union Square, checking out the giant stage, the Fluff-related swag stall, and other vendors. I saw people of all ages in the surrounding crowd: toddlers running around the stalls in a game of tag, while their parents chased them with outstretched arms; groups of loud, slouching teenagers touring the festival; kids lined up in assembly lines preparing and selling Fluffernutter sandwiches. Children took part in the activities with shrieks of laughter, while parents juggled plates of food and cups of beer. My friends and I were observers; yet, it was virtually impossible to explore this festival without getting sticky. Everything you could come in contact with momentarily glued your skin to its surface. There was no leaning on railings or putting your elbows on a table without a grossed out groan. From afar a flash of a fuzzy pink sweater caught my eye. I turned just in time to see a toddler climb onto a picnic table and rub her sweater all over the Fluff covered table. Even from my distance, I could see that the table had a visible layer of Fluff: appearing sleekly  white rather than wooden. The toddler’s gurgles of laughter called the attention of her mom, who stood there frozen, staring agape at her daughter. When she approached, her daughter attempted to give her a hug, but she kept the child at bay with a palm to the forehead. The toddler looked pleased with her newly pink and white dotted sweater, while the mother seemed to be going through an accelerated version of the seven stages of grief. 

During the festival I took part in unusual, but exciting activities with my fellow Somervillens. It’s a time to let loose, and do things that you don’t normally do. When else will you have a chance to be covered in Fluff from head-to-toe?

Baking for Patricia

Blog Post

One of my favorite things to do with Patricia in Chile was cook. My host mom and I interacted primarily in the kitchen, from our first introduction to our final goodbyes. Our relationship developed around meals: in the mornings, while we both struggled to wake up, we sluggishly moved around the kitchen making toast with pan batido – a traditional Chilean bread, easily tearable and made for two – coffee, and scrambled eggs. When one was slow to wake up that day, she made breakfast for the other. From the beginning of my stay, Patricia often showed her care for me through food and worrying about my vegetarian eating habits. She was especially concerned about how much protein I ate and told me that if I ate seven almonds a day I would be okay. Where she got that statistic I have no idea, but every day for nearly four months I ate seven almonds under her watchful eye. 

Our schedules didn’t allow for daily cooking too often, so what we cooked Sunday lasted us the whole week. As we cooked, we taught each other our native languages. The act of cooking in the kitchen with her was relaxing, even if we were making something as simple as toast. It was in the kitchen that we talked about our days and I received tips from Patricia: wash onions as you cut them to reduce the flow of tears, rinse pasta immediately after draining it to keep the noodles from clinging to each other, and always add extra garlic. She didn’t just leave me with cooking tips, but to prepare for a family gathering in the countryside, Patricia taught me how to make pisco sour – a typical Chilean and Peruvian cocktail. Her family is on the larger side, so we made three jugs of various pisco sours. We made a traditional mix, then added ginger to one jug, and made one with less sugar. We stayed up late the night before the gathering laughing and taste testing in the kitchen. When we reached Olmué the next day I learned that her family members were ambivalent about the pisco sour. It was actually Patricia’s favorite drink. 

A bout of homesickness had me reaching for my mom’s banana bread recipe about halfway through my stay. While Patricia enjoyed the surprise treat, she was confused and asked why I was baking. For her, and many others in Chile, baking at home is not a casual activity – especially for college students. People my age were expected to spend more time outside of the house, partying or doing things with friends. She described a small fruit cake to me that she only bakes for special occasions, like for family gatherings during las fiestas patrias, a week of festivities and partying to celebrate Chilean independence. When I spoke to my friends in the program they expressed agreement that their host families also saved baking for special occasions; however, I continued to bake and noticed that Patricia became more used to it. She even gifted me with a bundt pan to use while I was there. She gave me the bundt pan a day after I had returned from a friend’s with homemade banana bread, and I took it as a message that she wished I would make more. 

The first few times I baked, Patricia asked, “do you miss home?” Usually, I admitted that yes, I miss home and we would talk about how I was adjusting to Chile and my feelings of homesickness. I had photos of loved ones tacked to the wall in my bedroom there, and I talked Patricia through who everyone was. In return she showed me her photos of those important to her. Eventually, I was mostly baking for the fun of it, without the heavy feeling of missing home. Eventually, I was baking for Patricia: to witness her happy surprise when she came home to the smell of fresh banana bread and for the obvious enjoyment on her face when eating it. While baking, I often listened to a playlist my mom made and every time without fail, Patricia would always tell me that she loved it. When my mom and Patricia finally talked, she took great joy in chatting about music and letting my mom know of her approval firsthand. Their conversation went on for a long time, with Patricia referencing stories I had mentioned while chatting over pieces of banana bread. It was as if they had talked a million times before.