I sat down with Aimee Le ’12, nude model extraordinaire, to discuss the politics of nakedness, the difficulty of holding poses and the possibility of starting a naked crusade on campus.

Did you have any prior experience nude modeling before you came to Dartmouth?
Yeah, I actually modeled in my high school. We couldn’t get completely nude because it was a high school so that was not allowed—you’d wear a form-fitting garment. So I was pretty familiar with it, plus I had worked with models before—I went to this summer program at the Rhode Island School of Design because I was originally thinking about going to art school. I’ve always been really fascinated by models. I found the job on JobNet actually because I’m on financial aid so I was trying to find a work-study job. I sent a bunch of emails and at first everybody was like, “Nah, we’re full”, so I kept sending emails and then finally there was an opening. I’ve done this since freshman fall actually.

Were you initially nervous about modeling?
I was nervous about it the first time partially just because I wasn’t sure what the models thought, because they’re standing there for like two hours. So I had no idea. What do you think about? What do you do? Where do you look? How do you figure out what the next pose is? It seemed like the models I had worked with previously would keep the time in their heads. So I actually had to start figuring that stuff out for myself. That was the hardest part, trying to figure that out. Plus obviously questions like, “Am I going to get cold?” [and] stuff like that.

Is it difficult to hold poses?
It’s really, really hard. It’s hard to know whether you’re going to be able to hold something immediately—you’re not going to know after the first few seconds, and you’re not going to know after the first five minutes, you’re pretty much going to start to know five minutes before you’re supposed to [come out of the pose], and then you’re just going to be like, “[O]h no, I really want to break out of this pose.” Sadly, I like to count or sing a song in my head. Sometimes if I’m really having trouble holding a pose I’ll let my eyes move as a substitute for letting my body move, because usually I’ll fix my eyes in one spot so I don’t move my head. I’ll try to move as little as I can, but I’ll try to move things that aren’t a big issue for the pose, so, I’ll compromise. Sometimes it’s really, really painful and I have to break the pose. One time I actually stepped off a platform because I was getting really dizzy. And that can be a really vulnerable moment. [Nudity] is not a problem when you’re doing your job but suddenly if you fall over—which I did once, I fell off a platform—it’s like, you’re naked, and now people don’t necessarily feel as comfortably helping you. They can’t come over and be like, “Hey, you’re dizzy, can I bring you some water, can I lift you up?” because they don’t feel comfortable touching you.

How does the art department at Dartmouth differ from the Rhode Island School of Design in terms of nude models?
I think in terms some of the practices I’ve seen within the department, I guess it is kind of—I wouldn’t say puritanical—but more conservative. In Rhode Island, we would work with multiple models but I think that’s a price issue.

Do you think Dartmouth kids have a more conservative attitude towards nakedness?
In terms of nudity on campus, I think the attitude among the student body is that nakedness is a joke. There are people flashing and streaking, and I feel like [nakedness] used as a joke underscores the fact that it’s taboo. Because I do lingerie at Tabard and stuff, I feel like the consensus around campus isn’t “Don’t be naked” but “Only be naked if you have the perfect body”. And that’s not what people impose on each other—I feel it’s what people are imposing on themselves. I’ve heard so many people be like, “Will the modeling department take me, I don’t know if I’m that attractive?” But actually, the art department wants people whose bodies are interesting to draw, and so that means sometimes having people that have a ton of wrinkles or a lot of body hair, or something that wouldn’t be considered conventionally attractive. You can sit anyone down and say, “Draw the ideal of beauty” and people don’t need a visual reference anymore, they can just actually draw it. But when you sit them down and say, “draw a ninety-year-old woman naked who’s given birth four times”, they have no idea. That’s part of the reason why I think the art department strives for a range of bodies in terms of every demographic: young, old, fat, skinny, etc. That’s what you’re trying to break the students out of— that ideal. But I feel like people on this campus think, “If I don’t look a certain way, maybe I shouldn’t take my clothes off.”

Do you think this attitude toward nudity is unique to Dartmouth or rather something widespread across our generation?
I think it’s a larger issue as a whole, but I mean, I feel like at Dartmouth there’s more pressure because you’re among people your own age. Sometimes people skimp on expressing themselves in high school because they feel when they get to college they will become the people they’ve always wanted to be. But people are so concerned with status. It becomes this big thing that fucks them up.

Do you have any advice to someone who has never modeled before but is interested?
I would say don’t do it because you’re interested in being naked in front of other people, because there are so many opportunities to be naked with other people that don’t require a having a job. If you want to express yourself and show off your body, do it immediately. Don’t wait for someone to hire you in the art department. Part of the issue is that there is this taboo against nudity—people are trying to find a way to sanction it. “I just want to get naked” is not an acceptable reason.

As a model, I’m just as comfortable working in clothes—a lot of the poses I take aren’t “Tyra-Banks-smiling-with-your-eyes” poses. I’ll be down on all fours or something because the point is to show people something that they don’t see, something that they don’t have access to. Also, being persistent is the biggest thing because I was really persistent, but if you want to be a model because you want to start learning your own body, you could set it up yourself. Be in lingerie. I guess you probably can’t be naked all the time because there’s public nudity shit, but there’s always people running around basements naked. Be that person [and] join them. Have a big naked crusade.

Despite his many accolades, Ravi Shankar is a humble man. Dressed in simple white garments, he bowed in respect to the crowd. For someone who has performed and composed with the likes of George Harrison of the Beatles, Andre Previn, Yehudi Menuhin and Phillip Glass in major musical capitals like New York, London, Woodstock and Vienna, his smile radiated not pride, or distance but an aura of quiet confidence and warmth.

When I sat down to listen to him in the Spaulding Auditorium at the Hopkins Center of the Arts on October 20th, I honestly did not know what to expect. I’ve experienced only isolated performances of Indian music. In high school, a Bengali friend was very involved in traditional Indian dance. My experiences with Indian music were limited to the modern hip hop, dancehall and techno infused variations found on albums like DJ Rekha’s Basement Bhangra. But unlike DJ Rekha, Shankar opened my eyes to the roots of Indian music.

Shankar’s musical contribution to the world has been met with honor and appreciation. In his homeland India, he has won three of the nation’s civilian awards including the most imminent prize, the Bharat Ratna or “Jewel of India” in 1999. Shankar was awarded the Commandeur de la Legion d’Honneur, the highest civilian award of France in 2000 and the Honorary Knight Commander of the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire in 2001. Additionally, he is the recipient of three Grammy Awards, and the International Music Council UNESCO award in 1975.

Onstage, Shankar was accompanied by Ravichandra Kulur on a tradition Indian flute, Tanmoy Bose on the tabla, a pair of hand drums, and Pirashanna Thevarajah on the mridangam, a large double-sided drum. Each of Shankar’s two young protegés played the tanpura, a North Indian lute that resembles a sitar. Shankar’s daughter, Anoushka, could not accompany him that night due to illness. It was, as he said, the first time in fifteen years that she would not be performing with him, yet Shankar was kind enough to still grace us with his performance.

Before Shankar came on, Kular and Bose wetted the crowd’s appetite with a dramatic South Indian hymn to the Hindu god Ganesh. As the tanpuras murmured wistfully in the background, Kular’s flute soared above us all, like bird surveying a grassy plain. Bose’s tabla galloped alongside us like a sure-footed gazelle. Basking in the sunlight of their music, we were carried between heaven and earth. Our hearts were in tune with the joyful ragas of the flute and the drums.
At the heart of classical Indian music is the raga, “a precise, aesthetic, melodic form” says Shankar in On the Appreciation of Indian Classical Music. Although Indian music is characterized as modal, the raga must not be confused as the scale, melody, composition or key found in Western music. A raga can be best characterized as the soul of a piece of music. A saying in Sanskrit translates as “That which colors the mind is a raga.” The raga colors the music, effecting notes and embellishments while setting the emotional tone of a piece. While music students in the West learn through the notation method, in India gurus pass their knowledge of the ragas to their disciples within the oral tradition of classical Indian music. Shankar himself trained under the renowned guru Allauddin Khan.
There are ragas for the nine rasas or sentiments, ragas for particular times of day, ragas for each of the seasons and ragas for every cycle of life. Each raga has a vadi , or principle note, a samavadi or secondary note, and a jan (life) or mukhda (face) which are the cluster of notes that truly define the raga. All these notes make up the characteristic note patterns of a raga. Over 6,000 ragas arise from the permutations and combinations of 72 parent scales.

Shankar breathed life into his ragas. Once on stage, he began the traditional recital with calm and slow exploration of the chosen raga. The immense sweeping song of his sitar ran like a river running through a dusty land. From this introspective beginning, Shankar moved on to the jor, in which different rhythms were used to elaborate and embellish the raga’s basic theme. He then reached the gat, 4 to 16 bars of rhythmic structure and fixed composition within the raga. Here Bose and Thevarajah entered on the drums. Bose also lent his vocal expertise to the piece. The gat culminated in the jhala, a partly improvised part of the raga. The piece reached its climax in the sawal jabab, where there was a beautiful, exhilarating and rapid interplay between sitar and tabla, concluding in a sensual, romantic thumri.

As I listened to Shankar’s sitar that night, the raga, the soul of the music synced with my individual consciousness, my own raga, and elevated my soul to a higher realm of awareness. The soul is a frequency of pure energy vibrating in the shell of our bodies. This frequency can harmonize with that of the universe, thereby enhancing our entire being. “Our ragas are the vehicles by which this essence can be perceived.” explains Shankar. The soul is a wave among waves. Like the sound waves of music or the electromagnetic waves of color, such waves are packed with energy that can be amplified, harmonized and synchronized. When all these waves resonate, when soul and universe harmonize, the subsequent release of energy is not only powerful, but also purifying. It is through this revelation do we realize of the true essence of our existence.

At the end of the performance, the entire auditorium jumped to its feet and applauded long enough for the musicians to bow three times. Shankar is indeed perfected through his music. It does not take a guru to appreciate his musical mastery.

Has Michael Moore lost his touch? Or does his new Capitalism documentary deserve more awards than Taylor Swift’s Love Story? Moore’s latest is much more like Beyoncé—good, but not good enough to win (over hearts and minds of diehard capitalists, that is).

Would staunch believers in the wonders of capitalism even go to see this Michael Moore flick? And if they did, would they be swayed at all? As a socialist, I loved Capitalism: A Love Story; I already think capitalism is evil. There are a few parts, however, I believe would resonate with any viewer.

As in all his other documentaries, Moore showcases the human side of this seemingly academic subject. Staying away from too much financial mumbo-jumbo, he follows the stories of several families evicted from their houses — homes they built themselves and grew up in. If you have no sympathy for people evicted from their homes, the story of children unjustly sent to juvy will probably wrench your heart a little more.

Both of these human-interest stories were meant to demonstrate the ill effects of greed, which Moore argues is fostered by capitalism. The greed of today’s capitalism is antithetical to Christian teachings, which most patriots and capitalists claim to follow. As several priests point out in the film, Jesus was a champion of the poor. If hearing from the clergy wasn’t enough, Jesus is then satirically portrayed as an advocate for greed, free market economics, and more tax cuts.
Other than these high points and a few other memorable moments, Capitalism: A Love Story follows the typical Moore format, but less successfully than his previous films. Moore tries once again to talk to the CEO of General Motors. He and his crew didn’t even make it up the steps to the entrance. The security guards on Wall Street also knew well enough to keep him far from the elevators and AIG execs. Perhaps that is what was missing from this movie— no interactions with CEOs as in Roger and Me, no interviews with Charlton Heston like in Bowling for Columbine.

Generally, Moore’s documentaries work because they deal with issues people are riled up about: school shootings, the War in Iraq, or healthcare. The real question to ask in predicting the movie’s success is: are people angry about capitalism? Sure, there has been a recent backlash with protests against AIG bonuses and the bailouts. But, is that anger directed toward capitalism? The answer most likely is no, which is why Michael Moore’s newest documentary probably won’t hold well against conservatives. Still, it is worth seeing, even if it doesn’t quite hold up to Moore’s other fabulous flicks.

Godot = God?

Waiting for Godot premiered at the Hop on October 1st, treating those who attended to a masterpiece. The play, performed by the Classical Theater of Harlem, analyzes human existence and questions man’s true purpose on Earth. The underlying message of the play quickly became apparent to the audience: everyone is waiting for something.

Throughout the play, the two main characters, Vladimir and Estragon, idly wait next to a dead tree in the midst of a poverty-stricken area searching for hope. The audience quickly learns that they are waiting for God, a figure most people can only dream of meeting. This desolate scene sets the mood of the entire play.

Through a clever theatrical flourish, Vladimir and Estragon’s imminent encounter with God is made clear when Estragon slowly writes “Godot,” immediately after writing God.

If that gesture didn’t make the identity of their missing visitor obvious enough, a bright, illuminating light during the evening directly alludes to the heavens. As Vladimir shines underneath the light, the thought of the afterlife elates him. However, a subtler undercurrent that runs through the play is the grim possibility that Godot could also be Death, as the characters contemplate suicide several times because of restlessness.

Despite Vladimir and Estragon’s negative thoughts, they are nonetheless exhilarated by the thought of meeting Godot, until a suspicious character, Pozzo, appears instead. Dressed in white, Pozzo at first gives off an almost angelic aura. Minutes, maybe even seconds later, we see that he is not as heavenly as he appears to be. Pozzo owns a black slave named Lucky and forces him to commit degrading acts like wearing a rope around his neck.

The symbolic nature and afterlife images of “Godot” help add more meaning to the play, but several humorous wisecracks make the play more enjoyable. Right smack in the middle of the play, Vladimir performs an impression of Michael Jackson to catch the attention of those audience members who had lost focus.

Although much of the play consists of simply waiting, the play remained interesting. Nevertheless, it is understandable how Waiting for Godot may be confusing to some. The plot is somewhat difficult to follow, and the subtle acting can be a turn-off at times. However, as Dartmouth students, the play asks to be broken down and analyzed to reveal a deeper, more meaningful message underneath. Whether it be holding on to one’s faith, searching for meaning in life, or any other way you may have interpreted this very open-ended play.

Our minor criticisms are clearly outweighed by our overall praise of the play. Waiting For Godot is a well-crafted view into the disappointment and restlessness that permeates one’s search for God or meaning in the world.

Senator Kennedy’s Lasting Legacy

Although the late Senator Edward M. Kennedy wrote True Compass in the last stage of his life, it is far from mournful. Instead, it is a heartfelt memoir about hope, courage, and perseverance in the face of personal tragedy and insurmountable odds. He may have been the youngest, most rambunctious and scandal-riddled politician of the brothers, but he ended in the pillar of the Kennedy family.

The most poignant parts of the book are his childhood recollections, his bond with his siblings, and his deep and loving respect for his parents. The influence Ted Kennedy’s father and brothers had on him is remarkably evident in the novel.

As a child his father told him, “You can have a serious life or a non-serious life, Teddy. I’ll still love you whichever choice you make. But if you decide to have a non-serious life, I won’t have much time for you. You make up your own mind. There are too many children here who are doing things that are interesting for me to do much with you.”

These words consequently spurred him to go into politics and run for office. His relationship with his brothers was also integral to his life choices. He recalls being in a “constant state of catching up” with his older brothers. And catch up, he did: he was a nine-time Senator of Massachusetts and a one-time presidential nominee.

In his memoir, Kennedy portrays himself as a clearly committed Senator with great political insight. Unlike his brothers who were viewed as incredible politicians, Ted Kennedy was underestimated.

His political savvy eventually exposed itself in Kennedy’s diligent commitment to improving America as a Senator. He brought people of all backgrounds together, served in many Senatorial Committees, and championed innumerable causes and bills.

Kennedy’s memoir is by no means a masterpiece. Some chapters just read off like a list of facts and seem detached. He shows sincere remorse but provides little new or insightful information about major incidents in his life like the car accident in Chappaquiddick that killed Mary Jo Kopechne.

If you were looking for a juicy tell-all, True Compass is not your answer. However, it is an incredible autobiography that details the political and personal life of a central figure from one of America’s most beloved families. True Compass brings this larger than life figure down to earth and reveals his true essence, ideology and convictions.

Inglourious Basterds

It's a crazy carnival of a film. Picture by Candais Crivello.

“Once upon a time…in Nazi-occupied France,” there was a group of Jewish-American soldiers so outrageously badass that they couldn’t be bothered to spell “bastards” correctly… or “inglorious” for that matter. Led by Lt. Aldo Raine (Brad Pitt), the Inglourious Basterds meander about the French countryside, ambushing Germans, scalping Nazis and carving swastikas into foreheads as they go. Being called something as awesome as the Basterds, the individual members of the group have some pretty sweet nicknames—Aldo the Apache (Brad Pitt as Lt. Aldo Raine), Hugo Stiglitz (Til Schweiger), and the Bear Jew (Eli Roth as Staff Sergeant Donny Donowitz).
Directed by Quentin Tarantino, Inglourious Basterds is a mix of history and fantasy, centered around themes of revenge and betrayal. Set during the Second World War, the movie follows not only the feats of the Basterds, but also the life of Shosanna Dreyfus (Mélanie Laurent) as she plots revenge against the Nazis who killed her family. Parts of the movie range from historically plausible to the ridiculously fantastic—but, then again, if you wanted to watch a historically accurate film you should have stayed at home with the History Channel where you belong. Besides, it’s much more entertaining to think that World War Two ended in one tremendous explosion than with Hitler’s lame suicide in some crappy underground bunker.

The film is classic Tarantino, gleaming with enough violence and sardonic humor to keep you flinching and laughing throughout the entire two and a half hours. The sardonic humor incessantly present in the film allows the viewer to enjoy the fairly morbid plot, which is plagued with grotesque elements of murder and revenge.

The introduction of Hugo Stiglitz is a prime example of this unique blend of violence and hilarity. In the middle of a scene, the frame suddenly freezes on Stiglitz; his name appears in absurdly large letters while an almost comical guitar rift wails in the background. As the film begins to depict his exploits as a German soldier, the narrator begins to tell us all about the thirteen Gestapo officers Stiglitz killed. The disparity between this scene and the rest of the movie had the audience doubled over in laughter, even as the screen depicted Stiglitz stabbing officers through pillows and even shoving his whole fist down another’s throat. Eventually, Stiglitz gets caught and goes to jail. When the Basterds ask him if he “wants to go pro” at killing Nazis, Stiglitz nonchalantly smokes and reads a paper despite guards being gunned down around him. The scene generated more than a few laughs from the audience, despite the absurd amount of violence that occurred.

The casting for the movie was superb: each and every character fit perfectly into the role they played. Using a mixture of German, French, and some prominent American actors and actresses, Tarantino adds plausibility to the film. Some actors, however, did fit into their roles better than others. At some points in the film, Brad Pitt’s atrocious Southern accent would begin to get on your nerves, although this may have been intentional on Tarantino’s part to emphasize his “Yank” status. French actress Mélanie Laurent and German actress Diane Kruger (as Bridget von Hammersmark) played their parts accurately and convincingly; both actresses did extremely well during their prospective death scenes. To top it all off, Colonel Landa (Christoph Waltz), Hitler (Martin Wuttke), and Goebbels (Sylvster Groth) were all played by excellent actors who added authenticity and hilarity to the film.

We first see Col. Hans Landa in the French countryside, where he interrogates and searches the home of a dairy farmer. Making himself as comfortable as he would be in an old friend’s home, he pulls an absurdly large and decorated pipe from his coat sleeve in an almost cartoon-ish fashion. He likes to pull surprises on his company—much like a hawk striking unexpectedly at its rodent prey. Col. Landa is almost maniacally pleasant—you know he is sickeningly evil as he plots to seek out every guilty man’s secrets, but he cleverly makes himself seem like an ally to everyone he talks to, speaking in an exaggerated, overly friendly tone. Yet if you further analyze him, his undertones reveal a completely different meaning behind his goofy grin and cordial formalities. He is hunting and will go to any length to catch his “rats.”

Hitler is shown as angry and belligerent, bellowing useless orders that serve only to uphold the image of himself and his armies. His face is red as a tomato and his black, greasy locks are askew as he demands the complete subordination of all those he has power over. Most comically, he has an enormous, mural-sized portrait painted of himself as a grandiose Führer in a fur cape, mocking his psychotic, overwhelming self-obsession.

Finally, Goebbels, a “doctor” and right-hand man to Hitler, is an absurdly infantile and, of course, selfish man. He, like Hitler, is smug and bold in his self-gratifying manner, clearly more interested in himself and in his social standing than in the well-being of his countrymen.

The most evil characters of this movie were consistently depicted with some of the most comical personality traits, emphasizing their psychotic and unreliable mental states. The satisfaction of seeing such sickeningly incapable holders of power be taken down in the goriest, most Hollywood, most Tarantino-esque fashion is what really makes this movie a must-see.