Musicians now play the role that jesters once played in Shakespearean plays  

By VIOLET ZANZOT— vmzanzot@ucdavis.edu

I am proud to announce that I was the kid in high school who didn’t mind, and honestly kind of loved, reading plays. I’ve decided that owning this truth is half the battle of rebranding the enjoyment of English class. The other half lies within the literature’s significance.

There are some plays out there that loom large in their historical, social and political significance. If you’re one of those people who really hated “Romeo and Juliet” and just wanted to throw things at the 14-year-old girl who seemed far too eager to read the part of Lady Capulet, then I deeply implore you to try a different play, or perhaps, a different character. 

When it comes to Shakespearean plays, my personal favorite role is that of the jester, the fool or the madman. “The fool,” as he is named in “King Lear,” is one of the most significant figures in life. “The fool” was probably far more important than we could have understood while waiting for the lunch bell to ring — who else in history has ever dared to tell the king “thou shouldst not have been old till thou hast been wise?”

The role of the fool is to challenge the characters around him. He is the truth-teller in a world of untruths and misperceptions. It is the way the character speaks that allows him to deliver this truth to figures in power. 

This is true both on and off the stage — much of Shakespeare’s work was meant to depict the nature of everyday life. He built the character of the funny, forgotten, slightly deranged, almost useless “fool” to come in and say the perfect thing in the perfect way so it could be heard. No one else could have said what the madman, the jester or the fool would say, even if it desperately needed to be said. 

I’m sure you’re on the edge of your seat, wondering who could fill that position today. After all, we still live in a world of untruths and misperceptions. Look around, there are more than a few power struggles that need to be questioned and life truths that we could all stand to hear — whether or not we are comfortable with that confrontation or not.

When there is no “king” to speak to and no play that has center seats, who is the voice of humanity, the arbiter of truth? Well, as Black people were lynched in the South, Billie Holiday told the people and the powerheads (please note the distinction), “Southern trees bear a strange fruit.” As violence ran rampant through the United States, manifesting as war, terrorism and racism, the Black Eyed Peas asked our country and its leadership: “People killin’ people dyin’ children hurtin,’ I hear them cryin’ can you practice what you preach?” And, when that violence still did not dissipate, Kendrick Lamar called out once again: “You hate me, don’t you? You hate my people, your plan is to terminate my culture.” 

I asked the Internet for a better word for “truth-teller”; I wanted something with a punch, so you can really get the point I’m trying to make. Musicians are able to be honest. “Honest” is the word that Google came up with. “Honest” are the lyrics musicians provide. Much like the fools, they wrap the truth in intricate webs of poetry. They are able to speak the truth to the powerful, because they sing it so sweetly.  

Written by: Violet Zanzot— vmzanzot@ucdavis.edu

Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed by individual columnists belong to the columnists alone and do not necessarily indicate the views and opinions held by The California Aggie.

Bootcut jeans are a bold choice, eh?

By NEVAEH KARRAKER— nakarraker@ucdavis.edu

The ignition of a revolution is near: There’s a demand for justice and a cry for change, and Kendrick Lamar holds the power of unity within his grasp. His artistry is more than just songs — it’s a reflection of the complexities of identity and politics.

Each lyric, song and album is layered with rich symbolism and purpose. Kendrick’s album “To Pimp a Butterfly” acts as a testament to this, standing as a documentation of a rite of passage: an exploration of self discovery, internal conflict and discrimination.

This renowned album, along with the rest of his work, represents a paradox: Despite being criticized and undermined by the industry, Kendrick remains unfaltering in his beliefs and heritage. He aims to reinforce pride in African American culture for what it truly is and to demonstrate that it is not a trend to be exploited for popularity. It’s this quality that allows him to rise above the status quo and perfect his craft.

Through the use of unconventional techniques, he produces both captivating and thought-provoking music. After all, not many people can get a full stadium to chant an insult toward another celebrity. That’s Kendrick’s masterful ability; He doesn’t just make music to listen to, he challenges the norm, stirs the crowd and, somehow, also pleases the ear.

This distinctive trait extends beyond serving to challenge the music industry. He directly calls out institutions, artists and the system at large in an unmistakable manner. Kendrick highly values authenticity; He avoids plagiarism yet is also unafraid to express controversial themes.

His recent Super Bowl performance, for example, represented far more than a mere routine stage appearance. It was a calculated opportunity to send a powerful message to millions of viewers — to force listeners to confront the imminent, unacknowledged conflicts in America.

In this way, Kendrick uses his platform for advocacy and awareness. In particular, he highlights how our social system generates rampant political division. He also calls out how it unfairly exalts the rich, pushing the nation into a further state of poverty and unemployment.

The setup of a PlayStation controller and a split American flag is an example of this unfiltered, transparent statement. By collaborating with other Black artists like SZA, DJ Mustard and the Turffienz Dance Crew, Kendrick paves the road to amplify the voices of those desiring change.

Moreover, in dissing his “opps” on live television, Kendrick wasn’t just throwing punches, he was conquering the very forces that sought to censor him. Samuel L. Jackson’s eerie portrayal as Uncle Sam exposes this censorship and opposition to spirited outbursts, emphasizing how people often refuse to pay attention to opposing opinions. The look of triumph Kendrick wore during the performance expressed satisfaction in defeating rivals as well as the system itself — and, even more significantly, by profiting off of it.

After all, Kendrick is the epitome of transforming struggle into success. From growing up in Compton, a city overrun with crime, to becoming one of the most influential rap artists of our modern world, Kendrick projects something greater than music — dedication and perseverance.

Clearly, every decision Kendrick makes carries immense significance, even in the smallest details. His fashion choice for the Super Bowl, like his bootcut jeans, is a blunt reference to the counterculture movement of the 1960s. This, along with his “a” chain — whether to offend artists or represent his multimedia company “pgLang” — is subtle. These seemingly random choices play an effective role in a larger narrative.

When it comes down to it, Kendrick rejects partisan labels, taking an uncommon stance to convey a deeper truth: The problem is not the right side or the left side but in the very system that implements that divide — the illusion that choice gives us control. In reality, change will remain impossible unless the American people unite, regardless of race or, most importantly, political beliefs.

Maybe the people who dislike his music happen to be the ones who need to hear his message the most. After all, Kendrick pushes the boundaries for all, regardless of whether one understands or is willing to listen.

So tell me, is this really a game? Or are we all players in a system that Kendrick’s art is trying to caution and help us break free from?

Written by: Nevaeh Karraker—nakarraker@ucdavis.edu

Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed by individual columnists belong to the columnists alone and do not necessarily indicate the views and opinions held by The California Aggie.

Why do advertisements feel so surreal? 

By CALEB SILVER —chsilver@ucdavis.edu 

Ryan Reynolds, actor and billionaire, has appeared on my screen a lot lately — and it isn’t because I’ve been watching any of the films he takes part in. Reynolds owns a large chunk of Aviation American Gin, which runs ads featuring him mixing drinks using, in part, Aviation Gin, behind a minimally decorated, nicely lit bar counter. He also owns a quarter of Mint Mobile, a network service provider, which runs advertisements showing him walking into frame — most of the time in front of a television or into some sort of liminal space — and delivering a self-deprecating or hyper-self-aware quip. 

Reynolds’ movies in recent years have included “Ghosted” (2023), “Spirited” (2022), “Red Notice” (2021), “The Hitman’s Bodyguard” (2017), “The Hitman’s Wife’s Bodyguard” (2021), “6 Underground” (2019) and many others that sound and look just like these. Most of these movies are some sort of action-comedy, in which Reynolds is the one-dimensional protagonist whose only flaw seems to be his self-deprecating wit — which doesn’t seem to get in the way of him winning (within the film’s context) by the end.

Reynolds (the actor) does not differ at all from the Reynolds we see in ads or on social media. In fact, in a good amount of these movies, Reynolds will pour himself (or his character) a glass of Aviation Gin. These projects are blank slates for Reynolds to extend the “Ryan Reynolds” brand; They are not in service of trying to be an interesting movie (in fact, they are hardly in service of entertainment). 

His self-deprecation and dry humor give this billionaire a strange relatability to a lot of people. He continues to posture as a guy who just can’t seem to figure things out, all the while growing his businesses he bought into — with his trademark brand and face — and then selling them like he did when he sold Aviation Gin for $610 million and netted $122 million from his stake.

This isn’t so much a major American problem as it is something that bothers me intensely. But it is representative of the new style of hyper-self-aware advertising, in hopes to beat the viewer or consumer to the realization that the only purpose of this production is to sell you some product or process. Reynolds is not an actor or a celebrity or an individual who cares seemingly at all about attempting to increase in ability and range in acting or writing. He is a walking advertisement that’s deceiving you with his affinity for money.

Every advertisement now feels like a strange fever dream. The “technical” term for it is enshittification (a general decay in online products or platforms on the side of the consumer), wherein these celebrities and companies realize they have to try less and less to appease the consumer and really only need to appease shareholders and maximize net profits: this means spending as little money and creative energy as possible for an ad that profits. For Reynolds — since his movies are extensions of his brand — his celebrity image is a product of this yearn for money, resulting ultimately in enshittification. 

Written by: Caleb Silver — chsilver@ucdavis.edu

Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed by individual columnists belong to the columnists alone and do not necessarily indicate the views and opinions held by The California Aggie.