Our [art]seen writers cohort is comprised of University of Michigan students who review arts events on and near their campuses, sharing their thoughts and experiences on live music, film screenings, dance performances, theatre productions and art exhibitions. Take a look back at some of our most memorable reviews of arts events this past year by clicking on the Year in Review(s) 2023 tag. See what our bloggers went to and read what they thought!
Editorial note: [art]seen is designed to provide a space for student writers to express their opinions about events they’ve attended, with editorial independence. This forum is administered by the university’s Arts Initiative to foster a robust public conversation by students about the arts on and near campus. As such, the reviews published here do not and cannot reflect the thoughts and opinions of the Arts Initiative or the University of Michigan.
Last Wednesday, I went to The Ark as a fan of the opener and left with a newfound appreciation for live music. Singer-songwriter and multi-instrumentalist John Splithoff brought his signature charisma and soaring vocals, filling the venue with energy and soul.
Splithoff, who first rose to fame in 2016 with his hit “Sing to You,” released his newest album, Far From Here, this March. A reflection on the chaos of a busy, ever-changing life, the album drew many first-time concert goers to The Ark, something Ark staff confirmed with a quick show of hands.
What drew me, though, was opener Evann McIntosh. After going viral in 2019 with the dreamy track “What Dreams Are Made Of,” the now-21-year-old has only sporadically released new music. At the Ark, they and their guitarist performed mostly unreleased material. Personally, I am now looking for it to be officially released; there were several songs I would love to add to my playlist. Despite a few awkward pauses between songs, McIntosh’s buttery-smooth vocals kept the audience engaged. A clear standout was “Blue Movie Magic,” their newest single, released just a week prior.
McIntosh’s chill, groovy R&B set made for a smooth transition before Splithoff and his three-piece band kicked things into high gear. He burst on stage to roaring applause, dancing his way to the mic. Though not his first time at the Ark, it was his first performance there since releasing “Far From Here,” and he was back with a vengeance.
There are moments when you’re reminded that some artists simply love music — and Splithoff embodied that joy. You could tell that he was having the time of his life up on stage, flexing his musical chops and showing off his talent. Between impressive vocal riffs and leading crowd call-and-responses, he effortlessly switched between guitars and keyboard, never missing a beat or a note.
But Splithoff made sure that his band also had their time to shine, with solos from the drums and keyboard alongside backing vocals from the bassist.
His set mixed fan favorites with new tracks, including a beautiful moment during “Kyoto Snow” when he asked the crowd to light up the room with their phone flashlights. The performance revealed his stylistic range, flowing from soulful ballads to upbeat, synthy pop. He even worked in a few Ann Arbor-specific ad libs, nodding to the city, the popcorn in the crowd, and Midwestern family values.
One of the most charming moments came during a story he shared while seated at the keyboard. Earlier that day, he ran into two fans in line at Frita Batidos, an Ann Arbor staple, who had driven from Canada just to see him. They asked him to play “Steady,” and he did. After closing with his biggest hit, “Sing to You,” he returned for a heartfelt encore and played another fan request, “Paris.”
Splithoff lit up The Ark, making the small venue feel expansive and electric. His return to Ann Arbor marked both a milestone in his career and a true celebration of live music.John Splithoff is touring with Evann McIntosh through May.
Content Notice: This review contains brief discussion of a historical anti-Asian American hate crime as it relates to this exhibition.
Strange You Never Knew at the University of Michigan Museum of Art is the first solo exhibition by Chinese American photographer Jarod Lew. In it, he explores the complex realities of the Asian American diaspora in the Midwest, from his personal and family history to larger questions of cultural identity.
The show includes four distinct but intertwined bodies of work. “Please Take Off Your Shoes” and “In Between You And Your Shadow” are collections of Lew’s photography, while “Mimicry” and “The New Challengers Strike Back” incorporate mixed media and appropriation.
In “Please Take Off Your Shoes,” Lew photographs Asian Americans (from family members to strangers he reached out to on social media) in their homes. Lew’s framing and staging draws attention to the relationship between his subjects and the objects that surround them in their homes. During his artist talk for the exhibition’s opening, Lew described how during his photoshoots for this collection, he and his subjects would go from feeling like the “most Asian thing in the room” in one space, to the “least Asian thing in the room” in another. Some of the participants in his project sit in rooms full of traditional Chinese furniture and art, others surrounded by American kitsch—many in a mix of both.
Jarod Lew, “The Most American Thing (Tina),” 2021, From “Please Take Off Your Shoes.” Image courtesy of the artist.
This juxtaposition of Chinese and American decor is recreated elsewhere in the immersive presentation of “Mimicry.” Tucked away in the center of the gallery is a replica of a living room, with an old-fashioned couch and glass-topped coffee table, decorated with East Asian-style vases and a ceramic Laughing Buddha statue. Atop a stack of books (which alternate between Western and Eastern art history subjects) sits a slide projector, which automatically rotates through a slideshow of found and altered images. Some are found photos of mid-century Asian American families, others of white American families onto which Jarod Lew has superimposed his own face, and still others of a white suburban family’s 1954 “Chinese Block Party.” Distinguishing them from each other requires scrutinizing the small projected photos in the short time before the slideshow flips forward, asking the viewer to pay careful attention to the nuances of cultural appropriation.
Lew is intentional with the gaze of his subjects, whether he is directing it at his audience or obscuring it. In many of his photographs, especially in “Please Take Off Your Shoes,” the subjects stare straight into the camera with neutral expressions, in a way that is not quite confrontational but still a little unsettling. The viewer feels as if they have intruded into these private spaces, or perhaps have been invited into them on the condition of good behavior (and leaving one’s shoes at the door).
The complementary photography collection “In Between You and Your Shadow,” balancing out the other half of the gallery’s symmetrical layout, grapples even more with privacy and the intrusion of the camera into its subjects’ lives. The collection is centered on Lew’s mother, whose face is obscured in every shot by flares of light, deliberately placed objects, or other photographic tricks that hide her from full view. Lew discovered at age twenty-five that his mother had been engaged to a Chinese American man named Vincent Chin, who was murdered in an anti-Asian hate crime in Highland Park, Michigan in 1982. This deeply traumatic history, revealed to visitors in the collection’s exhibition text, gives an emotional weight to the way Lew’s mother is obscured in his photographs. It reflects her choice to hide her past from her children in order to protect them, but is also a gesture of protection itself, allowing her to remain a measure of privacy even in the focus of the camera lens.
Jarod Lew, “Untitled (Wedding picture)”, 2021, from “In Between You and Your Shadow.” Image courtesy of the artist.
Lew dives further into the history of violence against Asian Americans in “The New Challengers Strike Back,” a multimedia work that incorporates found media. The work ties acts of violence against Asian Americans to symbolic acts of violence against Asian-made cars. A news clip from shortly before the murder of Vincent Chin shows white Americans smashing a Toyota car in front of a Chinese restaurant, demonstrating the resentment of the Japanese auto industry that motivated the hate crime against Chin. It is presented alongside a modified bonus level from Super Street Fighter II: The New Challengers which also involves destroying a Toyota. Viewers are invited to pick up the controller and participate in the destruction, which resets after a few seconds.
These two complementary works are a creative use of multimedia, and conceptually strong, but despite the interactive element they are perhaps the least engaging part of a strong exhibition. They are direct and clear in their message, but feel blunt in comparison to the nuances of Lew’s other work.
Ultimately I found myself lingering with the large-format photographs, wanting to take the time to fully understand the figures captured by the lens. The layer of mystery in each staged-yet-personal scene invites longer contemplation. Other elements of the exhibition add interest and depth, but Lew’s masterful photography steals the show.
Strange You Never Knew is on display at UMMA through June 15.
“Freaky Tales” certainly lives up to its name in a genre-bending, horror-comedy-action thriller love letter to the Bay Area in the 80s, which, as said in the tagline, was “hella freaky.”
The movie is divided into four chapters with different characters, plots, and energies all interspersed with what it calls the freaky green lightning of Oakland, California in 1987. From alternative teenagers fighting Nazis to a rap battle between newcomer duo Danger Zone and Too Short to the murder of a retired hitman’s pregnant wife, the final chapter connects all of the characters in a house robbery-gone-wrong turned revenge murder spree.
The plots are all over the place; the star-studded cast, including Pedro Pascal, Normani, and even Ben Mendelsohn, never gets more screen time than lesser-known actors. So what is truly the central character and thesis of the movie? It’s the city itself.
However, as someone who has never visited or lived in California — let alone Oakland, let alone in the 80s — a lot of the references went over my head. Only in later research did I learn that every story took place at real places with real people and even during some real historical events. Bay Area rapper Too Short, whose song “Freaky Tales” is where the film gets its name, is a character in the film and even has a cameo himself. The “Sleepy Floyd” basketball game that happens in the fourth chapter, where Warriors player Sleepy Floyd scored a record 29 points in the fourth quarter to defeat the Lakers, is a real event. The film dropped a hefty budget to shoot on-location in Oakland at classic spots like a Giant Burger and the Grand Lake Theatre and recreate legendary 924 Gilman and Sweet Jimmie’s.
But instead of wondering about the visual artistry and history of the setting, my attention was distracted by the gory scenes in chapters 1, 3, and 4. This was particularly a shame, as the film utilized different aspect ratios, filters, and animated graphics to emphasize the 80s aesthetic. Especially because of the ending fight scenes, I was left wondering just how much of the budget was allocated for fake blood. It was very campy, tying into the campy nature of its depiction of the 80s, with exaggerated outfits from jumpsuits to spike wrist guards; but there seemed to be a never ending stream of (comically) violent sequences that quickly got old.
“Sleepy Floyd” in an advertisement for his mindfulness program, Psytopics.
When I wasn’t distracted by flying body parts and punctured jugulars, the emotional whiplash of the different chapters was distracting enough. The acting in the first chapter, centered around friends Lucid (Jack Champion) and Tina (Ji-young Yoo), was weaker than the rest, although superstars like Pedro Pascal set a high bar to match. But it had a happy ending, and so did the second chapter, leaving the audience totally unprepared for what was to come in chapters 3 and 4. As co-director Anna Boden says, it is an “action packed genre mixtape of a movie;” but I would call it a gruesome action-packed emotional rollercoaster.
I was not the intended audience for this film, and if I was, my opinions would likely be much different. But unless you fit that context (or enjoy sincerely weird movies), I would not recommend shelling out to see it.
On February 7th at Hill Auditorium, pianist Seong-Jin Cho delivered a phenomenal performance of the complete solo piano works of Maurice Ravel. The concert lasted three hours, yet Cho memorized and played every piece with unwavering precision and passion. Funnily enough, before the concert began, an audience member behind me exclaimed that even a one-hour program of Ravel would be too long; I’d bet money they changed their mind by the end of the night.
Cho’s global reputation skyrocketed after winning First Prize at the 2015 Chopin International Competition in Warsaw. Since then, he has performed with the Berlin Philharmoniker, where Cho is currently the artist in residence, as well as the London Symphony Orchestra, Boston Symphony Orchestra, and more.
At Hill, Cho’s ability to breathe life into the piano showed why he’s so sought after. He merged with the instrument in body and soul. Even when the music consisted of a single repeating note, it was beautiful and each tone rang with a pure, bell-like clarity. No matter how fast the glissando flew by, you could still hear each note sing. The lyrical lines blended seamlessly, yet I could distinguish which hand played which dynamics, melodies, and harmonies—even with my eyes closed. Cho never once seemed to lose focus or stamina.
The first piece, Sérénade grotesque, had a delicate, elusive character that made its theme hard to pinpoint. Menuet antique felt more tangible. Pavane pour une infante défunte evoked a giddy feeling of raindrops and fairy footsteps from melodic flurries and vast glissandos. Cho then moved into the peaceful Jeux d’eau and ended the first section of the night with the Sonatine, whose three movements featured harp-like textures.
After intermission, Cho resumed with Miroirs, whose five movements flowed so smoothly it felt like a single movement. In Gaspard de la nuit, Iwas struck by the soft yet clean notes—something I’ve always found difficult to bring out on the piano.
Following the second break, Menuet sur le nom d’Haydn became one of the night’s highlights. It immediately captured my heart with chords that built into a dreamy atmosphere. Valses nobles et sentimentales brought me back to reality with dancing energy, especially in the Presque lent – dans un sentiment intime movement, which glittered. ThefollowingPrélude carried a bittersweet emotion, while À la manière de Borodine surprised me with a melody that made me imagine horses frolicking. Similarly, À la manière de Chabrier resembled cheerful skipping.
The final piece, Le Tombeau de Couperin, offered the most variety. Its six movements formed an emotional arc—sprightly, meek, brash, romantic—culminating in the last movement Toccata. Vif. That movement was especiallydemanding, ebbing and flowing between repeated notes, lush lines, and anxious descents that Cho played with awe-inspiring control.
I’m glad this performance introduced me to the beauty of Ravel’s piano works. Cho’s ability to freely shape dynamics made him the perfect soloist to perform Ravel’s dreamy musicality. It had been a long time since I attended a solo piano recital, so this performance showed me how a soloist can express more subtle and endearing musical expressions even without the grandeur of an orchestra.
In 2019, when Parasite captivated both audiences and critics, it became an instant classic. While the film awards season is often unpredictable and sometimes controversial, Parasite triumphed with three Oscars—four if you count the Best International Feature Film award for South Korea—and made history as the first non-English language film to win Best Picture. Director Bong Joon Ho accepted his awards and set the stage for what would come. With this remarkable achievement behind him, Bong faced the daunting challenge of creating a film that could meet the high expectations following the success of Parasite.
Enter Mickey 17. The film follows Mickey Barnes (Robert Pattinson), a failed macaron shop owner who escapes his bloodthirsty loan sharks by signing up for a space colonization mission. The expedition, led by failed congressman Kenneth Marshall (Mark Ruffalo), aims to establish a human settlement on an icy planet called Niflheim. With no valuable skills to indicate on his application, Mickey takes on the role of an “Expendable,” a job where his sole purpose is to die. Again and again.
Body reprinting technology restores Mickey Barnes (Robert Pattinson) after dying
Equipped with technology that allows his body to be reprinted and his memories backed up onto a storage device, Mickey acts as a test dummy for the scientists on board. A rapid-fire montage throws us into the numerous deaths Mickey has undergone with forceful brutality as he repeatedly inhales viruses so the scientists can figure out a vaccine and are exposed to harmful levels of radiation to study how it impacts the human body. In other words, he’s a lab rat modified with the wonders of technology. It’s with this concept that the movie blasts off, throwing us into the captivating realms of science fiction and the potential future that awaits us. It creates the question of to what extent people in power treat those below them as disposable, all in the name of pursuing a better future that doesn’t encapsulate everyone.
Another standout thread in Mickey 17 is how it bluntly immerses the audience in the reality of American politics and the distinct privilege possessed by some, even in outer space. With cult-like followers sporting red caps, a flair for bravado, and a close brush with political downfall, Mark Ruffalo’s character, Kenneth Marshall, unmistakably echoes a certain president. Interestingly, the film wrapped production around 2023—meaning that many of its eerily familiar political parallels emerged before some real-world events had even unfolded; Director Bong Joon Ho has stated that Marshall was not explicitly modeled after Trump, yet the similarities are hard to ignore. However, the film’s political commentary extends far beyond American politics. Much like its exploration of humanity, ethics, and mortality through the concept of body printing, Mickey 17 also delves into themes of power, herd mentality, and righteous superiority. History is connected, is what seems to be the theme.
Kenneth Marshall (Mark Ruffalo) and his wife, Yfla Marshall (Toni Collette)
All in all, Bong Joon Ho takes on a lot with Mickey 17. It’s wholly experimental, blending genres and tackling weighty concepts while maintaining a sharp sense of humor. Yet, rather than fully immersing itself in science fiction, the film uses the genre as a platform for political commentary, often making its speculative elements feel secondary. With so many ideas in play, it can be difficult to focus on just one and they become generalized. In comparison to Parasite, Mickey 17 is more of a chaotic rollercoaster, but one that remains deeply enjoyable in its tumult. It confronts viewers with the darker sides of reality, caricaturing figures and traits in a way that teeters between humor and discomfort. And, like Parasite, it retains Bong’s signature artistic flair. Mickey 17 is not Parasite, and it never will be. But that’s not necessarily a bad thing and I’m looking forward to all the wonderful, thought-provoking films he’ll make.
Science fiction meets satire in an explosive way in “Mickey 17” — but there is simultaneously too much and not enough of either.
Set in 2054, main character Mickey Barnes (Robert Pattinson, “The Batman”) signs up to be an Expendable on the newest space colony expedition to Niflheim after receiving death threats from a loan shark following a failed macaron business venture with his best friend, Timo (Steven Yuen, “Beef”). However, he soon realizes that not reading the paperwork thoroughly was a mistake. As an Expendable, Mickey is sent to do the most dangerous jobs and used as a human guinea pig for the research team onboard. Every time he dies, his memory is simply reuploaded into a newly reprinted version of his body. Meanwhile, failed politician Kenneth Marshall (Mark Ruffalo, “The Avengers”) commands the future colony full of his red-hat-wearing fans with a camera crew in tow, undeserved bravado, and promises of one day reproducing to make a “pure race.”
Once they reach the famed planet, however, native creatures they name “creepers” become a barrier to breaking ground. During an exploratory mission, Mickey miraculously survives a terrible fall. But by the time he makes it back to the ship, another Mickey has already been reprinted; and with “multiples” strictly forbidden under penalty of death, the angrier Mickey 18 and a milder Mickey 17 must keep their existence under wraps.
“Mickey 17” is director Bong Joon Ho’s most recent project after his award-winning film “Parasite.” Bong’s newest film is an amalgamation of genres: satire, horror, science fiction, and comedy, with a few touchingly romantic moments. From start to finish, the film is defined by absurdism. Mickey’s failed business, which was based around misunderstanding that “macarons are the new hamburgers,” sets the tone for a protagonist who has stumbled into something far beyond his understanding.
Ruffalo’s character, while officially inspired by an amalgamation of different tyrannical rulers, reads (at least to the audience at the showing I attended) as a parody of Donald Trump. His reality show-style governance, blonde wife, and red-hat-wearing followers make the connection undeniable. While this satire is amusing at first, its relentless intensity becomes exhausting over the two-hour runtime, growing more repetitive than revelatory.
Pattinson, on the other hand, carries the film with an engaging performance that oscillates between bewildered desperation and deadpan humor. His portrayal of both Mickey 17 and Mickey 18 gives each iteration of his character a distinct edge, subtly differentiating their personalities with their motivations, mannerisms, and even accents. However, the film never quite allows him to fully explore the psychological implications of multiplicity, treating the idea of splitting consciousness as more of a plot device than a deep thematic concern.
Despite its many strengths, “Mickey 17” ultimately feels unfocused. Is it a commentary on environmental protectionism? A philosophical exploration into the implications of dividing consciousness? Or an elaborate vessel for scathing critique of right-wing politics? It might be all of these things, but none stand out as the film’s central thesis.
The concept of the Expendables had the potential to be something profound, but instead, the film brushes past it in a brief flashback explanation about why reprinting technology is only allowed on Earth. This missed opportunity leaves “Mickey 17” feeling like a film bursting with ideas yet unwilling to fully commit to any of them. While entertaining, it leaves the audience wondering: What was the ultimate point?
