Author: Emma Pinchak

I'm just a lonely cowboy displaced in the city. I don't feel the same under these dim stars.

REVIEW: As Far As My Fingertips Take Me

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You put on the headphones, and they themselves seem significant: the wires connect but they constrict, you have to rely on the tinny sound for information but it blocks out your surroundings. The whole experience was full of these contradictions, to the point that I had to consciously stop myself from thinking through them in order to pay attention. There’s the white wall to my side, and though I can see the borders of it from where I sit I can’t see the other side, so it’s as good as infinite. A little light is coming from where I’ve offered up my arm to the artist, Basel Zaraa, and I’m tempted to look down and through to meet his eyes but I know that something will be broken if I do.

The felt-tip marker is brushing over the flesh on the inside of my forearm and my palm, and I hate how gently he’s holding my fingers down because already I’ve associated him with a Dublin Regulation fingerprint database employee. When I realize I’ve put myself in a position I am privileged to never experience, it’s jarring and it’s a feeling that’s creeping like sweat along my forehead.

I don’t feel any one thing completely after, except for quiet. Not quieted, not disquieted, not just not speaking and not just alone. Quiet is the only adjective I can give myself. I’m sad for what I don’t know and especially for why I don’t, the stupid luck that let me be born into stability and the politics that let others live out of backpacks. Travel is so often romanticized, but there is a difference between travel by choice and by circumstance (further reading: https://doi.org/10.1002/9780470670590.wbeog940).

So in about 15 minutes I’m in and out of another world, halfway a vagabond myself. I’m back and walking home and I feel homesick but mostly physically so, my eyes kind of glassy. It’s a little disappointing that I wasn’t physically transported, though of course that would be impossible. I’m still in Ann Arbor, Michigan walking down the street, and I have no reason to fear that I won’t be here tomorrow. There is a constant stream going through my head berating me for how little I know about the world, and it feels like an abuse to wear this tattoo on my arm like a costume.

But I can use that guilt he’s given me, to take learning into my own hands and to get politically involved. Where the law does not protect the safety of people worried for their lives, there is a problem, a violation of human rights. As election season is upon us, it is a perfect time to get involved and get the right people elected. With primaries right around the corner, the time for active research is now.

You can find out more about Tania El Khoury’s work on her website: https://taniaelkhoury.com/

PREVIEW: As Far As My Fingertips Take Me

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Imagine what a lonely terror it is to lose your home to violence and instability, and then be cast into a stranger’s land. For most of us, this will never be our reality, but for the 70 million forcibly displaced peoples around the world, it is.

As Far As My Fingertips Take Me forces the subject to take on the identity of the refugee for a couple of minutes, reading the poignant writing on the wall and offering a nervous arm through to the unknown. This innovative one-on-one exhibit design incorporates the poetic and visual artworks of Basel Zaraa.

The work is the brain child of Tania El Khoury, a contemporary live artist known for her productions that illuminate issues that are of both the heart and political machine. This exhibit in particular has toured far and wide, gathering awed reviews from major publications like The Washington Post and The New York Times. 

The exhibit will be shown at the U-M Institute for the Humanities from January 24, 2020 – February 2, 2020, tickets: ums.org. Be sure to arrive 15 minutes ahead of your showtime as the schedule is extremely strict.

REVIEW: Ovid’s Metamorphoses in a Modern Theatrical Adaptation by Mary Zimmerman

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It’s always a pleasure to enjoy something you weren’t certain you would. I am usually unmoved by the classics, from Shakespeare to Homer to Woolf. They don’t translate to modern day values and speech, and they always seem to be written as densely as possible. Besides the lack of ease I face understanding these texts, their baffling popularity throughout great lengths of time–even millennia–is personally upsetting to me, and makes my annoyance all the more overpowering.

While adaptations of old texts usually fall short of capturing a modern audience’s interest, this one was well done. Where typically the author relies on flat jokes and cheesy costumes, Zimmerman simultaneously honored the poetry of Ovid’s great work and subtly brought it into the now with small script changes and stage directions that shone through to the present. The cast were careful not to overdo it, understanding that the purpose of the adaptation was not solely cheap comedy, but should reflect the philosopher’s original, complex ideas. When the stage light reflected in Sophie Thurschwell’s eyes as she gave a soliloquy for her dear lost Orpheus, I was struck by the raw drama she could call upon to recite her ancient lines. Both she and Maria Garcia Reyna were excellent in adding a high degree of emotion into their acting, and paired with their alto-range voices, they had the power to truly resonate beneath the skin.

Bryce Foley and Maria Garcia Reyna in “Pomona and Vertumnus”

I was especially impressed with the success of the myths that were on the more humorous side. Like I said, it’s so easy to get this wrong through overacting, or an overly modernized version of the original text. Bryce Foley was my favorite in this respect, remaining fully deadpan when acting as Hermes, spinning Eurydice over and over. His best myth was Pomona and Vertumnus, where he played a slew of different characters including a solider, farmer, fisher, and grandmother. While the opportunity for overacting here was present, he gracefully avoided doing so, instead allowing lower-key body movements to elaborate on his range of costumes.

The entire crew was excellent in incorporating an array of fabrics as props, which mesmerized under the lights. Iris’ glittering golden wings seemed to reflect and hide at the same time. The motion of the fabric waves dragged me into the stage like the physical tide, a rip current of blue organza. A ruffling cape was able to flip from black to red with each minute movement. I only wish they had used more fabrics in the choreographed sections, as Iris’ jaunt across the stage was enough evidence alone to support that endeavor.

My only real critique of the show has nothing to do with the script or acting, but the music played in the background of each myth. Most were surprisingly tacky considering the quality of the rest of the production, sounding like something out of a kids’ version of a King Arthur story. This sometimes distracted from the scene at hand, especially in the more emotional ones. Other than that, it was a first-rate performance, and I would encourage anyone to attend another of theirs in the future.

A few upcoming events for all interested in more great theatre:

RC Players’ Evening of Scenes–January 31 and February 1, 8PM Keene Theatre

We the PROUD’s “What Was and May Be”–February 14, Keene Theatre

 

PREVIEW: Ovid’s Metamorphoses in a Modern Theatrical Adaptation by Mary Zimmerman

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Published in the year 8, Ovid’s Metamorphoses are a group 15 books written as one epic poem. They describe, in a sometimes less-than-factual manner, the history of the world from creation to the stabbing of Caesar. The stories are independent, but connect through common themes, as Ovid was a great thinker, known for his philosophizing on the arts of falling in and out of love.

It might be hard to believe, but this ancient work has been adapted to affect a modern audience over two millennia later. If you love the classics, need something to do this weekend, or are interested in disproving your skepticism, I invite you to attend the theatre RC’s production.

Showtimes include:

Friday, January 17 at 7pm
Saturday, January 18 at 7pm
Sunday, January 19 at 7pm

all at the Keene Theater, 701 East University. Doors open at 6:45pm.

While this is a free event, the cast and crew worked tirelessly on this project, so there is a suggested donation of $5/person.

REVIEW: German Film Series: “Transit”

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As soon as the credits roll I hightailed it out of the viewing room. I can’t stand the cold so I ran all the way home, and the scene was so terrible. There’s the harsh yellow of the streetlights reflecting all along the ice on the road, which is shining wetly like a giant tongue. I look back to check for headlights before I dash across the street to my block, and the wind takes the liberty of yanking through my hair so it flies in my face and mixes with the sickly lights.

So this might be my new favorite movie.

Georg’s expression at the last few frames was terrible. Forget Mona Lisa’s enigmatic smile, this guy creates a symphony with his painfully hopeful eyes and the gentle set of his lips, scarred from a childhood cleft palate surgery, only adding to the confused ambiance he creates. Throughout the film he occupies a character with infinite, though guarded, softness, while maintaining a fairly traditional father-figure posture. He is not completely any one thing, but I recognized a fragility in him I hoped wouldn’t prove to be dangerous for him. 

Marie is by contrast mostly flat, though her wishy-washy approach to everything still makes her a wild card. She is a ghost, pale and able to see through people. She reacts to conversation quietly, choosing subtlety over big outward expression, and in this way, she haunts.

Director Christian Petzold has made me the exact right kind of unsettled with Transit. There is so much casualness in this: a complete disregard for metaphors in the weather, the sun out even in times of keen distress; traumatic events regarded with little ceremony. Strangely it’s the smallest things that are amplified. Right off the sound seems wrong: the tiny tapping of a glass on a table rings out, a door sliding shut is like a jail cell clanging. All throughout I don’t quite understand what I’m feeling, unable to cry though I can sense sadness here.

The way Petzold plays with time works so well with the confusion of identities throughout the movie–cars and clothing and language are modern, but there are typewriters present, and historical architecture. Members of the Navy in Crackerjack-esque uniforms dine with our Georg in the local pizza shop; air travel is not mentioned, only by ship. The sleepy brightness of the seaside seems infinitely ancient in its sun-bleached scenery. Nazis are occupying countries all throughout Europe, but The traveling itself is another element, coming upon a new place full of strangers, trying to reach another, more obscure land across the ocean. It all collects together to blur any useful divide between the real and imagined.

Going back and forth to the hotel room and port and consulate did seem repetitive, without any discernible reasoning. Already there is a considerable amount of confusion present, so the redundancy of the dashings does nothing for the film’s emotional success. It only creates repeating, nearly identical cycles that do not move the plot forward.

Cycles are, however, the most important part of the movie, and may say something about the message Petzold was trying to convey. After Marie disappears back into the city at the end (as she does so well), Georg is left eternally waiting for her in the pizza shop, mournfully gazing out to meet the eyes again of the woman he had immediately fallen in love with. It seems she is free now, like he used to be, and he is stuck wandering looking for his lost love, the very sickness that had plagued her.

It’s interesting to drag a historical event out of its place comfortably in the past and out into the open modern era. It makes us nervous to consider whether political and military atrocities will really stay away from the present, or if we’re still capable of unbelievable things even after we have advanced as a society. Maybe they take different forms, but it is foolish to think we are any less evil than before, and thus we cannot pretend we live safely apart from those terrors.

REVIEW: 58 Greene Presents: Greenie Night Live

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While several other a cappella groups performed last weekend, 58 Greene was the only one that mattered.

EnCore performing.

Now I guess I might be a little biased given I know and would die for Teddi Reynolds, one of the members of the group, but by the audience’s hoots and hollers throught the night I think it can be said they were also objectively good. Paired with two fabulous dancing groups (EnCore and FunKtion), the performance was smooth and stylish and properly varied. The song selections were a bit conservative, tending towards the classic, softer side, but that was nice. Flashy, chorerography-heavy performance is clearly not their style. In most of their songs they stand in a group, moving rhythmically, but not dancing. Instead they prefer to let their lyrical power enthrall the crowd. Not exactly reminscent of Pitch Perfect, but that is an unreasonable expectation for groups of all styles.

My only real critique of the performance is the lack of understanding some of the members have about their vocal range. While Scott McMillan’s performance of “Slow Dancing in the Dark” was wonderfully sweet and rich in tone, he had trouble reaching some of the high notes. I would have loved to hear him perform the song with pitch adjustments to better fit his range, or another song entirely. A few others had this problem in some spots, particularly with the higher pitches. While it is great to showcase one’s range, it is more important to focus on emphasizing the tones that come naturally. I could not begin to estimate the number of men I’ve heard singing in a falsetto voice when they definitely should not.

I was supremely impressed with the variety of voices within the group, from Danny Kim’s soft, soft high tones to Sarah Kleppe’s perfect mixing with Desirae Nelson’s voice in their “No Peace” duet. Teddi Reynolds and Rikvah Levine both gave me the shivers with their soulful selections. There were voices deep and high, singing like the soft wind and like the crashing sea. 58 Greene must have an awfully harsh audition process, given how talented their members are. Despite this assumption, for a flash of a second at the end I had a vision of joining the group myself. Then I remembered my non-speaking role in the eighth grade production of Mulan (I was the cricket) and promptly forgot this dream.

If you are more talented than I in the vocal arts, do try your hand at auditioning for the group. They are having winter auditions for Bass and Tenor parts on January 10th, 6-10pm in room 1405 of East Quad. Break a leg!