REVIEW: Nosferatu

Nosferatu is oddly enough a character who is easy to relate to. I, too, am looking for suitable housing (an impossible task in Ann Arbor), sleep at hours these mortals deem “strange,” and have an awkward gait. But more deeply than that is a common feeling between Nosferatu and I of a sensationalized otherness. Perhaps his placement as a social pariah is based in folklore more ancient than my own, but the results are the same, creating a clear boundary between ourselves and genteel society. But this is not a feeling I suspect is unique to myself; however much we interact with others there seems to lurk some lingering doubt of our place amongst humanity. It is exactly this relatability to the undisputed villain of a story that enriches and truly enthralls.

Besides the titular character, I am most struck by Ellen, the heroine who is married to the real estate agent that is saddled with the responsibility to sell Nosferatu a house. She is the epitome of 1920s silent film glamour, with her wide eyes, expressively drawn eyebrows, and impossibily pale complexion. She is similarly ghoulish in appearance to Nosferatu, looking perfectly skeletal in the strength of her jaw and the hollows of her orbital cavities. Although the lady in distress act is a terrifyingly misogynistic trope, I think she is still able to exhibit her character’s strength even while continuously fainting and falling all over her brave husband. She is the reason Nosferatu is defeated, even if she is not credited much for her bravery. And through all the distress this lady goes through, her ringlets remain immaculate.

         

The movie as a whole is simply so encapsulating to experience. The architecture is dominated by heavy stone and dense wood, underground cavernous spaces and grand buildings that feel claustrophic despite their massive size. Though created and set in a time after the gothic period, that sense of aesthetics is present in all aspects of the film, from the buildings to the formality in the characters’ behavior and clothing.

Furthermore, the great Andrew Rogers added to the ambiance and feeling of the movie through his greatly talented organ playing. After the show, he came on stage and answered questions about his work. Amazingly, though there is some composed music for Nosferatu’s organ accompaniment, Rogers chooses to play it freestyle, taking his love of the movie and his knowledge of the instrument and turning it into song that perfectly plays up emotional moments and adds tension. He spoke with such passion, and I could feel how much he cared for the organ and its preservation. Though the movie is an hour and a half long, he doesn’t feel so much time passing, equating the performance to ten minutes of playing. His commitment to keeping this art form alive is truly inspiring, and it was so nice to see how fully lost he got in what he loves.

Andrew Rogers speaking on his experience with the ancient organ (which has just been completely refurbished, a painstaking procedure that was long overdue!).
As promised, I dressed for the occasion.

If you have not seen Nosferatu, I’d recommend renting it, especially during this Halloween season. Watch it alone in a dank, dark basement (if you dare) or with a group of friends and family all dressed as your favorite characters. Though I have not had the pleasure of group Nosferatu costuming, I feel that applying and rocking a bald cap with the people you love is a fabulous bonding experience.

REVIEW: Joker

Joker is an oozing scab. It is the itching feeling at the back of your throat, the one that portends a particularly bad cold. It is raw and frustrating, petty and painful. It is a film that so much wants to be grand and ends up so very small. Much like the man at its center, Joker wants to be an exhibition, but not because it has any special message to send. Instead, it craves attention for its misery. It will slam heads into walls and then revel in its own unpleasantness. The entire film is an open wound, one that will not stop reopening itself.

From its very first scene, Joker kicks the audience with its grimy feet. Filmmakers have always used Gotham as an extension of their Batman’s psyche. In Christopher Nolan’s version, Gotham is sleekly modern, featuring a contemporary Batman who uses recognizable military tech. Then, there is Schumacher’s campy gothic Gotham with a Bruce Wayne who thought nipples on his suit were a good idea. This Gotham is another extension; this time a world as tightly twisted as Arthur Fleck. This city is wound up, ready to spring apart at the slightest touch. It has been a hot and smelly summer. The sanitation workers of Gotham have been on strike and there is no one to pay them. The prevailing smell of trash hangs over everybody as they trudge through garbage. The desperation is plainly obvious in their surroundings, but no one will admit that everything is collapsing around them. It is enough to break anyone.

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And Arthur Fleck (Joaquin Phoenix) is a man that is ready to be broken. He is alone in the world, taking care of his aging mother on a street clown’s salary. Society seems to take a glee in stepping on him, always ready with a kick or a punch to the stomach whenever Arthur gets even the slightest bit of hope. To make things worse, he has a particular condition that makes him laugh uncontrollably at inexplicable times. Joaquin Phoenix makes this helplessness chilling. At their most affecting, tears spring up in Arthur’s eyes as he tries to stop the laughter. At its most monstrous, the laugh becomes a slow chuckle. It is clear that Arthur has never been understood, and he is rarely cared for. Even his mother’s caresses seem possessive rather than loving. Arthur is seen not as a person, but as an object for disgust and ridicule. It is hard not to feel sympathy for this man who is always treated as less than one. But this is also the man who will become a mass murderer, a man who will take his suffering and spread it across the entire city. The film purposefully chooses to depict events from Arthur’s point of view. It makes him the punching bag, so that when he chooses to punch back, it is necessary to follow him to the bloody end. It leaves you with a feeling of complicity.

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Understanding Arthur seems to be equivalent to supporting him. When does a film cross the line from creating a full-bodied villain to willfully supporting his actions? The separation between these two points of view is a thin boundary indeed, one that Joker never fully solves. The people who bully Arthur are cruel and vicious, yet they are protected from consequences by their upright societal standings. So, when Arthur splatters their blood across a subway platform, who are we supposed to feel sorry for? This is no victory. It is only violence, one that feels meaningless, a limp swing at a society that is too corrupt to care. Perhaps, this is the point. Perhaps Arthur’s violence is supposed to disgust us in its uselessness and depravity. But the film would dispute this too. For, within its boundaries, Arthur becomes a cult hero for other downtrodden people. They take his bloody acts as a symbol. It is when the film chooses to elevate Arthur that it clarifies its own message. The film suggests that many, an entire city, in fact, could be susceptible to falling to violence. This is a deep nihilism, one that suspects that there is a surge of destructive desire shallowly hidden within everyone. Rather than supposing the best, Joker assumes the worst about humanity. It is a film designed to make you feel vile about what you watched, about yourself even. Whether this is a meaningful sentiment to spread is debatable to say the least.

PREVIEW: Monos

As Halloween approaches, we are constantly confronted with all that scares us. Already, there have been plenty of creepy clowns and stabbing stalkers in theaters. However, there may be even more frightening things lurking out there in the world. For the eight children in Monos, that terrifying reality crashes down much more quickly than they would like. After all, their youth has not stopped them from carrying guns, from forming their own cult-like rituals, from taking drugs. But the situation becomes altogether more dangerous when they take a hostage. It is certainly a potent combination, ripe for cinematic drama. If you are looking for a different kind of fright this Halloween, Monos is currently showing at the State Theatre. Tickets can be bought online or at the box office ($8.50 with a student ID).

REVIEW: Isango Ensemble: The Magic Flute

Through the University Music Society, I was able to attend the The Magic Flute put on by the Isango Ensemble this last Wednesday and it was undoubtedly an absolute highlight of my week. Being one of Mozart’s most cherished works, to spin The Magic Flute with a fabric of contrasting cultures is nothing short of an ambitious endeavor. However, the Isango Ensemble not only pulled-off this vibrant retelling, but put forth an absolutely stunning celebration of South African culture overtop the iconic musical themes and characterizations of Mozart!

What I believe sets this performance apart from other traditional showings of TMF is the orchestra of marimbas that underlie this classic tale. These marimbas set the mood immediately through the overture, and thankfully grew in variation and tone with the subsequent addition of soulful vocal backup, and percussive instruments, such as trash cans and a djembe. A casual atmosphere was presented through the setup of the orchestra’s placement around the simple set, and an element that I found particularly charming was the blurred barrier between actor and musician, as a player would present their part, slip off stage, and jump onto a rack of marimbas.

The beauty of this performance was in the weaving of classical operatic technique with the sultry timbre of African vocalization, with notes of a rich tonal quality that never fail to cut deep. On many accounts this show was almost overwhelming through the layering of succinct choreography, operatic vibrato, and sweet resonating melodies which soared above the ensemble all at once. On two or more accounts, these charming dance breaks were initiated by the playing of the magic flute itself, for when played it acts to build community and avert destruction and tragedy. This precious item is given to Tamino, a young traveler who finds himself swept into a quest to seek out and retrieve Pamina, the daughter of the Queen of the Night. A remarkable twist, however, is that the playing of the flute is represented by the bluesy trumpet playing of Mandisi Dyantyis, the production’s music director. Alongside conducting the orchestra of marimbas, Dyantyis remained in the background of this performance, but shone throughout the performance with grace and poise.

In a turn of events, however, there seemed to be a slight hiccup on the production crew’s part that took away from an important moment of the show. When the Queen of the Night made her first grand appearance, an intentioned flash of light to dramatize the movement gave way to the house lights inexplicably flying on. While this mistake is forgivable, it did make for an uncomfortable and slightly confusing 30 seconds of production time.

Ever since I had heard of the showing of this production I’ve been anticipating attendance, and my hopes were not let down. The Isango Ensemble puts forth a flowing, rich craftsmanship and does great honor to the work of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. This work represents the best of reimagined art, and I can’t wait to see what UMS brings to fruition next!

 

 

 

REVIEW: Ad Astra

In the near future, commercial flights take passengers to the moon, babies are born on Mars, and power surges have begun to wreak havoc across the solar system. Astronaut Roy McBride is sent to investigate these surges, and to discover the truth about his father, a famed and presumed dead astronaut. Ad Astra is an adventure film, with chase scenes on the moon and zero-gravity fight sequences. Although the action is exciting, the film’s strength lies in subverting the genre. Rather than being a film about a tough action hero racing against the clock to save the universe, Ad Astra is about a hero whose strength lies in his humility and emotion. He is a hero who does not consider himself a hero; he is just someone searching for human connection.

 

To a certain extent, Roy does fit the mold of a typical action hero: he always comes out on top in any impossible situation. But, Roy is better defined by how humble and gentle he is. He knows that Major Roy McBride is a highly esteemed public figure, but he does not view himself in that way, even though he proves again and again that he is worthy of the praise he receives. He even goes so far to call himself selfish for jumping at the possibility that his father might still be alive. Roy reacts in this way because he was never really allowed to express his emotions – he is praised for focusing on his missions and for never having a heart rate over 80 bpm regardless of how severe a situation is. Roy has a very gentle nature, but he has been repressing this side of himself his entire life. When he contemplates why he wanted to become an astronaut like his father in the first place, he realizes he never wanted to be famous. He was motivated by his desire for human connection: he saw becoming an astronaut as the only way he could reach his father, who was absent throughout his childhood and disappeared when Roy was sixteen. As Roy becomes more invested in his search for his father, he realizes he has been harboring bitterness and anger towards his father for leaving him. This prompts him to realize that his anger has been driving his search, pushing him away from a stable life on earth, where he will disappear into the stars like his father.

 

It is advantageous for the film to make Roy more human and therefore more relatable rather than the perfect model action hero. Anyone can connect with the idea of wanting to live and to love. This idea ties into Ad Astra’s central message: it is easy to look so hard for something that you can miss what is right in front of you. It is only after getting closure about his father that Roy realizes he had let himself be consumed by searching for his father, unknowingly pushing away his loved ones in the process. Ad Astra could have pushed Roy down a dark, obsessive path, but it guides him towards self-realization instead. Ultimately, Ad Astra is a surprisingly optimistic film about human connection, and it is a reminder that there is strength in emotion.

 

Image source: https://filmschoolrejects.com/ad-astra-imax-trailer/

PREVIEW: The Pirates of Penzance

The Department of Musical Theatre is performing Sir Arthur Sullivan and Sir William Gilbert’s quintessential comic opera for two more nights! The Broadway version of The Pirates of Penzance,  featuring visual gags, delightful dances, and enchanting melodies, is in its final weekend of performances at the Lydia Mendelssohn Theater. If you haven’t seen this hilarious farce yet, you can still catch it Saturday, October 19th at 8pm or Sunday, October 20th at 2pm for a delightful, silly musical!van