REVIEW: Casablanca- The Movie

vprayag Leave a comment

I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve watched Casablanca, but seeing it on the big screen at Kochoff Hall on February 25th felt like experiencing it for the first time. There’s something about watching a film like this with an audience—hearing the collective sighs, the quiet laughter, the weight of its most powerful moments settling over the room. No matter how familiar I am with it, Casablanca always manages to reveal something new.

Set in the early years of World War II, Casablanca follows Rick Blaine (Humphrey Bogart), an American expatriate who runs a nightclub in Vichy-controlled Morocco. Rick projects an air of detached cynicism, famously claiming, “I stick my neck out for nobody.” But beneath his indifference lies a man who has been burned by love and betrayal—someone who once believed in causes greater than himself and has since chosen to look out only for number one. To me, Rick symbolizes pre-war America, reluctant to get involved in a fight that seemed distant, but ultimately unable to avoid the pull of history.

That pull arrives in the form of Ilsa Lund (Ingrid Bergman), the woman who once shattered Rick’s heart. She walks into his bar with her husband, Victor Laszlo (Paul Henreid), a leader in the anti-Nazi resistance. Ilsa and Rick’s reunion is filled with longing and regret, but it quickly becomes clear that her presence is about more than lost love. Victor needs exit visas to continue his fight against fascism, and Rick is the only one who can help.

Ilsa has always been one of the most fascinating characters to me. She’s not just torn between two men—she’s torn between her heart and her duty. With Rick, she found passion, but with Victor, she finds purpose. What’s remarkable about Victor is that he sees Rick and Ilsa’s connection and never lets jealousy cloud his mission. He knows that the fight against tyranny matters more than his personal feelings, and he trusts Ilsa to make the right choice. That kind of maturity is rare in love triangles, and it’s one of the reasons this story feels so timeless.

In the end, Casablanca isn’t just a love story—it’s about standing for something bigger than yourself. The film builds to one of the most famous scenes in cinema history: Rick, despite having every reason to hold onto Ilsa, chooses to help her and Victor escape. He understands that their fight is more important than his happiness. “The problems of three little people don’t amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world,” he tells her. It’s a heartbreaking moment, but it’s also the ultimate act of love—not just for Ilsa, but for a cause greater than either of them.

Watching Casablanca that night, I was reminded of why it remains one of the greatest films ever made. It’s not just about romance or war—it’s about resilience, sacrifice, and the choices that define us. And every time I hear “As Time Goes By,” I know I’ll keep coming back.

REVIEW: The Godfather

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I watched The Godfather for the first time at Kochoff Hall in the University Center on the Dearborn campus. I went in knowing its legendary status, but I wasn’t prepared for how much it would pull me in.

More than just a crime film, The Godfather is a story about power, loyalty, and fate, explored through the journey of Michael Corleone, played by Al Pacino. At the start, Michael is an outsider to his family’s crime empire, led by his father, Vito Corleone (Marlon Brando). Unlike his brothers—hotheaded Sonny (James Caan) and the weak-willed Fredo (John Cazale)—Michael is a decorated war hero with no interest in the mafia. At his sister Connie’s (Talia Shire) wedding, he arrives in uniform, already set apart. When he tells his fiancée, Kay Adams (Diane Keaton), “That’s my family, Kay. It’s not me,” I believed him. But as the film unfolds, it becomes clear that no matter how much he wants to stay out, he can’t escape.

Michael’s turning point comes when a rival, Virgil “The Turk” Sollozzo (Al Lettieri), orchestrates an assassination attempt on Vito. When Michael visits his injured father in the hospital, realizing he’s unguarded, he takes his first step into the family business. But it’s the restaurant scene—where Michael kills Sollozzo and corrupt police captain Mark McCluskey (Sterling Hayden)—that changes everything. The tension was unbearable, and when he finally pulled the trigger, it felt like a moment of no return. From then on, he wasn’t just protecting his family—he was becoming his father’s successor.

After fleeing to Sicily and experiencing love and loss, Michael returns home to take over. Sonny has been killed, Vito is aging, and the family needs leadership. At first, it seems like he will follow his father’s code of loyalty and restraint, but by the time we reach the Baptism Scene, Michael is something else entirely. As he stands in church renouncing Satan, his men carry out brutal murders on his orders. The contrast is chilling, and it cements him as the new Godfather, willing to do whatever it takes to secure power.

The final scene, where Kay watches as Michael’s men close the door on her, was haunting. The man who once wanted nothing to do with his family’s crimes is now its most ruthless leader. Unlike Vito, who believed in loyalty, Michael’s rule is colder, more absolute.

Watching The Godfather that night, surrounded by others equally engrossed, made the experience even more powerful. It’s not just a movie about organized crime—it’s a tragedy about transformation. Michael’s descent feels both shocking and inevitable, leaving one question lingering: was he forced into this life, or was he always destined for it?

REVIEW: Echoes: A Music Journey to the East

Chloe Huang Leave a comment

In the fall of 2019, Qingyun Chinese Ensemble was founded, emerging as the University of Michigan’s first and only Chinese music ensemble and carrying a mission to bring traditional Chinese music to Michigan audiences. Their recent performance at the McIntosh Theater, Echoes: A Music Journey to the East, operates as an extension of their ambitions, focusing on bridging the gap between ancient melodies and contemporary interpretations. With extensive experience in their respective instruments, the members not only displayed technical skills but also a deep pride in representing their culture and heritage. 

Echoes: A Music Journey to the East was divided into three chapters–Journey to the West, Diversity in Harmony, and Life as a Bundle of Spirits– each showcasing a diverse selection of short pieces. Soloists and full ensembles constantly fluttered on and off the stage with their instruments as two announcers enthusiastically introduced each piece’s context and featured instruments. The announcers noted specifics of certain instruments, for example, how the sound of a solo instrument accentuated the intended emotion of the piece, as well as some of the song’s history. Whether or not audience members arrived with prior knowledge of Chinese traditional music, Qingyun ensured they left with a newfound understanding of the genre. 

My knowledge of Chinese traditional music is limited, and perhaps as a result, I found the evening marked by diverting surprises. I was taken at how the performers utilized the entirety of their instruments– for example, tapping on the base of the erhu (Chinese fiddle) or running a stick beater along the ridged encirclement of a dagu (Chinese bass drum)– and at the variety of songs being played. The repertoire ranged from Chinese folk music to more contemporary pieces, to adaptations of music from the video game Black Myth: Wukong, alongside a Japanese song and Mozart’s iconic Turkish March. The distinct sounds each instrument produced were strikingly beautiful, and when the full ensemble came together in the final chapter, their rich harmony was accentuated by individual tones adding layers of texture. I especially loved when the sounds of the dizi (Chinese transverse flute) poked through with its deep, melodic tones. Additionally, many of the traditional songs performed were deeply rooted in nature, a sensation that resonated in the music itself—the dizi evoked birdsong, the muyu (woodblock) mimicked the rhythm of galloping horses, and the guzheng (Chinese plucked zither) gently flowed like water streaming down a mountainside. 

Performance of Erhu Concerto “War Horses Galloping” (1976)

The compact McIntosh theater seated no more than 100 viewers, fostering an easy exchange between the performer on stage and the audience. The ability to see each musician’s fingers move deftly across their instrument, catch subtle expressions, and witness the silent nods exchanged before beginning a piece added a sense of intimacy to the experience. The final surprise song was one of exuberant energy as the behind-the-scenes crew was brought onto the stage and the audience was invited to heartily clap along to the rhythm. After the performance, there was also a ‘Meet the Instrument’ segment where the audience was invited to come up on stage and play the exhibited instruments.

The Qingyun Chinese Music Ensemble continues to provide a space for students to refine their craft while introducing new audiences to the often-overlooked beauty of Chinese traditional music. Their performance was both welcoming and educational, offering an experience that was not only immersive but also deeply personal, reflecting the performers’ passion for their art. 

More information on the ensemble as well as the pieces and instruments performed in Echoes: A Music Journey to the East can be found here: https://qr-codes.io/pkFUwE



REVIEW: Flow

Madi Hammond Leave a comment

Some call it a film for children; others criticize it as lazy and aimless storytelling. Some even find it boring. But after watching the animated film “Flow,” I can see why it has captivated audiences worldwide. 

“Flow” follows a cat trying to survive in a post-apocalyptic world where the water is continuously rising. The film’s protagonist, simply known as Cat, must work together with a group of animals to stay alive, including the Labrador, the Lemur, the Capybara and the Secretarybird. 

The film’s plot is loose and meandering, reflecting its unconventional creation process. Director Laila Bērziņa chose to forgo traditional storyboarding and worked without any deleted scenes, allowing the narrative to develop organically. This stream-of-consciousness approach lends the film a natural and almost dream-like quality that some viewers may find aimless. Yet for others, it’s this unpredictability that makes “Flow” feel so authentic, like a visual diary rather than a structured story. 

One of the most striking elements of “Flow” is its complete lack of dialogue. Instead, the film relies entirely on music and sound to convey emotion and progress the plot. The absence of spoken words forces the viewer to pay attention to the soft, pastel visuals in order to keep track of what is happening. This makes it impossible to absentmindedly scroll on your phone — you have to be present. The score, composed by Latvian musician Ilze Kalniņa, heightens the immersion with its haunting melodies. Through this unique combination of visual storytelling and sound design, “Flow” proves that a film doesn’t need dialogue to be moving.

The animation style of “Flow” is just as unique as its storytelling approach. Entirely created using Blender, a free and open-source graphics software, Flow stands as a testament to the power of independent animation. The decision to use Blender not only gave the film its signature fluidity and hand-crafted feel, but also demonstrated how accessible tools can produce Oscar-winning results.

The film’s critical success is undeniable. It won the Academy Award for Best Animated Feature and Best Original Score, impressively beating out Disney’s Inside Out 2 and Studio Ghibli’s Kaze no Uta. These wins marked Latvia’s first-ever Oscars, and the country erupted in celebration of the country’s recognition. Latvians hailed “Flow” as a victory for both the nation and the animation team.

Despite being an animated film, and therefore often perceived as child-oriented, “Flow” resonates with audiences of all ages. Its mix of tension, tenderness and visual beauty makes it not just a film to watch but a film to experience. While it might not appeal to everyone, “Flow” undeniably pushes the boundaries of what animation can achieve and challenges us to see storytelling through a new lens.

REVIEW: The Music of Studio Ghibli

Chloe Huang Leave a comment

Performing on the Michigan Theater stage this March was not only the talented musicians of the Ann Arbor Symphony Orchestra (A2SO) but also a giant, grey, round creature known as Totoro. The audience laughed as the creature suddenly popped onto the stage, waving its arms and pouting as the conductor playfully reprimanded it. This creature, Totoro, is a beloved character from My Neighbor Totoro, a 1988 animated film directed by Hayao Miyazaki and produced by Studio Ghibli, a renowned Japanese animation studio known for its beautifully crafted and nostalgic films. 

For their March Pops performance, Studio Ghibli at the Symphony, A2SO brought the magic of Studio Ghibli to life through music, performing Joe Hishashi’s pieces from My Neighbor Totoro, Kiki’s Delivery Service, Spirited Away, and Howl’s Moving Castle. Studio Ghibli films have found a loyal audience for several generations, reflected in the large number of families that attended. The typical formality of classical performances was immediately deconstructed, evidently with the focus being on media rooted in pop culture, but also in the tone guest conductor Wilbur Lin addressed the audience. Throwing in jokes and placing small stuffed animals of Studio Ghibli characters on his podium made the night much more family-friendly. 

The night opened up with a variation on Hisaishi’s Merry-Go-Round and Cave of Mind from Howl’s Moving Castle, transitioning into a segment intertwining music and narration from My Neighbor Totoro. Momo Kajiwara narrated the film’s story in Japanese, while the orchestra provided a playful, accompanying score, enhancing the tale through sound. Kajiwara’s crisp, sweet voice was well-suited for the role, adding warmth to the performance. However, I found myself straining to read the pamphlet in the dark, as it was the only translation source for her narration. Because the story is such a central aspect of the experience, it would have been helpful to have more accessible forms of translation. 

Momo Kajiwara narrating Orchestra Stories: My Neighbor Totoro

After a brief intermission—during which guests eagerly lined up to take photos with Totoro—the performance concluded with Kiki’s Delivery Service and Spirited Away Suite. The latter was especially expansive, capturing the emotional arc of the film as the music swelled with dark tension before fading into a gentle stillness.

Hearing these pieces performed live evoked a deep sense of nostalgia. The childlike playfulness present in the films was beautifully mirrored in Hisaishi’s scores, particularly through the lively percussion. The tinkling of bells and the warm, rounded tones of the xylophone added a whimsical touch. However, despite Studio Ghibli’s strong appeal to children, the films resonate with audiences of all ages because they explore deeper themes. Miyazaki’s works evolve with the viewer, gradually revealing reflections on childhood innocence, cultural identity, corruption, love, and family.This emotional depth was mirrored in the performance, where moments of lightheartedness were contrasted by sudden shifts in mood. Conductor Lin noted that Hisaishi deliberately used percussion to mark these transitions—an idea that stayed with me as the dark boom of the cymbal echoed through the theater. 

Ann Arbor Symphony Orchestra performing select Studio Ghibli pieces

The evening was a mesmerizing tribute to the timeless magic of Studio Ghibli, bringing the beloved films to life through music. A2SO’s performance not only showcased the brilliance of Hisaishi’s compositions but also captured the emotional depth and whimsical charm that make Miyazaki’s stories so enduring. From the playful innocence of My Neighbor Totoro to the sweeping grandeur of Spirited Away, it was a night that reminded audiences of why these films continue to enchant audiences of all ages.

REVIEW: Gershwin Centennial Concert

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Though composer George Gershwin and his younger brother, lyricist and Pulitzer Prize winner Ira Gershwin, are undoubtedly celebrated as two great contributors to American music, their works were surprisingly never standardized. As a result, numerous scores and recordings of their music circulate with inconsistencies in tempos and dynamics, and some have been lost to time. To preserve the essence of his granduncles’ works, University of Michigan alumnus Todd Gershwin created the Gershwin Initiative with the School of Music, Theatre & Dance (SMTD). As part of this initiative, SMTD annually hosts a centennial performance of the two brothers’ works. This year, Sunday, January 26th, a crowd of students and locals alike flocked to the Michigan Theater to catch the performance of the music written by the brothers in 1925.

Accompanied by pianist Jacob Kerzner, SMTD students Nicholas Alexander Wilkinson II, Oliver Boomer, Aquila Sol, and Elle Michaels sang George Gershwin’s compositions from Tip-Toes (“These Charming People,” “Sweet and Low-Down,” and “That Certain Feeling”), Tell Me More (“Mr. And Mrs. Sipkin,” “Three Times a Day”), Song of the Flame (“Midnight Bells,” “Vodka”), La, La, Lucille (“It’s Great to Be in Love”), as well as songs that Ira Gershwin wrote the lyrics for in Molly Darling (When All Your Castles Come Tumbling Down”), Lady in the Dark (“My Ship”) and A Star is Born (“It’s a New World,” “The Man That Got Away”). The students sang without costumes, props, or choreographies. However, their voices alone captured the sassy and hopeless romantic attitudes of their characters. 

What I found most interesting is that many of these songs were suggestively scandalous yet painted with a lighthearted tone of voice and upbeat melodies. The song that particularly stood out to me was “Vodka.” The funny and punny lyrics were easy to understand while remaining hilariously descriptive of what vodka does to the human psyche and body and the negative consequences that often follow its consumption. 

After the intermission, the University Philharmonic Orchestra (UPO) took the stage under conductor Jayce Ogren to play Overture to Song of the Flame. Shockingly, it was likely the first public performance of the overture in decades, and there are no known recordings of the overture. The overture is relatively short and played for around ten minutes. Still, the characteristic dreamy quality of Gershwin’s talent at blending jazz and classical music makes it feel even shorter. 

However, what left the deepest impression on me that night was Tzu-Yin Huang’s performance of Gershwin’s Piano Concerto in F. Accompanied by the UPO, the first movement starts with a suspenseful yet jazzy rhythm from the blaring band instruments. Then, the pianist has dramatic, slow notes before suddenly accelerating in pitch and tempo before returning to a bittersweet, syncopated blues melody. The contrast between a lullful minor key to a more powerful, almost angry melody with a cascade of descending thirds evoked a bittersweet emotion before transitioning into a quick tempo; the orchestra then takes turns with the soloist in sharing the spotlight. The second movement starts similarly with a jazzy, brass solo, that the piano interrupts after a slow, somber intro. The mood immediately shifts with playful staccato notes and grace notes. In contrast to the first and second movements, the third movement begins agitated with notes that requires the fingers to have incredible control in speed and power. I loved the end of the third movement, which further expands an overall theme heard throughout all three movements before having a classic tremolo ending. 

Overall, it was an incredible experience. I’ll be striving to attend the Gershwin Centennial concert in the future, and highly recommend others attend too!