The Michigan Daily - michigandaily.com Tuesday, February 22, 2011 - 5 The Michigan Daily - michigandailycom Tuesday, February 22, 2011 - 5 Controlling critics COURTESY OF COLUMOIA Easy, breezy, beautiful. Adele. Adele matures o On second release, British singer comes into her own By CHLOE STACHOWIAK Daily Arts Writer In a music industry haunted by Brit- ney Spears scandals and gimmicky Gaga stunts, it's no wonder female performers get such a bum rap. Our culture buzzes with reasons to dismiss these art- Adele ists as superficial or corny - after all, how 21 seriously can you take someone who sings Columbia about brushing her teeth with alcohol? Don't be fooled by her multiple award nominations, Grammys and frequent VHS Radio Countdown appearances: Adele is more than your average main- stream artist. With her raw, honest voice and bluesy style, the 22-year-old singer-songwriter has usedrthe power of her music alone to rise to the top of pop charts. By releasing her second album, 21, the British star has proven once again that she has what it takes to stand out from her peers - without the aid of reality shows or bubble costumes. Despite the popularity of sleazy pop songs and overwhelming dance beats, 21's sincerity is what makes it shine. Its earnestness is felt in "Don't You Remember," a simple yet powerful bal- lad of a relationship gone awry. Though its topic and lyrics aren't revolution- ary by any means, Adele's singing style glosses the song with gusto. Her voice is tinged with passion and pain, taking on the qualities of soft and explosive tones as she pleas for her lost lover to return. It's a voice that makes even the most generic "please remember me" lines moving, resonating with any girl who has suffered from a broken heart. As she sings, it's tempting to find the guy she's singing about on Facebook and send him a meddling message to bring the two back together - anything to console her heartfelt wails. Though they probably won't bring listeners to their knees in empathy, 21's faster tracks are just as authoritative as "Don't You.Remembern",Numbers like "Rollingsin=the Deeb" swing with soul and emotional fury, creating a musi- cal storm with chorus-style backup vocals and jazzy instruments. The lead vocals thunder with confidence as Adele threatens some scumbag: "You're gonna wish you had never met me." It's the kind of track - bold and irresistibly catchy - that inspires impromptu car singing sessions, unapologetically fill- ing the vehicle with bass and girl power. However, not all of 21 lives up to the vigor of "Don't You Remember" and "Rolling in the Deep." Some tracks, like "Lovesong," sound stale - though not unpleasant, they just don't create the same emotional rush as other, funkier numbers. Still, Adele's radiant vocals help to salvage even the least exciting parts of the album, adding personal touches to otherwise average tales of heartache. There is something to be said for Adele's modest musical style and the popularity it's gaining - rivaling artists with more years of experience, more album releases and larger wig collec- tions. 21 is a breath of fresh, natural air in an industry that quakes with gaudy personas and tabloid appearances. With its fiery vocals and punchy instrumen- tals t.ealbum giveshope to the future. of mainstream pop: Maybe one day musicians will be judged solely on their sound, not their resemblance to a Ring- ling Brothers act. i's become common, with a canon of criticism so popular and abun- dant, that film goers start to devel- op loyalties - not so much to the films themselves, but to the critics who make a living reviewing them. You're out there - the person who aligns himself or herself to a single critic's picks and passes as if the critic's preference ANK'R is their own. There SOHONI are also those who put much in the critics as a whole - the ones who only watch the Certified Fresh films on Rot- ten Tomatoes and would rather read a film to death than - god forbid - watch something less than great. Sarcasm is bitter, but in all serious- ness, I get quickly sick of the critics. As art goes, no, there is no rubric for a "good" film, but critics nonetheless wield the general stamp of approval. And as far as my push for independence from their influence goes, I realize their hold on me is no weaker than their hold on much of the film-going world. After all, most of my articles are reviews. In some ways, I've become part of the monster. But I resist. I review movies, but I love some movies that most, if not all, critics wouldn't exactly call top-caliber, and while Ican identify the blocks that build a "good" movie and judge those for the world, Ican at the same time avoid such a utilitarian view when watching a film for myself. And as far as understanding the way an artform functions, it seems that we reviewers overemphasize to death. Don't forget standards - but then again, we lose something in blindly fol- lowing them. Those who treasure the film experience - and not simply each film asa narrative commodity - know that almost every movie offers some- thing new. I can't go back in time and make every film "great," but while I'm sitting in the theater, I'm not afraid to appreciate even the mostbasic of inno- vations - a witty few lines of dialogue oran impressive camera shot I haven't - seen before.' There's a way to see beyond the'ciit- ics. And the way ISwatch films isn't - or shouldn't be - unique. (But I see the irony too - don't always listen to the film writers you read, including me.) Popular film criticism, while present- ed as artistic analysis, in many ways feeds the economic hierarchy of the film industry. In conjunction with stu- dios, critics box in the market structure of Hollywood, judging each film against preconceived notions of whatthat film should be in relationto its place in the market. Audiences use the critics to find the films they think best fit their idea of preference, and then financially reward critical suggestion. If you're looking for a screwball comedy, the critics will tell you which one you'll like. If you're looking for a character-driven period piece, the critics will steer you that way. It sounds somewhat extreme, but we watch what critics tell us to watch. The function of critics in our view- ing choices isn't unexpected or sur- prising. Hollywood is a machine, and much like movie marketing, critics direct viewers. To push against that is, to some extent, to lose touch with soci- ety's view of the medium. Don't always trust critics - even me. So, while I like to put the critics away, there needs to be a more complex way to manage their influence. While it's tempting to ignore them, and also tempting to abuse them, Ioften find it helpful to have them in the back pocket, but carry an awareness of an artistic achievementbeyond them that only I can define. And I would recommend the same to anyone. Like any art, film is sig- nificantly a social medium of exchange, but is meaningless without the individ- ual's interaction withthe work. And that's the most important take- awaywe can gain from examining the critics' effect on film-going: We have our own critical eyes that supersede those of the critics - all we lack is the training and the specialization to make us think and write for others to under- stand our standards. We should each have our own standards of what makes something "good," or what makes something fit within our expectations. The critics know what they like, and they'll tell you; in the end, avoiding panned films like "Th'&Roo inmate" will ptobably save you money and sanity. Buts don't use critics as your own critical mind. When it comes to your entertainment, you know more than them. Sohoni is expecting your criticism of his work. To rip him to shreds, e-mail asohoni@umich.edu. Fil E 'Big Mommas,' small laughs By STEPHEN OSTROWSKI Deputy Magazine Editor The conditions under which a sentient moviegoer might enjoy John Whitesell's ("Deck the Halls") laughable "Big Mom- mas: Like Father, Like Son" are so few - like if he or she does not value time, money or Big Mommas: human achievement - that humor would Like Father, be better served Like Son cuing up 107 minutes of Lolcats, FACEin- AtQualityl6 HOLE and other and Rave quickly fossilizing 20th Century Fox Internet memes. In this third and hopefully final installment of the "Big Momma" tour-de-cinematic foible, FBI agent Malcolm Turner (Martin Law- rence, "Death at a Funeral") is caught in an unfunny pickle after stepson Trent (Brandon Jackson, "Lottery Ticket") wit- nesses a murder at a botched sting opera- tion. As is the obvious witness protection protocol, the duo does the gender shuf- fle - Lawrence suiting up as franchise namesake Big Momma and Jackson as his (her?) grand-niece, Charmaine - and relocate to an all-girls art school, where they snoop around for a piece of evidence to lock up the murderers from the sting- gone-bad. Cue an unwanted barrage of genital jokes, archetypal family bonding and a regrettable taste in your mouth. Unsurprisingly, no amount of artifice is sufficient to mask the story's pain- ful lack of imagination and effort. The once-magnetic Lawrence, a la Adam Sandler and Mike Myers, joins the ranks of aged funnymen refusing to surren- der their dulling comedy crowns. The fresh-faced Jackson gives an equally dry performance, and even a brief open- ing cameo from Ken Jeong (Ken Jeong! Of "The Hangover" and "Community" fame!) doesn't give the film its badly Lct REVIEW Scattered' Fluorescence' "Simba, all this will be yours someday." needed comedic zest. The supporting cast is equally dimen- sionless, with the film unsuccessfully relying on stock characters to resusci- tate a wheezing narrative. These include brooding-but-bumbling and fashionably streamlined criminals, a smooth-talking and lovable janitor and a shallowly pack- aged female student populace presum- ably designed to let the leads shine. If you were going to see this film, Chang your mind. Admittedly, Lawrence's slapstick - though largely infantile lest you enjoy gender-confused punchlines - is a somewhat fresh departure from the bro- y, Apatowian humor infecting recent cinema (irreverent cultural references behind thick wire rims can lose their zing). However, there are too few oppor- tunities for Lawrence to salvage the slop- py semblance of contrived storylines. Not that Lawrence is a Brando reincarnate - but half-baked subplots that weakly broach the crime comedy and young love genres, paired with the endlessly recy- cled "he's a she" arc, are too much for Big Momma's prosthetic shoulders to carry. Which brings the unavoidable, popu- lar question for Hollywood bombs: Who greenlit this film? To be sure, the first two "Big Momma" flicks both grossed well over $100 million worldwide, so it's logical to assume - quality be damned - that the third effort would be equally bankable. But at some point the sanc- tity of a franchise, even if it hinges on a glistening fat suit, should be halted in the name of creative integrity. Like "Little Fockers" and "Saw nth" before it, "Like Father, Like Son" is another erosive blow to a slowly dying, margin- ally amusing franchise. Somewhere, the rightfully euthanized Mrs. Doubtfire - though hardly the zeitgeist of cinema - unsoundly turns over in her grave. By CHLOE STACHOWIAK Daily Arts Writer There's a reason listeners gobble up Broken Social Scene and its uncon- ventional fusion of strings and horns, Grizzly Bear's mys- tic, dreamlike vocals and the surprisingly understated instru- Asobi SekSU mentals of Volcano Choir: Experimental Fluorescence bands keep the music polyvinyl scene stimulating. It's easy to be drawn in by their inventiveness, which chal- lenges mainstream music with eccentric sounds and pushes expectations into new territory. After all, when was the last time someone listened to Animal Collective without being hypnotized by its offbeat melodies and effects? Some experimental bands are engaging. Not this one. Then there's Asobi Seksu. With strange, fluttery female vocals and unfo- cused instrumentals, the band's new album, Fluorescence, has little in com-, mon with most of music that pumps though our speakers - but not necessar- ily in a positive way. The album starts promisingly with "Coming Up" as drum beats and the light, choppy vocals of Yuki Chikudate fall gently against a stronger synthe- sizer line. Guitars and male vocals soon join, weaving together a diverse, irre- sistibly upbeat song. It's an intoxicating crescendo of sounds, trance-like and delicate while underlined with firmer electronic melodies. This, however, is where the dream- pop magic ends. While the layers of "Coming Up" float effortlessly, the rest of Fluorescence isn't as cohesive - instead, it's clunky, scattered and just doesn't make sense. "Trails" is one of many unsuccessful numbers, as its multiple elements strike against each other awkwardly for the length of the four-minute track. Fuzzy guitars are covered by keyboards and messy drum crashes, creating a clatter of sounds instead of the smooth, intri- cate ones heard at the beginning of the album. It's an obnoxious, muddled mess that generates more confusion than actual enjoyment. Matters are only made worse when Chikudate begins to sing. Though she clearly has a strongvoice, it is too strong for the already chaotic tracks. She over- whelms the songs with powerful notes - both on- and off-key - and fails to carry an actual melody at any point. As See SEKSU, Page 6 The Daily is taking on The Lantern in a to-the-death Facebook competition. LET'S BEAT THEM IN SOMETHING THIS YEAR. UM newsprOSU m 'LIKE' THE MICHIGAN DAILY 4. I I