The Michigan Daily - michigandaily.com
Tuesday, February 5, 2013 - 5
The Michigan Daily - michigandailycom Tuesday, February 5, 2013 - 5
Charming Hoult enlivens
humor of 'Warm Bodies'
The tear-
inducing power
o f cinema
Teen love explored
through the
newly undead
By NOAH COHEN
Daily Arts Writer
"Warm Bodies" fosters the
vision that not everything is as
ruined as it seems, and that by
keeping faith,
you can un-ruin
what 'a more
sensible person Warm
would've given Bod
up for lost. This
movie takes the, At Quality16
hollowed-out, and Rave
cynical shell of
the American Summit
teenager and
exhumes it, digs up . some dead
hope and suggests that the faith it
takes to dig something up - even
just to really look at it - has the
power to resurrect it.
. An analogue of "Romeo and
Juliet," where the zombies play the
Montagues, it would be easy to say
that this movie is a dorky parody
of a love stpry, but it isn't; it's a love
story in its own right, and where
Romeo and Juliet walked hand-
in-hand toward death, R (Nicholas
Hoult, "Skins") and Julie (Teresa
Palmer, "Bedtime Stories") walk
hand-in-hand in the opposite
direction, which makes "Warm
Bodies" an unprecedented take
on the classic tragedy by being the
diametric opposite: a comedy. Only
in a context such as this, where a
lover literally begins the tale from
the point of death, could there
be such a perfectly symmetrical
inversion of Shakespeare's horror
story. Opportunity noticed, oppor-
tunity seized.
Though definitely a comedy in
the classical sense of the word,
"I can see your halo."
whether this movie takes- itself
seriously is constantly in question,
which, of course, makes it lethally
funny. Every zombie grunt and
comically wide-eyed expression
contains elements of "Titanic"
gravity and Marx Brothers hilar-
ity. But in the same way "Arrested
Development," when described
to someone who's never seen it,
doesn't seem funny or special,
"Warm Bodies" favors a humor
impossible to essentialize. Maybe
it's the genius of Nicholas Hoult
that does the trick.
The young man who plays the
zombie named "R," Hoult, is stag-
geringly brilliant. Ordinarily, one
might criticize this sort of movie
for making the good zombies
prettier than the bad zombies,
but no one can accuse Hoult of
being cast on looks alone (he has
been accused of this in the past,
but only because the man is just
dead sexy). His comedic timing,
his endearing hesitancy and the
compromises he makes between
playing a zombie and playing a
boy in love, showcase his natural
ease with weird expectations. His
choices, and the direction he's
given in this movie, are dead on.
What really killed it, though,
was Hoult's deadpan narration.
It was mild and unforced enough
that the scriptwriting, which
could have been emphasized past
its humor and sunk the whole
film, was instead laid out tepidly
and without' pretense. This affa-
bly unhappy zombie, R, outlines
his worries and feelings as though
a casual conversation with the
audience wasn't even the slightest
danger to the fourth wall, and it
isn't, because Hoult doesn't worry
that it will be. Hoult's experience
with overdub in the British TV
show "Skins" made him the per-
fect casting forthis part. From Rob
Corddry ("The Daily Show") as R's
best zombie-friend, M, to the unac-
countably likable Analeigh Tipton
("Crazy, Stupid, Love.") playing
Julie's best friend, Nora, the whole
film is cast to the nines.
"Warm Bodies" understands
why a zombie romance is unlike-
ly, and this self-awareness lends
it the narrative room to admit
wholeheartedly to the faults of
zombie culture, and this becomes
a comment on our own culture.
In the beginning of the movie, R
describes death as, a weakened
obligation towards common
decency and the imperative to
connect with one another, that
being a zombie means ceasing to
reach out to other people. R con-
soles himself by collecting things,
and this is a metaphor for how he
has resisted death.
The idea of storing our human-
ity in small things - memories
of our childhoods, preference of
vinyl over MP3, the tendency to
apologize when we bump into
someone - runs throughout the
screenplay of "Warm Bodies,"
and reminds us, with unexpected
warmth, that we are not trapped,
not dying, not unsalvageable; that
to be lost and suffering is different
than to be defeated. This movie
serves as a bastion of hope in
both the love genre and the zom-
bie genre, and it better fucking
receive its due attention.
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Tube c
ey, you. Pick a side. and old, criers and "cold jerks"
Declare your loyalty to - are welcome to tilt their heads
one team. Shake off the to one side so that tears may
rance of parents, teach- cannonball from their cheeks in
d motivational speakers peace.
cause But it's still an exception. You
no are expected - no, obligated - to
rea - cry. Because life and love (and
ack every cliche in the script) are
isp ephemeral.
x Sad, pretty much.
You're You are allowed to cry dur-
r," or ing "Toy Story 3" (and "The
not. BRIANNE Notebook," while we're at it).
naybe JOHNSON But if you mopped the spit and
spi- snot from your face after Adam
nto Sandler's I've-fallen-and-I-can't-
movie crisis, mouthing get-up death in "Click," you're on
:o the lines of "Bridget your own. Accept that no one will
s Diary" as you dig the truly understand your "feels" for
ets from your bra like a the rainsoaked, dead comedian
d mutt mining the back- in the hospital gown. Suck it up.
ir long-forgotten bones. Remember: You're not a crier.
no crier! Prepare yourself for the heart-
her am I. Actually, neither less road ahead. At every turn,
expect a spectrum of overreac-
e I was a tot, all scraped- tions. Relatives will proclaim it
toicism, I've been "the a conspiracy that you aren't in
one." I'm pursed lips tears within 15 minutes of "Up."
mS folded at funerals, the Friends will gawk as you struggle
er of wallpaper and framed to clog the leaking faucet (or dam,
photos at the hint of a wet to be more accurate) that is now
your post-"Benjamin Button"
't get me wrong. It's not face because, whoa, since when
a the tin woman, hob- do you cry at the movies? You're
[own a yellow brick road not a crier!'
.ch of the organ that will - Exactly. You're not a "crier"
y! - buckle my knees with because "criers" don't exist.
shy-gushy, swept-away-or- Unless we're talking about Jon
gfeelings. With full confi- Cryer.
I assure you that my heart Declaring that you're a
much intact or, at least, "crier" seems to be like earning
1 into a semi-recognizable a humanity badge. You pin it to
y multiple Paul Rudd You- your sleeve, wearing it with your
lips. heart on full display. But it's arbi-
trary. The title is nothing more
than an excuse for experiencing
Don't be emotion without the demand for
justification.Imagine it,aife of
ishamed to moviegigse:
"Why are you crying?"
own that "'acrer*"
That's it. Not "Anne Hathaway
Kleenex. just ate myheart for breakfast."
Not "the image of dozens of char-
acters, who I'd come to admire
and pity throughout the last two
emotion is weakness, said hours, uniting in death o sing
rk corner of my brain. about freedom, makes me want to
it. Mask it. Force it down roll over and die."
if it were a pill. "Nah, I just have generous
n, it happened: I watched tearducts; I'm a crier."
12 adaptation of "Les Mis- Artists celebrate the rousing of
s," and my emotional bar- emotion within audiences; why
crumbled. I couldn't hear can't we embrace it, too? Lump-
e, not even Russell Crowe, ing ourselves into a category of
e "song of angry men" over viewersojust contributes to the
n sniffles. Vive la tissue! stigma around emotional expres-
e that it's my French sion. Teams of "criers" and, well,
ors inciting such a rear- those other guys, devalue the cin-
's their spirits that have ematic experience and deny the
d to my seat. They've pos- complexity of human emotion in
my body, welling up with- dry-eyed audiences.
until I erupt like a roman Sometimes, a film plucks the
sobbing into coat collars hearts from its viewers' chests.
Ily slightly lamenting the Sometimes it doesn't. But why
of Javert. But I'm not dra- reduce that experience to a kind
I'm not a crier. of innate label, an excuse of "I'm
re are but few excep- a crier"?
o the to-cry-or-not-to-cry Hey, you. Don't pick a side.
,most of which are films Wade in the grey, or ignore it
eak to the collective heart altogether. Just don't forget the
udience. They're guilt-free tissues.
y Unknown Mortal Orchestra
darkens its lo fi groove on II'
a
Wh
land,
tal O
track,
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was
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you th
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love m-
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UMO
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want
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The
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phras
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raspy,'
group
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and
plains
lonelir
light.
sound
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you ne
times,
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But
and S
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little
Rozer
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By KATIE STEEN ing in the least conscious way
Daily Music Editor possible, and repeats until you
find yourself nodding your head
en New Zealand/Port- slowly in agreement, thinking,
Ore. band Unknown Mor- yeah, that would be a nice way
rchestra released its first to live.
"Ffunny "Monki" is when UMO begins
ds," it to lose it a little bit. It begins
a sappy with a series of reverberated
hat made | guitar notes warbling and drift-
hink, shit Unknown ing as if underwater, and you can
I really do Ukora almost imagine the guys of UMO
y friends, Mortal sitting on some amplifiers, wear-
I? Now Orchestra ing circular sunglasses, high as
has come lagjaguwar fuck, plucking a guitar and then
ith II, the passing it, going "whoooooa"
, uh, see- after every note. The song
lbum. It's clear that UMO crawls along lackadaisically for
'lost any of the to-fi groove seven minutes, with some oos
t introduced in 2010, but thrown in. This is the 5 a.m. of
me around, listeners may the album, when you're coming
to ask UMO, where'd all down from whatever and realiz-
funny ffrends go? ing your brain isn't quite in your
opening track, "From head any longer.
un," for instance, starts Next comes "Dawn," a min-
lowly and surprisingly ute-long track that beams over
tic, calm and content, but the album like the first rays of
ghout it, singer Ruban the sun seeping into your room,
in repeats the unnerving warming your face. But this
e, "Isolation can put a gun little nugget of serenity - like
r hand." He's got the same most nuggets of serenity - only
bizarre voice heard on the lasts for an instant, and then
's first album, but instead there's "Faded in the Morning,"
ofessing his love of bikes an alarm-clock jolt to the brain
Jello, now Nielson com- that sends UMO into the morn-
- about. exhaustion and ing commute,, the bustle of a
ness and escaping the sun- newly awakened world. Nielson
That said, Nielson doesn't sounds exasperated and hoarse
too -upset about brooding as he shrieks the name of the
in the shadows; in fact, he song, moaning, "Sun is rising,
solitude as a solution, "If stings my eyes, I don't want to
eed to." People suck some- die today."
But
one dai
Resisti
dry asi
The
the 20
erables
ricade
anyoni
sing th
my ow
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ancest
tion; it
flockec
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and on
deathc
matic.
The
tions t
divide,
that sp
of an a
tearjer
confro
donme
genera
kers, like "Toy Story 3,"
nting with grace the aban-
nt of childhood that every
tion must face. All - young
"Bills, bills, bills."
perhaps "Faded in the Morn-
ing" begins to close the album
with a newfound voice of hope
- life's tough, man, but you just
gotta keep going. II closes with
"Secret Xtians," a carefree track
that kicks off with a rich, hearty
acoustic guitar solo and transi-
tions into a funky riff, the clas-
sic UMO bass thumping in your
chest - music that emulates
the heart. One of the verses is
composed entirely of nams, and
Nielson sounds like he's finally
reached some sort of mental
peace at this point.
II in its entirety feels like a
deep sleep, or maybe a dream-
like state as you realize that your
night is someone else's morning.
We're all livingdifferent lives on
different schedules with vary-
ing degrees of happiness and an
impossible combination of expe-
riences. None of these have more
worth or are inherently better
than the other - just -chill and
let the music play.
Johnson is sobbing in
her room. To help, a'mail
briannen@umich.edu.
and you just need to get
- he gets you.
by the next song, "Swim
leep (Like a Shark)," Niel-
ounds like he can't even
thered to get out of bed.
n and Sleep" lulls listeners
a hypnotic state, bearing
sme resemblance to many
o's older songs, but with a
less rock and a little more
em. In the lyrics, Nielson
nes the possibility of liv-
Listening to
this album feels
like a dream.
But if the first song is about
isolation to the point of hav-
ing a gun in your hand, then
I
I