The Michigan Daily - michigandaily.cam
Monday, January 14, 2013 - 7A
MUSIC NOTEBOOK
Karaoke night gets sad
"It's getting hot in herre."
Contentious' Zero
Dark' provokes
Boal and Bigelow
capture horrors of
War on Terror
ByKAYLA UPADHYAYA
ManagingArts Editor
People are talking about "Zero
Dark Thirty." They've been talk-
ing about the Kathryn Bigelow-
directed, Mark
Boal-penned A
spy thriller
centered on Zero Dark
the intelligence Thirty
hunt for Osama
bin Laden AtQuality16
since before its and Rave
release, stir-
ring up enough Columbia
controversy to
cause two release date changes.
The right decries it as a pro-
Obama liberal propaganda piece;
the left interprets it as a torture
apologia and patriotic attempt to
defend the War on Terror.
If this project were in the hands
of any other filmmaker, these crit-
icisms might be more defensible.
But this is the first-rate produc-
tion team behind 2008's visceral
"The Hurt Locker," and Bigelow
fiercely delves into the harrow-
ing world of post-9/11 intelligence
with emotional honesty, though
not always with complete truth.
The film is largely rooted in
the real people and events central
to the bin Laden manhunt, but it
takes liberties with many of the
details, as it's ultimately a film,
not a documentary.
The most important and effec-
tive liberty the story takes is with
Maya (Jessica Chastain, "Take
Shelter"), whose character is
inspired by a femaleintelligence
officer critical to the manhunt,
but ultimately an amalgamation
of fact and fiction that character-
izes much of the film.
Maya is methodical, frenetic,
thorough. Her intellect slices
through everything she says.
And it's through her eyes that
much of the narrative unravels.
. KTHEFBTGGEST
Though the movie boasts inter-
esting characters (Jason Clarke
plays a twisted CIA interrogator
who wants out of the field) and
an impressive cast of familiar
faces, the only intimate charac-
ter connection the script allows
for is with Maya. And even with
her, there's a distance; we never
immerse as deeply into her psyche
as with Sergeant First Class Wil-
liam James in "Hurt Locker."
"Zero Dark Thirty" certainly
thrusts itself into the national
debate on torture, but by filtering
the story through this dogmatic
woman, Bigelow also touches
issues of sexism. Throughout the
movie, characters in the macho
spy world refer to Maya as "the
girl." She's asked to sit at the back
of a meeting with the CIA direc-
tor (James Gandolfini, TV's "The
Sopranos") about the compound
believed to house bin Laden. The
director blithely asks the men in
the room who "the girl" is - to
which Maya replies, emphatically:
"I'm the motherfucker who found
this place." Chastain doesn't have
a ton of dialogue, but every time
her mouth opens, sparks fly.
The only time the film overtly
plays to the audience's emotions
is in the opening sequence - a
black screen scored with horrify-
ing sound bites from 9/11. Though
emotional at times, "Zero Dark
Thirty" is first and foremost a
technical wonder. There's a jour-
nalistic quality to Bigelow's eye,
and her auteuristic hand makes
"Zero Dark Thirty" more absorb-
ing than a glamorized spy flick -
but it also gets her into trouble.
The only editing misstep was the
decision to divide the film into
titled chapters, which gives it too
much of the documentary feel
that critics claim will persuade
the audience to believe torture
led to actionable intelligence, as it
does in the movie.
But "Zero Dark Thirty" doesn't
say torture was necessary; it says
that torture happened. Boal's
sweeping script and Bigelow's
keen direction are a formidable
display of restraint. There's noth-
ing overtly patriotic about the
film; it's as critical of America as it
is reverent of the individuals who
gave their everything to the fight.
Maya is nearly monstrous in her
obsession, as zealous as the men
she pursues. It's these contradic-
tions that make it possible for
opposing ideologies to interpret it
in such different ways.
Instead of distinguishing
between bad and good, Bigelow
meticulously examines the moral
complexities of the War on Ter-
ror. Maya's response to her sta-
tion chief when he asks what she
thinks of Pakistan applies here,
and to both sides: "It's kinda
fucked up."
Darkness seeps through "Zero
Dark Thirty," into its characters,
into its politics. Maya seems to
haunt her own office and home:
In one particularly indelible shot,
the camera moves with her as she
emerges from a lightless hall.
Its title is military speak for
the dead of night: 12:30 a.m., the
precise time of the Navy SEAL
strike in Pakistan that resulted in
bin Laden's death. If "Zero Dark
Thirty" is Bigelow's technical
symphony, the strike is her fourth
movement. Cinematographer
Greig Fraser doesn't frame the raid
as a stylized Hollywood retelling.
Using an infrared light mounted
on the camera along with a night
vision device attached to the lens
mount, he captures the moonless
Pakistani night with stark natu-
ralism - the cameras move with
the SEALs so that it's practically a
first-person viewing, keeping the
stakes high even when you know
what's coming.
Fitting for a film that has
everyone arguing, interpretations
of the final shot differ from one
viewer to the next. It's a testa-
ment to Chastain's power to make
people feel the weight of the scene
in varying degrees and ways, but
it's also a testament to the film's
ability to be many things at once.
So, keep talking. Provocation
is "Zero Dark Thirty"'s specialty.
By JOHN LYNCH
SeniorArts Editor
Throughout my childhood in
Livonia, Mich., there was a bar
and restaurant three miles from
my house that had the world's
greatest chicken fingers. By the
time I had reached middle school,
the restaurant was about to go
under and had started instituting
ridiculous marketing schemes
to draw in patrons. As regular
customers, my family and I had
happened to reap the benefits of
many "Deal Days" toward the
end of the establishment's life,
and I was convinced that I had
found heaven in those free bowls
of ice cream and plates of french
fries.
One night, to my disappoint-
ment, we discovered that the
restaurant had stopped the free
food specials in lieu of a weekly
karaoke night. Understandably, I
was pretty bitter about the news.
When the waitress came to our
table and asked if anyone wanted
to sign up to sing, I resentfully
slumped in my seat. While I was
trying my best to appear upset
about the lack of free, fattening
menu items, my younger sister
(a talented singer and fearlessly
outgoing individual) quickly vol-
unteered.
In retrospect, the karaoke ses-
sion that followed was an allegory
for life, depicting its increasingly
depressing stages through (for
the most part) terribly interpret-
ed song.
The evening began adorably
with two children with lisps
singing "Twinkle Twinkle Lit-
tle Star." 'The entire restaurant
watched intently and smiled at
the innocent way the kids sang
the wrong words and giggled
throughout. After completingthe
one and only verse they knew,
the children blushed, returned to
their smiling parents and enjoyed
plates of chicken fingers without
a care in the world.
Next up was my sister, who left
our booth grinning and grabbed
the
knowin
tear th
next fe
the cu
staff b
Keys's'
by belt
whiteE
Whenr
greete
I could
chicken
as adul
meet t
next to
ognitio
for sing
ing he
pubert
school;
ably ev
The
was a vt
A 2
lowed:
comple
dared t
laughin
her. T
way th
No. 5,"
the ao
ing bu
her tab
soul, In
in hand
college
and on
throug
obnoxi
II
ka
The
nerdy-
ple that
playing
table t
imagin
a backs
microphone confidently, tion (they were clearly two divor-
ng that she was about to cees that had met on eHarmony
ie house down. Over the through their mutual interest
w minutes, she captivated in "Star Trek," and were enjoy-
ustomers and restaurant ing a very successful first date
y ripping through Alicia while ignoring the inevitable
"If I Ain't Got You," and deterioration of love), but part of
ing out notes like the tiny, me still wanted to believe that
Aretha Franklin she was. true love existed, and I was will-
my sister finished, she was ing to accept the possibility that
d by roaring applause, and they were a repulsively devoted
do nothing but devour my and married couple. Regard-
n fingers in a jealous rage less, the pair took the stage and
Its approached our table to performed a horrendous duet
he young phenom that sat of Captain and Tennille's "Love
me. It was the most ret- Will Keep Us Together," making
in she had ever received sure that every last person in the
ging and, sadly (since los- restaurant had lost their appetite
r 10-year-old cuteness to before returning the mic.
y, hormones and high In the closing minutes of the
), the most she will prob- night, an80-year-old man lefthis
er receive. table for one and took the stage.
remainder of the night Up until that day, I was con-
'ery bleak affair. vinced that the most depressing
0-something woman fol- thing in the world was an elderly
my sister's performance, person eating by him or herself
tely wasted and seemingly at a restaurant, but I now know
o sing by friends who were that an elderly person eating by
ng more at her than with his or herself at a restaurant who
he woman stumbled her then volunteers to sing karaoke is
rough Lou Bega's "Mambo an infinitely more heartbreaking
searching for laughs from sight. The man had a surprisingly
dience and receiving noth- booming voice, unveiled with
t the mocking guffaws of a passionate rendition of Sina-
ble. She's probably a lost tra's "What Is This Thing Called
mused with chicken finger Love." His vocals were deep and
d,stucksomewherebetween sorrowful and, contrary to the
graduation and real life, title of the song, he looked like he
a mission to find herself had known love well, but had lost
h brief side ventures as an it somewhere along the winding
rous, tone-deafdrunk. road of life.'A tear slipped down
the side of my face, and I wiped it
quickly as I had not yet accepted
w ill always my identity as a helplessly emo-
J tional romantic.
love you; By the time our bill came, I
J ' was ina dismal state. I was upset
raoke won't. that I had finished my chicken
fingers too quickly, and I craved
a free bowl of ice cream that I
knew wouldnever come. I was
next act was an ugly, envious of my talented sister and
looking, middle-aged cou- the recognition she had received
it I had seen kissing and that night. Most of all, I was dis-
footsie underneath the traught at the thought of immi-
hroughout the night. The nent and embarrassing drunken
ative cynic in me created nights and an inescapable life of
tory to explain their affec- lost love.
Hail to the
convenience.
Inrodudniq University of Mid-igani
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