5 — Tuesday, February 17, 2015
Arts
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com

Real ‘Still Alice’

TV REVIEW

Julianne Moore 

gives a heartbreaking 

performance

By VANESSA WONG

Daily Arts Writer

You know the drill: another 

Oscar season, another heart-
string-tugging film about fight-
ing disease. “Still Alice” fits the 
bill for this year’s 
Oscar-bait, and, like 
this type of film usu-
ally does, comes out 
triumphant.

Linguistics 
pro-

fessor Alice How-
land’s 
(Julianne 

Moore, 
“The 
Big 

Lebowski”) concern 
over 
memory 
loss 

leads her to a neurologist, who, 
to her disbelief, sends her out 
with an alarming diagnosis of 
early-onset Alzheimer’s. For an 
academic whose work hinges on 
linguistic prowess and innova-
tion, admitting that she “can see 
the words hanging in front of 
(her) but (she) can’t reach them” 
comes as a cruelly ironic jab. For 
what are we but the sum of our 
memories, each one bubbling up 
to connect with the next? Gone is 
her teaching ability, her concept 
of time. Even the sharpness in her 
eyes dulls to confusion. Revolv-
ing, out-of-focus shots blur more 
intensely as Alice’s mental acuity 
wanes. In the vulnerable time of 
her diagnosis, Alice must plan for 
a future she fears, all the while 
plagued with the realization that 
she has already reached her cog-

nitive peak and will only sink 
downward. Rarely do we focus on 
how mentally taxing neurological 
diseases are on the perception of 
oneself and overall identity, and 
“Alice” does this well.

It could not do so without 

Moore’s performance, which is 
one that certainly lives up to the 
hype. Moore lifts what could eas-
ily be a one-dimensional charac-
ter and, layer by raw layer, sculpts 
Alice into someone real. Alice’s 
transition from poise to forget-
fulness isn’t a steep descent like 
she had predicted. Rather, it’s a 
meandering journey that takes 
her through denial, terror, love, 
concern, confusion and eventu-
ally, reinvention and reconsid-
eration of her own identity. And 
as the film’s title suggests, Alice 
retains her intelligence, warm 
heart and strength, just in a dif-
ferent way than she had been 
used to before. Moore injects life 
into “Alice” with every woozy 
smile, anxious panic attack and 
vacant stare.

The family network backing 

Alice boasts strong performanc-
es as well. Her daughter, Lydia 
(Kristen Stewart, “Twilight”), 
argues with her for the indepen-

dence to make her own life choic-
es and pursue acting rather than 
attend college. However, Lydia’s 
weariness toward Alice’s parent-
ing is lined with a fierce concern 
for her happiness. Lydia isn’t all 
annoyance, nor all unflagging 
support, but a lifelike blend of the 
two. Tentative steps to reach out 
sometimes work, but sometimes 
fall flat, and seemingly insignifi-
cant comments can spark argu-
ment. Stewart proves herself a 
remarkably diverse and mature 
actress with her work in this film. 
Alice’s husband (Alec Baldwin, 
“30 Rock”) also demonstrates 
a slightly detached style of love 
and support wherein he genuine-
ly attempts to comfort Alice, but 
sometimes misses the mark.

However, the rest of her fam-

ily life, from a city brownstone 
apartment to a heritage-ridden 
beach house and well-dressed 
children who support her uncon-
ditionally, 
leaves 
behind 
an 

overly saccharine taste. Perhaps 
the idea was to show how much 
Alice has to lose as a result of 
her disease and that yes, there 
are cracks in seemingly picture-
perfect lives, but it still comes off 
slightly akin to a Lifetime movie 
backdrop.

Though exciting, grandiose 

visions of escapism deserve their 
screen time, the sheer realism 
of “Still Alice” offers another 
important tenet of film: the 
wonder of seeing an ordinary 
life challenge reflected in art. 
Moore’s mind-blowingly vivid 
portrayal of a woman not only 
struggling with, but also bravely 
confronting her disease makes 
that happen.

SONY PICTURES CLASSICSW

Toasting to her Oscar.

What King & Queen 
B have in common

By MELINA GLUSAC

Daily Arts Writer

“Music should strike fire from 

the heart of human soul.” — Lud-
wig Van Beethoven 

“I’ve been sipping, that’s the 

only thing that’s keeping me 
on fire, we on fire.” — Beyoncé 
Knowles 

Freshly 
traumatized 
from 

Beyoncé’s crushing (yes, crush-
ing) loss to Beck at last week’s 
Grammy Awards, I had to trudge 
through a Musicology 121 exam 
this week. Channeling all my 
brainpower toward an intro class 
based on the theory that music 
is one of the great forces in our 
world proved to be no problem, 
of course. It was all Ludwig Van 
Beethoven’s fault; he was the 
issue. Unlike any other class, I 
couldn’t listen to Beyoncé while 
preparing for this exam. I had to 
listen to Beethoven. 

Beethoven wasn’t even cov-

ered on the test — we’d stopped 
in lecture after finishing his fifth 
symphony, which, much like 
Beyoncé’s loss, was deemed too 
fresh, too ripe for us to be tested 
on it. I wasn’t upset (I was a little). 
Classical music had always been a 
secret joy, one that had thrilled 
and confused me simultaneous-
ly. I wanted to hear it and learn 
about it, but the modern, wan-
nabe-cool-cat part of me wanted 
to listen to Beyoncé. Beethoven 
was irrelevant. Stunning, but 
irrelevant.

Nevertheless, while studying, 

I obediently subjected my ears 
to the romance of his symphony 
before flicking on any ’Yoncé 
tunes. After administering much 
abuse to the replay button, I got to 
thinking — Beethoven’s fifth and 
Beyoncé’s fifth, “Drunk in Love,” 
aren’t so different after all.

Duh duh duh dun. Duh duh duh 

dunnn. We all know that intro. 
King B’s grand opus to the world 
of classical music is ominous and 

intelligent, simplistic and revo-
lutionary. Not only did his 1808 
symphony break the boundaries 
of what the opening measures 
(and all measures, for that matter) 
of a symphony could be, it marked 
a personal triumph for Beethoven, 
whose impending deafness began 
to cripple his mental health. You 
can hear the struggle in the song — 
it’s aggravated at points, convey-
ing battle and a deep cry for help 
at others, and repetition is loud 
and rife. In the end, though, after 
layers of the central, quadruple-
“duh” theme are added, enhanced 
and beautified, the whole piece 
rejoices. What happens in the 
middle is just as interesting — the 
mood (and key) oscillates between 
eerie and cheery, and at about the 
four-minute mark, we hear one 
note repeated a few times by the 
strings, quite oddly and out of 
place. Surfboardt.

It’s impossible (nor would any-

one want to attempt) to capture 
the essence of Beyoncé’s “Drunk 
in Love” intro in text. But it’s still 
recognizable. Like Beethoven’s 
lead in, when we hear Beyoncé, 
our stomachs drop. As listeners, 
we know what’s coming, and we 
know it’s going to be great. Those 
first few notes — for Beyoncé, it’s 
eight — build and build as the 
song progresses with different 
synths and effects stemming off 
one another, all bearing that origi-
nal theme in mind. The verses 
are creepy and sexy, while the 
chorus is booming and celebra-

tory; it’s symphonic trap. And in a 
way, “Drunk in Love” is Beyoncé’s 
fifth — it’s historic, instantly rec-
ognizable, beloved by the public 
and arguably her best work. It’s 
also ominous and intelligent, sim-
plistic and revolutionary. Those 
samples, those eight notes, that 
subject matter — everything is 
atypical, in the best way possible.

Musical merit is a different 

story. Critics and time, more than 
anything, have hailed Beethoven 
as a genius, and his music is deep-
ly revered. Broadly, the same is 
true of Beyoncé. But technically, 
the true musicality of Beyoncé’s 
music — its complications, its 
intricacy, its traditional structure, 
its “genius” — comes nowhere 
close to that of Beethoven.

Where 
does 
that 
gauge 

come from, though? It’s almost 
engrained in us, as listeners. 
We may like both Beyoncé and 
Beethoven, but only one is “real” 
music. Society and history books 
and BBC documentaries and 
music teachers have planted that 
into us from birth. To them I say, 
try this on for size: If Beethoven 
was the Beyoncé of his time, what 
did his society and music teach-
ers tell people “real” music was? 
Probably the greats that came a 
couple hundred years before him. 
Yes, he himself was critically 
adored and respected during his 
lifetime. But then again, so is 
Beyoncé.

So we’re back to the drawing 

board — the act of listening and 
having our breath taken away. 
The fifth and the “drunk” fifth 
both conquer this latter feat, and 
you can’t help but marvel at each 
one’s modernity. Beethoven’s vir-
tuosity will always be as mysteri-
ous as it is essential, and Beyoncé’s 
pop innovation will continue to 
seduce our ears with its convo-
luted goodness. Both are, and will 
always be, worthy of our attention 
— surfin’ all in this good, good. All 
hail King and Queen B.

‘Kingsman’ delights 
in ultraviolent thrills

By BENJAMIN ROSENSTOCK

For The Daily

Much like director Matthew 

Vaughn’s 
2010 
film 
“Kick-

Ass,” “Kingsman: The Secret 
Service” portrays 
extreme violence 
with a perverse 
kind of glee. It’s 
total 
escapism, 

a self-aware spy 
film that discards 
strict 
logic 

and 
complex 

characterization 
to revel in the 
sheer lunacy of 
its plot.

Up-and-

coming British actor Taron 
Egerton (“The Smoke”) plays 
Gary “Eggsy” Unwin, a young 
man with a disregard for the 
law following his departure 
from the Royal Marines. One 
day, when Eggsy is arrested, he 
calls Harry Hart (Colin Firth, 
“The King’s Speech”), an old 
family friend who introduces 
Eggsy to Kingsmen. Kingsmen 
is the secret intelligence agency 
where Harry and Eggsy’s late 
father 
worked, 
and 
Eggsy 

agrees to follow in his father’s 
footsteps to become a spy.

At 129 minutes, “Kingsman” 

is a bit long for a fast-paced 
action movie because it crams 
a dozen plots into one film. 
A large section is devoted 
to Eggsy’s journey through 
Kingsmen’s dangerous training 
program, where he meets other 
young men and a woman, Roxy 
(Sophie Cookson, “Moonfleet”), 
who’s presented as a love 
interest, though the hints of 
sexual tension never build to a 
head. The film also touches on 
Eggsy’s desire to protect his 
mother and baby sister from 
his lewd, abusive stepfather. On 
top of all that, there’s Samuel 

L. Jackson (“Pulp Fiction”) as 
the film’s villain, Richmond 
Valentine. 
With 
some 
plot 

threads being dropped, others 
petering out and others being 
relegated 
to 
a 
mid-credits 

scene, the film feels overstuffed 
and unfocused.

Despite these issues, the 

film 
succeeds 
because 
of 

how undeniably fun it is — to 
the point that its problems 
are rendered almost entirely 
unimportant. 
Jackson 
plays 

Internet billionaire Valentine 
with hilarious idiosyncrasies, 
like an obnoxious lisp and a 
disgust for blood and gore, 
despite his love for wreaking 
havoc and provoking violence in 
others. Valentine’s insane plot 
involves solving overpopulation 
by triggering violent impulses 
in humans through their cell 
phones, so several scenes depict 
mass displays of violence as 
everyone attacks one another 
with a feral desire for death.

Vaughn 
shoots 
these 

Tarantino-esque 
scenes 
of 

brutality with dizzying speed, 
tilting the camera and making 

swift pans while still orienting 
the viewer in space so the 
action rarely descends to shaky 
cam. Hart is a fun character to 
watch, as several scenes allow 
him to basically go crazy with 
well-choreographed 
battle 

moves, and Firth portrays him 
as a fussy upper class British 
citizen whose deadpan delivery 
of profanity creates big laughs. 
Egerton too is an unexpected 
treat, a sort of audience surrogate 
who bubbles with sarcastic jabs 
and frank comments about how 
unbelievable everything is. Eggsy 
keeps his cocky persona likable 
with his sense of humor and an 
interesting quirk: He can’t stand 
to watch animals die.

In the end, “Kingsman” is 

primarily worth seeing because 
of how hilariously it basks in the 
glory of bloodshed. One third-
act scene in particular features 
an act of violence that, unlike 
some of the bloodier scenes from 
earlier on, depicts death as a 
fantastic rainbow of colors in an 
awe-inspiring climax. It’s pure 
insanity, which makes it the most 
fun spy movie in years.

B+

Still Alice

Michigan 
Theater

Sony Pictures 
Classics

A-

Kings-
man: The 
Secret 
Service

Rave and 
Quality 16

20th Century 
Fox

The family 

network fights 

alarming 
disease.

20TH CENTURY FOX

Michael Caine toasting to “Interstellar” ‘s Oscar ... just kidding.

FILM REVIEW

Despite age 

difference, both 
take our breath 

away.

Revolutionary satire 
‘Last Week Tonight’

By DREW MARON

Daily Arts Writer

Last Sunday, John Oliver 

(“The Daily Show”) and his team 
of writers came back on the air 
in full force by 
tackling corrupt 
pharmaceutical 
companies, 
a 

South American 
leader’s 
unhealthy 
obsession 
with 

internet trolls, the 
greatest 
eulogy 

for an American 
company ever and 
an apology from 
Oliver for the minor confusion 
of a hamster’s penis. This latter 
segment, 
Oliver 
states, 
was 

the result of an error he made 
last season when a picture of 
a hamster’s tail was mistaken 
for the hamster’s genitals. This 
was the only error Oliver and 
gang made last season, and it’s a 
comment on the dystopian state 
of modern news that Oliver’s 
team was more accurate in their 
reporting than Brian Williams 
and NBC Nightly News. 

As with last season, this 

week featured an exposé on 
some facet of the ever-eroding 
morality of today’s political, 
economic and social landscapes. 
Using the usual wit, intelligence 
and devilishly well-researched 
and well-crafted script, Oliver 
delivered a better treatise on 
modern 
day 
pharmaceuticals 

than most journalists. 

The eulogy for the recently 

bankrupt 
Radio 
Shack 
was 

hysterical in addition to being 
poignant 
and 
bitter. 
There 

was a melancholia to Oliver’s 
lamentation of Radio Shack’s 
demise that made the viewer 
think about the place these “big, 
unfeeling 
corporations” 
have 

in our national identity. No one 
should want big companies to 
go away just because they’re the 
ones in power. On the contrary, 
we need such companies to exist 
to define ourselves as a nation. 

Finally, 
the 
trolling 
of 

Ecuadorian 
President 
Rafael 

Correa showcased exactly how 
crazy and awesome a show can 
be when it’s uninhibited by the 
stringency of network television. 
Oliver called upon viewers to 
tweet disparaging comments at a 
foreign leader who is bullying his 
own people for doing the same 
thing — we should be thankful 

such a show is willing to take 
an impassioned stance against 
the corruption and tyranny in a 
world as toxic as the one we live 
in now.

“Last 
Week 
Tonight” 

continues 
to 
shine 
in 
its 

organization and the clear effort 
that goes into every single story. 
Whereas most late night shows 
scramble 
for 
content 
every 

night, “Last Week Tonight” has 
an entire week to organize its 
thoughts, arguments, segments 
and news stories to deliver a 
revolutionary 
combination 
of 

truth and satire. It’s such a treat 
to tune in every Sunday night 
and see what the “Last Week 
Tonight” crew has cooked up for 
us this week, and an indescribable 
pleasure to see such a fantastic 
experiment work and return 
for 
another 
season, 
with 

hopefully many more to come. 

HBO

Not as good as fish and chips.

A+

Last 
Week 
Tonight

Season 2 
Premiere

HBO

Sundays at 11 p.m.

MUSIC NOTEBOOK

FILM REVIEW

