6A — Monday, March 30, 2015
Arts
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
‘It Follows’ brings
art back to horror
Innovative score
and cinematography
terrify and captivate
By VANESSA WONG
Daily Arts Writer
When “It Follows” begins, we
don’t see “It,” but we see her. In
one fluid shot, a distraught girl
in a thin shirt
sprints through
her
peace-
ful
suburban
neighborhood,
desperately
seeking refuge
from something.
Scratchy, pulsat-
ing synths blare
as she refuses
help from a well-meaning neigh-
bor, dodges past her father, jumps
straight into her car and floors
it. Her trembling body is small
against an expansive beach as she
calls her parents and tells them she
loves them. Next is a jarring, front-
on view of her dead body, leg bent
bloodily at a gruesome angle and
high heel dangling dangerously off
her foot. “It” has arrived.
“It Follows” ’s subtle terror
comes not from gore or jump-
scares, but from a monster that
embodies no defining characteris-
tic. We first meet Jay (Maika Mon-
roe, “Labor Day”) floating lazily in
her backyard pool. She spots a bug
on her arm, inspects it and serene-
ly lowers it back into the water.
But her peace is quickly shattered.
After having sex with her boy-
friend, she finds herself haunted
by a monster only she can see. It
takes on different manifestations
each time, but always comes for
her slowly and purposefully. Her
boyfriend informs her that if “It”
kills her, It will come back for him,
and the only way to escape is to
pass “It” on.
The physical forms of “It”
are not, themselves, scary. The
unyielding persistence and vacant
stares make them so. Ultimately,
“It” ’s origin and purpose go unex-
plained, so the victims cannot even
fully understand their tormentor.
Nothing is more terrifying than
battling the unknown, except the
added sting of the curse – doing it
alone. The haunting operates like a
psychological illness. Because only
its victims can see “It,” Jay’s loyal
friends remain a step removed
from her experience and cannot
truly help her despite their best
efforts.
Central to the quiet unease
is
the
film’s
mood-setting
soundtrack, provided by Bay
Area composer and producer
Disasterpeace. Breathy, atmo-
spheric sounds and dissonant
synthetics swell around the
film’s gloomy visuals. The set-
ting slices out a bleak alternate
universe in which time stands
still. Cell phones coexist with
grainy
black-and-white
TV.
Parents or daily routines don’t
intervene. A tense haze clings,
refusing to detach, and only “It”
soldiers forward.
The film constructs an intricate
dialogue about innocence and
intimacy. Sex sparked the monster,
and the loss of innocence brings
an underlying sense of anxiety. At
first, the film is set in a tranquil,
well-maintained
suburb,
but
after “It” strikes, the backdrop
shifts to blighted Detroit streets.
Once removed from childhood’s
protective bubble, responsibility
falls on Jay alone. Despite what
overtly seems like an STD-scare
metaphor, the film implies more
than just abstinence. Though
intimacy spells death, it’s also the
only way to stay alive. In this way,
real-life horror blends with the
supernatural as Jay grapples with
emotional trauma and the difficult
decision of how and to whom she
should pass “It” on.
Intelligently made and truly
petrifying, “It Follows” harnesses
our basest fears about intimacy
and the unknown. We may laugh
at lurid special effects, indulge in
waves of blood that we know could
never prevail in reality, but emo-
tionally devastating victimhood?
That’ll get to you.
Zayn directionless
By GIBSON JOHNS
Daily Arts Writer
Boy bands aren’t supposed to
last forever. We all know that. At a
certain point in their unrelenting
reigns over pop music, the hyste-
ria dies down, the boys become
men, the fans’ interest wanes,
their sound evolves and, eventu-
ally, a band member decides that
they’re over it. Justin Timberlake
broke off from *NSYNC to go solo.
A.J. McLean went to rehab and
Kevin Richardson temporarily left
the Backstreet Boys soon thereaf-
ter. The Jonas Brothers broke up
when Nick wanted to venture out
on his own. And, of course, Zayn
Malik left One Direction last week
because he wanted to have a “nor-
mal” life and record solo material.
Yet, despite how predictable
the life cycle of a boy band may
be, the news of a member leaving
will always be met with shock and
passionate disappointment. In the
case of One Direction — the first of
their kind to rise to stardom in the
age of social media — that intense
reaction was even stronger than it
would have been, say, 10 years ago.
When the news of Zayn’s depar-
ture broke last Wednesday, it was
absolutely unavoidable. The reac-
tions from fans and non-fans alike
made headlines themselves as
everyone tried to make sense of an
announcement that, really, wasn’t
that difficult to understand.
When Simon Cowell brought
the boys back from the brink of
elimination on “The X Factor UK”
to form a five-piece boy band, it
was, in the world of singing com-
petition series on television, a rela-
tively revolutionary decision. And
it paid off in a bigger way than any-
one could have imagined. From
the moment they started singing
Natalie Imbruglia’s “Torn” the
first time they performed together,
it was clear that Simon was onto
something. You could see the
money signs reflecting off of his
jet black aviators as the group of
teenage boys confidently crooned
in front of him. Week after week,
the One Direction hysteria grew —
both online and offline. As is cus-
tomary to competitions like “The
X Factor UK,” though One Direc-
tion didn’t technically “win,” they
were the de facto champions that
year. They had cultivated a mas-
sive fanbase and became a house-
hold name, but were free from the
contractual stipulations that came
with coming in first place. Until
their debut single, the still-catchy
“What Makes You Beautiful,”
was released almost a year after
their formation, support for the
boys online spread like wildfire
around the world. Led mostly, but
not exclusively, by teenage girls,
the Directioners used social media
to back their boys and spread the
word about the world’s most excit-
ing boy band since the early ’00s.
There were — and still are — a
lot of things to like about One
Direction that set them apart
from the boy bands of yester-
year. They didn’t dance or wear
matching outfits. They each had
an individual style that at once set
them apart from one another and
helped them to remain a compat-
ible, multi-dimensional unit. Their
boyish camaraderie, though defi-
nitely played up, was genuine and
not manufactured. They pantsed
and poked each other’s butts on
stage. In interviews, they made
fun of each other and displayed
their cheeky British humor that
was borderline inappropriate for
their young fans, but appealed to
their mothers enough to make
them the “ok” kind of bad boys.
But, perhaps most importantly,
every member of One Direction
has his own discernible singing
voice and personality that indi-
vidual fans can latch onto. Harry,
Liam, Niall, Louis and Zayn are
different, unique young men and
they aren’t trying to hide that.
Despite their love for One Direc-
tion as a whole, every Directioner
has a favorite. There aren’t just one
or two standouts because they’re
all standouts in different ways.
And this wasn’t the case for the
boy bands of years past. Find me
one person who claims their favor-
ite member of *NSYNC was Chris
Kirkpatrick or anyone who liked
Kevin Jonas better than Nick or
Joe. Seriously. Part of One Direc-
tion’s mass appeal is that their
members and fans celebrate their
collective individuality and, in an
age when social media allows for
more niche fan bases to flourish,
that is a very powerful quality to
have when put all together.
Unfortunately,
that
didn’t
stop One Direction from follow-
ing the same path that every boy
band seems destined to follow.
Because boy bands have such
short life spans, the rate of their
music production and touring and
appearances has been increas-
ingly accelerated. One Direction
has been touring seemingly non-
stop for three years, and they’ve
released four albums in four years.
As a group of men that are growing
up themselves and trying to find
their own identities in this world,
it’s no surprise that it eventually
became too much for one of them
to handle. Performing bubblegum
pop — presumably not the type of
music that Zayn Malik would pre-
fer to be singing — for sold out are-
nas of screaming, hysterical young
girls must have been exhausting.
That’s a lot of pressure.
For a little over half a year
now, One Direction’s goofy
lads-will-be-lads dynamic has
been fading. When I saw them
perform last summer, it was
clear that something was off,
specifically with Zayn. Wheth-
er he was bored or blazed (he
was probably a little bit of both),
there was rarely a smile on his
bangs-covered
face
and
he
dragged his feet on stage while
the other four acted the way
they always have. The energy
was unbalanced.
So, the signs have been there.
From a personal perspective,
Zayn’s decision to leave One
Direction makes sense. But that
doesn’t make it any easier to
come to terms with. What will
One Direction be without him?
They’re going to continue as a
foursome, but it’s hard to imagine
that some, or a lot, of their magic
will disappear. I’d imagine that
they’ll fare a bit better than the
post-Geri Halliwell Spice Girls
did, but who really knows? Zayn
will try his hand at a solo career
and he’ll probably find success
(he’s the best singer of the group),
but I don’t think he has the per-
sonality of someone destined for
prolonged success as a solo artist.
That seems to be more part of the
increasingly Mick Jagger-esque
Harry Styles’s trajectory.
They’re still the guys we have
always loved, but One Direction
will never be the same without
Zayn. It’s sad just how fast the
night changes.
A
It Follows
State Theater
Northern
Lights FIlms
COLUMBIA
Powerhair.
MUSIC NOTEBOOK
‘Transatlantique’ is
bare and beautiful
By KARL WILLIAMS
Daily Arts Writer
“Transatlantique” is Montre-
al-based documentary filmmak-
er
Felix
Dufour-Laperriere’s
debut
feature-
length
film,
which
follows
the lives
of work-
ers trav-
eling
across the Atlantic on a cargo
ship. Dufour-Laperriere’s film
made its American debut at the
53rd Ann Arbor Film Festival.
Of course, the well-known
mantra is “it’s about the journey,
not the destination.” While not
necessarily adventurous, “Trans-
atlantique” is concerned only with
the voyage. It eschews the facts of
plot and the mechanisms of narra-
tive, instead focusing on the expe-
rience of the crew members amid
the wide expanse of the Atlantic.
Neither the departing point nor
the destination are made clear.
Men talk, but there is no dialogue.
There are no characters, only men.
Every man remains anonymous,
even when the film tracks the inti-
mate details of their daily lives.
Although the workers are presum-
ably from India — they play cricket
and seem to speak Hindi — this is
never made explicit, like most of
the detail in the film.
Indeed,
Dufour-Laperriere’s
film is a documentary in the most
minimalist sense of the word. It
documents the lives of the voyag-
ers as lived without adornment,
reveling in the banality of life at
sea isolated from larger social
interactions.
There
are
large
stretches that depict basic human
activity: men eat, read, prepare for
work in the morning, play board
games, pray, etc. Dufour-Laper-
riere reduces the content of the
film to the minute activity of these
men, but avoids the trap of becom-
ing tedious itself.
Much of the film oscillates
between sequences of the ocean
and those of human activity. This
formula risks redundancy, but
evades it. Many of the images of
the sea are shot at different angles,
and each is stunning. There are
some scenes that seem to have
been shot from beneath the water,
which are particularly incredible.
In fact, “Transatlantique” is
surprisingly enthralling and fasci-
nating throughout its entirety, due
in large part to its cinematography
and score. Filmed in black and
white, the cinematography catches
the beauty of the sea along with its
monotony and treachery. If based
solely on visual criteria, “Transat-
lantique” is one of the most beauti-
ful films one will ever see.
Dufour-Laperriere seems to be
well versed in the European cine-
ma of the 1960s, especially Michel-
angelo Antonioni and Federico
Fellini. Aesthetically, “Transatlan-
tique” compares well to a film such
as Antonioni’s “L’Avventura,” most
notably in each work’s depiction of
the sea. However, Dufour-Laper-
riere’s film has the advantage of
being shot digitally, intensifying
the clarity of the images and cre-
ating a more powerful cinematic
effect. The contrast between white
and black in the film is wondrous-
ly strange. The white is almost
unbearable, and the black is total.
At times the screen will shift from
total darkness to intolerable lumi-
nescence with no warning.
The cinematography is accen-
tuated by a powerful score that
blends immaculately. The score
is soft and, at times, nearly unde-
tectable. But it fuses incredibly
well with the stark images. The
score captures the latent annihila-
tion lurking beneath the glittering
facade of the sea.
FILM REVIEW
A
Transatlantique
Michigan Theater
La Distributrice
Sufjan strikes again
By MELINA GLUSAC
Daily Arts Writer
As I sit in the Starbucks on State
Street, light rain grazing the win-
dows and plaguing the faces of
incoming
cus-
tomers, I figure
it’s a good time
to listen to Suf-
jan Stevens. I’m
sipping coffee; I
feel existential
and introspec-
tive. The weath-
er is cementing
these
feelings.
So let’s go, Stevens. Throw me all
the emotional hoopla you’ve got.
Stevens, first name pronounced
“Soof-yahn,” is a Michigan native
and master of eliciting what hip
young kids are calling “the feels.”
A graduate of Hope College and
The New School, his intelligent
lyrics, melodic inventiveness and
directional fearlessness make him
both a critical darling and cult
favorite. And he’s been at it since
2000 — a veteran, to be sure, yet
consistently youthful in sound.
So what exactly does his career
entail? His genre, his trajectory
thus far — it’s all so impossible to
pinpoint. He’s been everywhere
and done everything. Notable
endeavors include (but aren’t
limited to) the following: a folky,
orchestral album set in Chicago
concerning all things emotional
and Midwestern (Illinois, 2005);
a conflicted, wondrously com-
plex electronic beast rooted in the
vibrant Louisiana (The Age of Adz,
2010); a buxom, five-disc Christ-
mas extravaganza (Songs for
Christmas, 2006) and more. Many
more. Indeed, the aforementioned
trio deserves a deep listen, vanilla
latte in hand.
As for 2015’s Carrie & Lowell?
Well, that deserves everything.
The first few notes of “Death
with Dignity,” the opening track,
cooingly allow the listener to know
they have embarked on some sort
of ethereal, profoundly sad jour-
ney. It’s one of the strongest on
the album. “I don’t know where to
begin,” Stevens sings in his frag-
ile, pleading whisper. Never has a
voice that sounds like the irresist-
ibly thin glass vase in your house
— you know, the one that will shat-
ter into tragic chunks if dropped
(sorry, mom) — sounded so stun-
ning. Dreamy, plucked acoustic
guitar weeps along with Stevens
as he ventures this time to Eugene,
Oregon — a land of painful, poetic
and potent shards of the past.
The two figureheads of the
album, Carrie and Lowell, fea-
tured on the cover in all their ’80s
glory, are vital to understanding
Stevens’s pain. His mother, Carrie,
suffered from depression, schizo-
phrenia and substance abuse all
her life; she left the family when
Stevens was a baby because she
thought herself unfit to raise
children. Carrie married Lowell
Brams soon after, and Stevens and
his siblings traveled to their home
in Oregon for a few summers dur-
ing his childhood. These trips
house the only memories he has of
Carrie; Stevens struggled with the
sparseness of their relationship
and his surprising grief upon her
passing in 2012.
You can hear the struggle in
almost every song on the album.
“Carrie & Lowell,” the title track,
is a moving ode to that elusive duo
complete with hymn-like harmo-
nies (think: “Scarborough Fair” by
Simon & Garfunkel. Carrie & Low-
ell, Simon & Garfunkel. Stevens
must have a thing for duos.)
“Should Have Known Better”
and “Eugene” sound interestingly
child-like, etched with pretty,
subtle piano and simple melodies.
They’re semi-pleasant and serve a
great contrast to tunes like “All of
Me Wants All of You,” a song with
introverted lyrics like “I trace your
shadow with my shoe.” I have no
idea what that means, but it made
me cry in public. So thanks, Ste-
vens. Good things, good things.
Soft but pounding strumming
propels us forward on “Drawn to
the Blood.” Here, Stevens reaches
his falsetto for a few precious sec-
onds in the chorus and descends
soon after, soulfully mirroring the
ups and downs of a wail. Almost
all of the songs on the album fol-
low this sob-inspired structure
melodically. They tend to crescen-
do about half way through, as you
would at the peak of a mournful
cry (“Fourth of July”), and then
they sigh their way back down
toward the end — the cleansing,
regulating aftermath (“The Only
Thing”). Breathe in, breathe out
and cap it off with some misty, dis-
sonant chords. It works.
One of the chilling things
about Sufjan Stevens is his lyrical
repetition. In “Casmir Pulaski
Day” off Illinois, as he’s doubting
God’s intentions after the death
of a friend, he whispers, “and He
takes, and He takes, and He takes.”
All it takes is this redundancy to
do you in for good — similarly, as
he gently croons “We’re all gonna
die” on “Fourth of July,” the
listener is in shambles by the fifth
time around. Religious tones also
seep through on Carrie & Lowell.
“John My Beloved” has Stevens
looking to perhaps the eponymous
disciple
for
strength
over
a
beautifully stripped background.
“No Shade in the Shadow of the
Cross” is equally heart-wrenching,
and “Blue Bucket of Gold” is a
captivatingly
melancholy-yet-
hopeful end to a tremendous
musical feat for Stevens.
Simplistic folk takes the front
seat — there’s no tinkering with
genres, electronics, tempos or keys
here. It’s just a man and his guitar
— against the world, like Elliott
Smith or Bob Dylan? Not quite,
though the album has hints of both
of these gents. Rather, Stevens is
strumming against the death of
a soul (perhaps the soul). In that
way, this is folk taken to the next
level. Carrie would’ve been proud.
As I finish the album, I think
about a certain theory regarding
death — one that proposes that the
inevitable end of one human paves
the way for the creation of another.
Stevens said in an interview with
Pitchfork that he doesn’t plan on
having kids, as he’s slightly jaded
from his own dissatisfying expe-
rience with family. So maybe his
baby is this album, the bones from
which he builds a freshly contem-
plative genre of folk — full of life.
A new life.
I look up from my seat. It
stopped raining.
A
Carrie &
Lowell
Sufjan Stevens
Asthmatic Kitty
FILM REVIEW
NORTHERN LIGHTS FILMS
It’s like bondage, just not the fun kind.
ALBUM REVIEW