The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Arts
Friday, October 30, 2015 — 5
This column contains spoilers for
this season of “The Leftovers.”
Show, don’t tell. Anyone who has
ever taken a high school writing
class could tell you what this axiom
means. Truly
excellent
writing
—
whether
it
be in a short
story,
an
epic
poem,
a
screenplay
or
a
TV
column
in
The Michigan
Daily — makes
sure
that
every word speaks on its own.
Words should be more than a
straight path to a single conclusion,
more than simple exposition telling
readers what happened. Great
writers let the reader experience
the action through the character’s
feelings, description and a well-
turned
phrase.
Great
writers
drop hints at what everything
means, but they leave room for
the reader’s independent thought.
They acknowledge the gray areas
in interpretation, and they let the
mystery be.
The first season of HBO’s
“The Leftovers” was one of the
most stunning collections of epi-
sodes I saw in 2014. The show,
which followed the residents of
Mapleton, N.Y. after a devastat-
ing (and inexplicable) rapture-
like event claimed two percent
of the world’s population, was an
emotional powerhouse. In show-
ing the lives of those “left over”
following the departure, “The
Leftovers” mined the trauma for
the vulnerable shell of human-
ity underneath. Entire episodes
tracked the psychological arcs
of side characters, yet the writ-
ers didn’t drop a single hint about
the cause of the departure. “The
Leftovers” was a show framed
around a mysterious rapture, but
it gave zero fucks about explain-
ing that mysterious rapture.
Brian
Lowry
of
Variety
said, in a review of the show’s
first season, that he found
“The
Leftovers”
’s
premise
far more engaging than its
banal,
unlikeable-character-
driven
drama.
Matt
Zoller-
Seitz, the TV critic for New
York Magazine (and one of my
favorite entertainment writers),
gave the “The Leftovers” ’s
first episode a negative review,
expressing that “the first few
episodes don’t showcase enough
artistry to justify all the slogging
and weeping, the bloodied faces
and broken hearts.”
You know, I get it. “The
Leftovers” is a frustrating show
to watch. The dialogue tells you
almost nothing — I have a theory
that a script for an hourlong
episode of “The Leftovers” isn’t
more than 15 pages, and mostly
contains directions for where
Justin Theroux is supposed
to stand and take off his shirt.
People in this show don’t say
anything, and for an audience
that is used to “Breaking Bad”
monologues
and
Quentin
Tarantino
ramblings,
this
minimalist style can wear your
patience a little too thin. The
Guilty Remnant, the show’s
resident weirdo cult, features
completely mute characters that
stand around in white clothes
and smoke all day. Character
Actress Amy Brenneman and
Movie Star Liv Tyler spend most
of the first season scrawling
their thoughts on legal pads,
keeping
maddeningly
silent
while I begged them to just say
something, dammit.
But
ultimately,
“The
Leftovers”
was
saying
something
—
is
saying
something, if you listen closely
enough. It’s showing, not telling,
the keys to understanding and
appreciating the emotion and
quietude of the show.
The first episode of the sec-
ond season begins with a cave,
miles and years away from the
departure and Mapleton. A
pregnant cavewoman bears wit-
ness to a tragic earthquake that
kills her entire tribe and family.
She leaves the cave, goes to the
beach, gives birth to her child
and gets bitten by a snake. She
dies with her baby in her arms,
leaving her child to face civiliza-
tion and fend off future snakes
alone. She dies on the sand, the
water lapping at her toes.
Describing
this
scene
in
words does it no justice. First,
it’s
completely
devoid
of
dialogue and isn’t shot according
to typical continuity rules. The
editing makes it unclear how
much time is actually passing.
For
the
scene’s
ten-minute
runtime, I wasn’t sure whether
I was watching a sped-up and
blurry few months or a single,
stretched minute. The constant
close-ups take the viewer out
of the contextual reality of
the scene. We know she’s a
cavewoman, but she might as
well be a familiar Mapletonian
or a particularly dirty and naked
woman who lives by the river
near my house. It’s bizarre, yet
poetically resonant.
“The Leftovers” is obsessed
with
the
notion
of
the
unexplained,
the
idea
that
God or nature or a snake’s
venomous tongue can strike
and wipe everything out. The
unfathomable
tragedy
that
made the world disappear on
Oct. 14 is timeless and spaceless;
death and disaster have been
around since the Stone Age, and
the feelings are still the same.
“The Leftovers” says all of this
without a single word, forcing its
viewers to confront the tragedy
with their own eyes and ears
and make of the scene what they
will. It’s a bold move, but one
that “The Leftovers” isn’t afraid
to make.
In last week’s episode, “Off
Ramp,” former Guilty Remnant
member Laurie Garvey finally
decides to share her story.
After spending the first season
entrenched in twisted cult logic,
Laurie has finally broken out,
and is shopping her memoir
around to publishers. She gets
a call from one, who adored her
words and thinks she has the
potential to be the new authority
on grief, loss and dealing with
the departure. But there’s one
caveat: the publisher thinks
she needs to have some feeling
injected into her book.
“There’s some heartbreaking
stuff in here,” the editor says, but
it lacks the necessary explication.
He calls to mind the scene with
the lighter (from season one
of the show), where Laurie’s
daughter gives her something
to
light
her
GR-mandated
cigarettes
with,
emblazoned
with the note, “Don’t forget me.”
As we hear the irritating squawk
of the editor’s voice, we see the
same scene flash over the screen:
Jill Garvey with her big eyes
and baggy sweater, the sweetly
childish Christmas wrapping
and the gift that is supposed to
let Laurie know how much her
daughter misses her and wants
her to come home.
“If you want people to connect
with it, you have to tell them how
it felt,” the editor reminds Laurie.
Tell, don’t show. He wants her
to see the realization that “the
people that you left the family
for are fuckin’ whackjobs!” He
wants to see it all dressed up in
pretty words, in a dialogue to
the reader. “In that moment, I
looked at the lighter and saw the
mistake I’d made in leaving my
children to fend for themselves
while I join a cult and never
speak to them again.” He wants
some explanations, because the
events and the images aren’t
enough to speak for themselves.
That scene is emblematic of
every nugget of unfair criticism
“The Leftovers” suffers. That
book editor wants more words —
he wants clear characterization,
cut-and-dry feeling, symbolism
and
falseness.
He
wants
a
good story, editorialized and
picked over so it will fit on the
shelf next to all those other
departure
memoirs.
Many
viewers want the same for “The
Leftovers.” They want answers,
explanation, tonal consistency
and
for
the
characters
to
fucking say something, to cut the
melancholic piano music and
throw some good monologues
into the mix.
But “The Leftovers” collects
its thoughts in a different way. It’s
contemplative and image-driven
in a way that nothing else on TV
is; the dialogue comes secondary
to the direction, acting and
music. It’s slow and dreamlike,
and the tone can change from
melancholic (Laurie listening to
the book editor tell her how to
work through her grief) to fiery
(Laurie physically attacking the
book editor in his office) in a
split second. It lets the moments
speak for themselves. The image
of the lighter is enough to make
viewers realize the gravity of
Laurie’s regret for abandoning
her family — through showing,
not telling.
Gilke is joining a future
snake cult. To ask for an invite,
email chloeliz@umich.edu.
TV COLUMN
Rapture cults and
pregnant cavewomen
CHLOE
GILKE
I
met Zach Ornelas, two-time
Detroit Free Press Marathon
champion and 2013 School
of Education graduate, for drinks
at Ashley’s on the Thursday night
after his
second
win in
Detroit.
The race
ran the
morning
of Oct.
18, the
Sunday
of Fall
Break.
While
most of
Ann Arbor was nursing broken
hearts and hangovers from the
Michigan State game, Ornelas was
pounding the streets of Detroit
alone, six minutes ahead of second
place in a field of 4,000 runners.
His finishing time was two hours
and 20 minutes, running a per-
fectly even (and perfectly insane)
pace of five minutes, 21 seconds
per mile for 26.2 miles.
But the race was the fun part.
And the beer that followed.
We sat at a gnarled table across
from the bar at Ashley’s, under a
sign that listed over 50 craft beers
on tap, almost all of which Ornelas
had tried before. “I drink a lot of
beer,” he said, pulling an Ashley’s
gold card labeled “Friend of the
Owner” from his wallet. “You
need beer for marathon training.
It’s great for recovery. Lots of
carbs, lots of calories and it relaxes
you, which is really important.”
I think I hiccupped. On the
spectrum
of
fun
activities,
running marathons and drinking
beer seem to fall on opposite
sides, with little or no crossover
besides a congratulatory pint at
a marathon finish line. But then
again, marathoning and college
life itself seem incompatible.
There are several hurdles
for college kids trying to train
for marathons. First of all,
our age is a factor, since it’s
widely accepted that the “ideal”
marathoning age begins in our
late 20s and continues through
our 30s and 40s. Where most
athletic
competitions
are
dominated by us, the young
20-somethings (besides sports
like gymnastics, where 12-year-
olds kick our butts), marathons
have historically been won by
an older crowd. Records prove
it: Last October, physicist and
running blogger Graydon Snyder
graphed the ages of the fastest
marathoners from 1967 to 2014,
finding that the average “peak”
age for marathoning was 28 years
old for both men and women.
So what comes with age?
That old standby: experience.
Marathons differ from other
competitions because of what they
require — not (relative) speed or
fast reflexes, but steady endurance
and self discipline, gained from
years of plugging in miles and
strengthening our bodies to last
for the long run. So in technical
terms, our moms have a huge head
start on us, just because they’ve
been on their legs for longer. But
our age isn’t the real limiting
factor in marathon training — it’s
our lifestyle.
“In college, we put ourselves
through way worse than a
marathon,”
Ornelas
said,
laughing. “Think about it. If you
set aside time each day to train,
eat well, sleep and be smart
about recovery, you’re not going
to damage anything by running
a marathon.”
Ornelas trained for his first
marathon during his final fall
semester at the University, while
juggling 40 hours of student
teaching per week for the School of
Education. He was no stranger to
running, having already competed
four years on the University cross
country and track teams, earning
All-Great Lakes Region honors
his senior cross country season. “I
was one of those rare runners that
are waiting for the marathon to
race,” Ornelas said.
He continued, “Compared to
shorter, faster races on the track,
marathons are much easier to
train for.” Ornelas relied on Alex
Gibby, former University men’s
cross country coach, to text him
weekly
marathon
workouts,
like hour-long runs at marathon
pace. Though Ornelas’s strong
foundation of collegiate running
gave him an advantage over
the average college kid, it made
him perhaps more prone to
overtraining.
“Going too fast, too soon or
too often, is the biggest mistake
you can make as a marathoner,”
Ornelas said. “When I first started
training, I ran every run at six-
minute mile pace and was going
130 miles per week, about 20 miles
a day, always alone. I woke up at 5
a.m. to run before work, then went
out again at 5 p.m. I was dedicated,
but I wasn’t enjoying it.”
Overtraining wasn’t his only
bad habit. Ornelas admits that he
abandoned his social life, passing
up nights out with friends who
were visiting town to turn into
bed early. He also neglected his
diet — the marathoner remembers
a particularly low point two weeks
before winning the 2013 Detroit
Free Press Marathon, when he
was so low on money that dinner
consisted of a can of soup, poured
over a hotdog bun.
“Then again, my diet has never
been very good,” said Ornelas, who
holds the official cross country
team record for chicken nuggets (50
nuggets in 14 minutes). “I don’t eat
fast food anymore. Still, something
is always better than nothing —
even if it’s unhealthy, with how
much we run, marathoners have to
take in fuel.”
In order to finish a marathon,
Ornelas recommends that you
run at least 40 miles per week, 50
miles if you want to enjoy the race
— a mileage sum that is probably
more than many college students
have ran before. Training is all
about working up to the race:
increasing
your
run
length
slowly, so that an hour-long run
becomes
comfortable;
fueling
properly and frequently, allowing
your body to rebuild and endure;
spending time recovering, giving
yourself breaks from the stress
of training, to focus instead on
friends and family.
“Running is a passion, but it’s
also just a hobby,” Ornelas said.
“Go out with your friends. Recover
more; go on long, easy runs. If your
marathon is hard within the first
10 miles, that’s a bad sign — the
best races happen when you don’t
think about the miles.”
The runner finished his drink,
a quick sip, like a stop at a water
station. “Nobody has to run
marathons,” he said. “I love it and
hate it, but I choose to run. And
that’s rewarding enough.”
Middlebrook hiccupped, so it
turns out she is actually mortal,
too. To ask her how it feels,
email hailharp@umich.edu.
HEALTH & FITNESS COLUMN
Marathoning for
mortals
Front Bottoms:
All the emotions
CONCERT REVIEW
Alt-rock band brings
personal experience
to the Majestic
By SELENA AGUILERA
For The Daily
Before all of the pop-punk kids
crawled into every open crevice
inside of the Majestic to see an
emotional set from the The Front
Bottoms, two bands played to a
relatively unexcited crowd.
The opener was South Caroli-
na-based Elvis Depressedly. Matt
Cothran started this lo-fi trio
with his girlfriend back in 2011.
If you ever want to hear a song
about getting your heart broken,
smoking weed, having sex and
fucking up, look no further. Elvis
Depressedly is the band for you.
Their performance was more
than captivating — the music
spilled onto the crowd and com-
manded everyone to sway left
and right in unison. I was under
a spell that the music gods had
casted upon me. I thought drop-
ping out and becoming a groupie
was the life for me if it meant
that I could listen to this band
every night for the next few
months. Sadly, their set was cut
short and I was brought back to
reality. I patiently waited for the
next band to take the stage while
silently wishing Elvis Depressed-
ly played just one more song. Or
two. Or twelve.
Four men then took the stage.
These guys, with their full beards
and New Balance shoes (not the
cool ones, the dad looking ones),
were called The Smith Street
Band. This Austrailian band trav-
eled across the world for this tour
and have the accents to prove it.
Frontman Wil Wagner’s voice
was especially cute — too bad I
could hardly understand what he
was shouting throughout the set.
But, I have to give this band some
props. I mean, when they started
to play, they never stopped. Every
song fell into the next with-
out missing a beat. The way the
band maintained their energy
the entire time was impressive
to say the least. In comparison to
Elvis Depressedly, however, The
Smith Street Band’s set dragged.
I wouldn’t ask for an encore, but
the time was enjoyed as it lasted.
After heavy anticipation, the
four total babes that make up The
Front Bottoms walked on stage.
Amidst the screaming “I love
yous,” and effort made by every-
one to grab the band’s attention,
I felt my skin shed and my inner
fangirl emerge.
The stage was set under magen-
ta lights as bubbles started to fill
the air. Balloons dropped from the
ceiling and it felt as if I was trapped
in some candy land I would have
imagined when I was 10. I half
expected to see Willy Wonka
somewhere among the sweaty
bodies that surrounded me.
Frontman Brian Sella’s voice
sounded amateur, but that’s what
made his performance so entic-
ing. It showed that he’s imperfect,
just like everyone else. He made
interactions with the crowd cre-
ating a personal experience and
when he sang he closed his eyes.
The other members did their
part in contributing to the show,
but had little emotion and inter-
action with the crowd. All eyes
were on Sella, especially during
their hit “Swimming Pool,” when
his movements made it seem like
he was making sweet love to his
guitar. I’m positive that when
he sang the lyrics, “And I will
be alone probably the rest of my
life,” tears started falling from
the crowd collectively. They
yanked emotions out of every-
one that night playing songs like
“Maps,” and “Twelve Feet Deep.”
The majority of their set was
from their new album, Back on
Top. I’m not familiar with it, but
I do know that they performed
it extremely well. It didn’t mat-
ter that I didn’t know the words,
the songs still wrecked my heart.
They signed off with “Twin Sized
Mattress,” and the 17-song set
was over leaving everyone want-
ing more.
I guess now all I can do is
spend my time drowning in cof-
fee as I count the days until The
Front Bottoms make their way
back to the mitten.
He explained that the visual
aesthetic of “The Good Dinosaur”
is rooted in landscape, noting that
the film’s Director of Photography
comes from a background of
landscape painting. Pytko also
mentioned that the team used
U.S. Geological Survey data to
inspire and sculpt the film’s
backgrounds.
“Those initial shots take a
really long time because we’re
trying to figure out the shot,
but we’re also trying to figure
out the overall pipeline for the
show,” he said. “It’s not just
about that shot, we’re trying to
figure out the bigger challenges.
It’s usually months and months
of work.”
Later in the presentation,
Pytko screened around seven-to-
eight minutes of the film divided
into a few different clips. Each of
the clips centered on protagonists
Arlo, a cute green Apatosaurus,
and Spot, a mute cave-boy. One
emotional scene involved fire-
flies and howling at the night sky.
Another, surprisingly, involved
a
classic
Western
aesthetic,
drawing visual inspiration from
VistaVision-era
Westerns
like
“The Searchers” and “Gunfight
at the O.K. Corral.” Yet another
(possibly
the
most
beautiful
sequence of computer animation
I have ever witnessed) involved
Arlo and Spot running through a
giant flock of seagulls.
Each scene was lit absolutely
beautifully, and Pytko gave us
some insight into the process of
lighting scenes in a digital space.
He used terms heard frequently
in real-life lighting like “key”
and “fill,” but explained that
there are distinct differences in
virtual lighting.
“We try to start from some
realistic places. We start with
physically based lights, so they
sort of try to react like actual
lights. But then because it’s in a
virtual space, we have all these
ways to break that relation-
ship and do what’s important
for the visual story,” he said. He
noted that digital lighting artists
have the ability to decide which
objects are affected by which
lights no matter where they’re
located, among other techniques
that would be impossible in the
real world.
At the risk of sounding hyper-
bolic, these clips of “The Good
Dinosaur” were the best-look-
ing animated films I have ever
seen. The film’s natural features,
rushing water, tall grass and
night sky all felt photorealistic,
yet blended perfectly with the
more cartoony character mod-
els. The film is on another level
of detail and gorgeous visual
composition, even in compari-
son to recent beautiful Pixar
projects like “Brave.”
Pytko told me that the pro-
duction process on the film from
beginning to end took six years.
That’s an astronomical amount of
time (and money) to spend on one
movie.
It shows.
“The Good Dinosaur” will be
released in theaters nationwide
on Nov. 25.
PIXAR
From Page 1A
HAILEY
MIDDLEBROOK