T

here was once a point 
in my life when I 
called Bob Dylan a 

prophet, like a literal prophet, 
and thought I meant it.

I 

dropped 
out 
of 

organized 
religion 
around 
age 14, but 
even if the 
Catholic 
Church 
doesn’t 
neces-
sarily 
fit 

with what’s in your heart, that 
doesn’t mean all your spiri-
tual questions are immediately 
satisfied. At the same time, 
though, that doesn’t mean it’s 
easy to just up and join another 
religion. I think there’s a cer-
tain amount of belief you’re just 
born with, but if you lose that, 
then something really crazy has 
to happen for you to regain it. 
In other words, I couldn’t just 
choose something because it 
made sense; I had to feel it.

So I turned to music. The 

closest thing I could get to reli-
gious ecstacy or a connection 
with something greater was 
screaming the lyrics to “Like 
a Rolling Stone” while driving 
home, or pacing my basement at 
3 a.m. to Elliott Smith and The 
National, or sitting in my back-
yard listening to Astral Weeks. 
I got caught up with the art-
ists whose voices touched my 
soul, got obsessed and started 
to take my relationship with 
music 
incredibly 
seriously. 

I wanted to believe that just 
‘cause I cried when I first heard 
Jeff Buckley’s “Hallelujah” it 
meant he could save my soul, 
and that Dylan held the secrets 
of the universe in his tightly 
knotted verse and if I could just 
untangle them I’d know exactly 
how to live. I needed these guys 
with guitars to be my preach-
ers. Their albums were so spe-
cial to me that I wanted them 
to be scripture. I felt like their 
songs should be able to fix me 
whenever I felt broken.

And I still feel that impulse 

more than I wish I would. I 
have stomachaches that I try 
to medicate with acoustic gui-
tar, confrontations that make 
me long for David Bowie or 
existential problems I want 
to resolve with Van Morrison. 
I mix playlists like cocktails 
— one part Paul Simon, one 
part Paul McCartney, one part 
Townes Van Zant — and drink 
them hoping they’ll make me 
feel the way I want. Instead, 
they’ll usually just feed into 
the feelings I’m already hav-
ing. I’ll be on my couch listen-
ing to a song over and over and 
over again, and I won’t be able 
to stop, like I’m trapped and 
keep hitting the l<< button on 
my iPod but I can’t explain to 
myself why, and I’ll just be frus-
trated that the music isn’t help-
ing anything.

But other times it just clicks. 

And when it does, it’s with 
weird artists. Like, there’s a 
song by A Flock of Seagulls — of 
all the bands — called “Space 
Age Love Song” and it’s one 
of the most beautiful things 
I’ve ever heard not because it 
“speaks to me” or because it 
even knows I exist and am lis-
tening, but because it just is. 
I love it because the singer is 
hopeful and the guitar feels like 
it’s propelling me on a fantastic 
journey and sometimes that’s 
all I need more than anything.

And then out of nowhere I’ll 

get mesmerized by something 
like the intro to John Cougar 
Mellencamp’s “I Need a Lover,” 
just this piano sprinkled over 
hard drumming and heavy 
riffs. I start smiling because 
the cowbell that just came in 
feels like it’s being hit to the 
exact same pace as my heart. 
And then everything starts to 
quiet down for just a second 
after about two minutes, only 
to return with about 10 times 
as much force — the fireworks-
blasting, jump-up-and-hit-the-
ground-in-unison 
full-band 

moment that makes the whole 
track perfect. And then I real-
ize the main part of the song 
hasn’t even started yet.

Honestly, as anticlimactic 

as it might be, I think the dif-
ference is as simple as expec-
tations. I want Van Morrison 
to make me fly and give me a 
life where everything’s per-
fect, and of course he’s not 
gonna be able to manage a task 
like that. I just want A Flock 
of Seagulls and John Mellen-
camp to deliver something I 
can enjoy, and when they do, I 
don’t try to make the song into 
anything holy. Music is special, 
but it’s not magic, and digging 
for answers by listening to old 
albums is more often an exer-
cise in self-conscious nostalgia 
than an action that will get you 
anywhere new.

So I’ve been listening to Seu 

Jorge’s David Bowie covers, 
and honestly, as I’m writing 
this, I feel really good, because 
every time I finish a paragraph 
I’ve just been sitting back and 
taking deep breaths and just 
kind of laughing to myself, 
because there’s a very strong 
part of me that actually wishes 
I could solve life by throwing 
my entire being into all kinds 
of music — whether it’s with a 
record as huge as My Beauti-
ful Dark Twisted Fantasy or 
with the recordings of a dude 
with an acoustic guitar just try-
ing to wrap Portuguese sounds 
around 
“Queen 
Bitch” 
and 

“Five Years.”

I’m really just trying to clear 

my head and breathe and not 
try to think or feel or force any-
thing, to just let these songs 
flow through me and cleanse 
me without directing them to 
the problem areas of my brain 
and forcing music to fix them. 
And I love it, and I feel so much 
better now — not because the 
artists I love have mystical 
healing powers, but because I 
realize they don’t and can still 
love their work with all my 
heart anyway.

Theisen is mulling over the 

religious value of Carly Rae 

Jepsen. To commend or denounce 

him, email ajtheis@umich.edu. 

MUSIC COLUMN

Guitar as gospel: 

‘Music is my religion’

ADAM 

THEISEN

‘Anomalisa’ explores 
oddity and tragedy

PARAMOUNT PICTURES

Is this pre or post-puppet sex?

By MADELEINE GAUDIN

Daily Arts Writer

How good can a puppet movie 

with an R rating for sexual con-
tent and graphic nudity be?

Really, really 

good. 
Good 

enough to be 
the best animat-
ed (and possibly 
best all-around) 
movie 
of 
the 

year. 
Char-

lie 
Kaufman’s 

(“Synecdoche, 
New 
York”) 

latest follows apathetic self help 
author Michael Stone (David 
Thewlis “Macbeth”) through a 
daylong visit to Cincinnati, Ohio. 
But Kaufman cracks through 
this simple plot to ask (and not 
answer) some of the world’s most 
impossible and important ques-
tions. Unlike previous Kaufman 
films, “Anomalisa” isn’t a maze or 
a puzzle. Its plot can be summa-
rized on a line rather than a page. 
By keeping his narrative taut, 
Kaufman allows himself to create 
a world full of stunning visuals 
(remember, everything is puppet 
sized!) and complex characters.

“Anomalisa” didn’t need to be 

a puppet movie, but it succeeds 

because it is one. The oddities 
and tragedies of human behavior 
are magnified when acted out by 
3D-printed puppets. There is no 
conflation of actor and character 
because there isn’t any acting. So 
in a way, “Anomalisa” becomes 
more human. But, it doesn’t want 
its audience to confuse the pup-
pets for humans, leaving seams 
across the cheeks and hairlines. 
Part of Michael’s face even falls 
off at one point, revealing its 
mechanical interior.

After a failed reunion with an 

old flame, Michael meets Lisa, 
brought to life by the glowing 
voice of Jennifer Jason Leigh 
(“The Hateful Eight”). Lisa is 
the anomaly after which the film 
is named. And she is the only 
character besides Michael not 
voiced by Tom Noonan (“Man-
hunter”), so when she appears on 
the screen, giggling nervously in a 
hotel bathrobe, the audience sees 
and hears her as Michael does — 
a refreshing burst of novelty and 
originality.

The pair end up in Michael’s 

room 
and 
before 
the 
infa-

mous puppet sex scene, Lisa, at 
Michael’s request, sings “Girls 
Just Wanna Have Fun.” It’s one 
of the most beautiful moments in 
the entire film. It’s one of the most 

beautiful moments in any film. I 
never thought a puppet singing 
Cyndi Lauper would make me 
cry, but the scene is “Anomalisa” 
at its rawest — it’s the simplicity 
of having a favorite song and the 
odd honesty of singing it to some-
one you barely know.

Then there’s puppet sex. And 

it’s uncomfortable. But it’s also 
honest. Michael and Lisa fum-
ble awkwardly with each other, 
each action made deliberate by 
their insecurities and the worry 
that this could be their last (and 
maybe even only) chance to 
“get it right.” The scene — like 
the whole film — is heavy, but 
not so heavy that it isn’t funny. 
Kaufman manages to find humor 
within the tragedy of banal-
ity and urgency of middle age. 
“Anomalisa” is heartbreaking, 
but to have your heart broken by 
a movie like this is its own kind 
of pleasure.

During the film’s climatic 

scene Michael asks a room full 
of puppets, “What is it to be 
human?” Yes, there’s some irony 
there, but there’s also a whole lot 
of honesty. Because, ultimately, 
“Anomalisa” is the best thing any 
piece of art can strive to be: hon-
est.

A+

Anomalisa

State Theater

Paramount 

Pictures

BBC

Paul Dano, where is that wig from?

Tolstoy’s classic novel 
retold by the BBC

By DANIELLE YACOBSON

Daily Arts Writer

Bring on the vodka and fur 

coats: BBC is taking us to Rus-
sia circa 1805, and we will never 
want to come 
back. The net-
work takes on 
an 
ambitious 

project 
when 

producing 
a 

four-part mini-
series 
based 

on 
Leo 
Tol-

stoy’s 
“War 

and Peace,” one 
of the world’s 
most renowned 
literary 
epics 

that 
would 

inevitably spur 
rampant criticism with any cin-
ematic interpretation. But, as 
the low basses of Russian sing-
ers echo through the astonishing 
landscape of the opening scene, 
it’s clear that the undertaking 
is well worth the risk. Backed 
by an award-winning cast and a 
grandiose budget to match the 
large-scale production, “War and 
Peace” is unlike anything else on 
television: powerful and thrill-
ing, the miniseries is an artistic 
masterpiece.

Tolstoy’s “War and Peace” has 

stood the test of literary time by 
capturing the complex stories 
of the characters in a way that, 
however far removed from the 
modern day, is never truly for-
eign. The miniseries is able to 
bring the universal themes of 
love, power and glory to life in 
part due to the fantastic cast. 
Lily James (“Downton Abbey”) 

perfectly embodies the lively 
and outspoken Natasha Rostova, 
the daughter of a well-off aris-
tocratic family whose hopelessly 
romantic endeavors lead her to 
a messy love triangle. Beautiful 
and strikingly optimistic, James’s 
performance makes it impossible 
to look away. Meanwhile, Paul 
Dano (“Little Miss Sunshine”) 
captures the affections of the 
audience from his first, clumsy 
appearance on screen as Pierre 
Bezukhov, and James Norton 
(“Happy Valley”) shines as the 
brooding 
and 
philosophical 

Prince Andrei Bolkonsky.

Yet what truly sets “War and 

Peace” apart from other well-
regarded period dramas like 
“Downton Abbey” is the one-
of-a-kind cinematography. To 
stay true to the authenticity of 
the novel, the production was 
filmed in various Eastern Euro-
pean locations, including Russia, 
Latvia and Lithuania. As a result, 
the early 19th century blooms on 
screen. The viewers feel acutely 
present as the Russian forces 
battle against the Napoleonic 
armies, risking their own lives as 
the soldiers are bombarded with 
fire. Inside the lavish palaces of 
the aristocratic Russian fami-
lies, the sumptuousness oozes 
and spills over into a glamorous 
visual. Gold-plated ballrooms 

and exquisite costumes decorate 
the screen, and the real world 
slips away. Rarely is a TV series 
so aesthetically beautiful that it 
is able to capture the audience’s 
attention with such unbreak-
able strength that reality, for a 
moment, ceases to exist.

Embellishing the visual com-

ponent is a wonderful musi-
cal score developed by Martin 
Phipps (“Woman in Gold”), able 
to create passion and heartache 
in the smallest nuances of the 
series. The viewer is instantly 
placed in the story’s virtual 
reality as Russian folk melodies 
are perfectly synched with the 
pounding of war drums, and 
despair is mimicked with just 
a few precise notes. While Tol-
stoy’s saga was able to capture a 
culture through words, the BBC 
miniseries takes advantage of all 
the aesthetic capabilities of the 
screen arts.

Inevitably, developing a near-

ly 1,500 page novel into an eight-
hour series loses some of the 
great nuances that fill the origi-
nal masterpiece. Perhaps, some 
of the overarching themes that 
distinguish 
Tolstoy’s 
famous 

work from the rest are not as 
developed in the miniseries, 
an aspect that loyal fans to the 
literature will find disappoint-
ing. Yet the striking cinematog-
raphy makes the eight hours of 
screening, despite the inaccu-
racies, better than not having 
a show at all. While the mini-
series doesn’t replace the novel 
in its importance or cultural 
relevance, its powerful visual 
impact is an accomplishment 
on its own. 

B+

War and 
Peace

Miniseries 
Premiere 

Mondays 
at 9 p.m. 

A&E, History 

Channel, Lifetime

TV REVIEW

FILM REVIEW

So aesthetically 

beautiful.

6A — Monday, January 25, 2016
Arts
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com

