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