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