The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Arts
Friday, November 18, 2016 — 5A

Look — “Red Oaks” is, as art 

goes, pretty inessential. It’s not 
a subversion of the ’80s movie 
archetype, nor is it 
an homage, either; 
it is almost literally 
an 
’80s 
movie, 

only extended into 
a 10-episode TV 
show.

In its first season, 

which aired last 
year, “Red Oaks” 
went out of its way 
to 
establish 
just 

how committed to 
its milieu it was. Of 
course it was set in a country club 
full of white people in suburban 
New Jersey. Of course the best 
friend is a stoner named Wheeler 
(Oliver Cooper, “Project X”). Of 
course the primary love interest 
is both the boss’s daughter and a 
doppelganger for Ally Sheedy in 
“The Breakfast Club.” Of course 
our protagonist doesn’t want to be 
a CPA like his dad, but a filmmaker 
instead.

The new season begins with 

the 
requisite 
premiere 
in 
a 

foreign country: David (Craig 
Roberts, “The Fundamentals of 
Caring”), now enrolled in a nearby 
community college after dropping 
out of New York University, visits 
Skye (Alexandra Socha, “Royal 
Pains”) in Paris, and the two of 
them are having a wonderfully 
romantic and artfully shot vacation 
until Getty (Paul Reiser, “The Paul 
Reiser Show”) — Skye’s father and 
David’s previous employer at the 

titular country club — surprises the 
two of them.

The crux of the episode is 

this awkward tension between 
David and Getty, but the standard 
“overbearing father” plot tropes 

eventually give way 
to the thematic well 
“Red Oaks” is, and 
has always been, 
more 
concerned 

with dipping into: 
namely, 
David’s 

inability to grow up.

And while the 

series 
eventually 

returns 
to 
its 

status quo — “Red 
Oaks” as a concept 
is 
inherently 

incongruent if it’s not summertime 
at the country club, and so by the 
second episode, it’s May 1986 and 
David’s back to work — the show 
seems incapable of asking more 
searching questions. What does 
it mean to become an adult? How 
does one follow one’s passions?

These issues are constantly 

addressed (albeit through the prism 
of the white suburban experience), 
but they’re just as easily denied any 
pointed analysis. And while new 
plotlines are inevitably planted 
— Getty’s ongoing legal troubles, 
David’s ex-girlfriend’s impending 
marriage to perhaps the most 
persistently 
loathsome 
and 

irritating character on television 
— “Red Oaks” is all too eager to 
return to its comfort zone, both 
temporally and thematically.

But perhaps it’s unfair to 

critique this show for complacency. 
The John Hughes movies that 
“Red Oaks” takes its cues from are, 

after all, more or less built on the 
foundation of mood over depth. 
The coming-of-age teen comedy 
isn’t always the most probing, but 
it’s often the one that sticks around 
longer in the heart. It’s a pastiche 
of tropes, sure, but those tropes are 
eminently pleasurable. “Red Oaks” 
seems like the product of some sort 
of Amazon computer algorithm 
that parses data from “Fast Times 
at Ridgemont High,” “St. Elmo’s 
Fire” and “Say Anything…” and 
then spits out an ’80s teen movie, 
plotlines expanded and stretched 
into the capacity of 10 episodes. 
This doesn’t make it any less 
enjoyable to watch.

The production values, as is 

characteristic of period shows on 
streaming services, are noticeably 
high, and while the cast, save for 
Ennis Esmer (“Blindspot”) and 
Reiser, isn’t particularly great, the 
actors are at least watchable. Each 
character is little more than a tired 
archetype, of course, from the 
thinly sketched female characters 
down to the old, white Reagan 
acolytes that populate the country 
club.

But, for better or worse, “Red 

Oaks” is surprisingly empathetic 
toward all of its characters. It’s 
unbearably cheesy at times, but 
it successfully conjures an era in 
which being a trader on Wall Street 
was an ideal to aspire to, but being 
into Eric Rohmer and Francois 
Truffaut was edgy and interesting. 
The issue is in the show’s triviality. 
It is — for lack of a better term 
— a guilty pleasure, a series 
that offers nothing more than 
inconsequential, decent escapism, 
and is content to do so.

AMAZON

Kiss!

TV REVIEW

NABEEL CHOLLAMPAT

Daily Arts Writer

Amazon’s ‘Red Oaks’ an entertaining 
but inessential ’80s movie rip-off

Season 2 of the escapist guilty pleasure emits a trivial kind of nostalgia

MUSIC AND GENDER

About a month ago, I attended 

a small show in Pontiac with a 
fellow punk-witch music writer. 
Let’s call her Lemina. The Garden, 
Heyrocco and So Pitted lured 
Lemina and me into the Pike Room 
in downtown Pontiac; they’re just 
the kind of grungy, off-kilter bands 
we crave. The night was rainy and 
chilly, the roads slick and shining. 
It was less than ideal. But the 
anxiety and uncertainty brought 
on by the weather was forgotten 
once we entered the cozy venue.

Upon arrival, a narrow flight of 

stairs led us up to the Pike Room, 
where a smattering of flannel-
wearing, 
mosh-pitting 
fans 

patiently waited. We milled about 
the crowd, the room not much 
bigger than a classroom. The 
audience was talkative, and we 
quickly made friends among our 
fellow fans — music can do that, 
you know.

One newfound acquaintance, 

let’s call her Alex, accompanied 
us to the bathroom, making light 
conversation. And then, you know 
the drill: Women’s bathrooms 
are a cesspool of compliments 
and camaraderie. Amid this fog, 
we made the acquaintance of 
another woman, seemingly a fan. 
She was tall and well built, with 
bobbed grey hair and a killer fur 
coat. After a few passing words, 
she exited with more grace than 
I thought ever possible in a dingy 
bar restroom.

Alex then took this opportunity 

to lean into us and breathlessly 
state, “I think she’s dating one of 
the boys in The Garden, I saw her 
with the bands earlier.” The awe 

was evident in her eyes. Having 
no real reason to doubt her, I 
nodded my head in agreement, not 
thinking much of the seemingly 
innocuous comment.

Soon after, our motley trio 

parted ways and Lemina and I 
returned to the crowd, watching 
and waiting. We watched as 
Heyrocco weaved in and out of 
the audience, setting up their 
equipment on the small stage. We 
watched as they played, shirtless, 
sweaty and drinking, and again as 
they dismantled.

The next band, So Pitted, then 

took the stage. There, gripping 
her guitar, was the girl from 
the bathroom — the supposed 
girlfriend. She wore round, black 
sunglasses and stared sternly 
ahead. So Pitted began to play 
and there she remained, plucking 
deliberately at her guitar; the 
extent of her her fingers and a 
slight sway of her hips or a nod of 
her head. She was raw and rad as 
hell.

As the evening spun forward 

and I was engulfed in the oddity 
that is The Garden, there was a 
nagging discomfort that wouldn’t 
leave me. It was that comment, that 
assumption made by Alex in the 
bathroom — the one that I didn’t 
give a second thought to at the 
time of its oration. A woman seen 
with the band is automatically a 
girlfriend or a groupie, a tagalong 
to the real musicians.

The longer I thought about 

it, I couldn’t believe I hadn’t 
immediately 
seen 
such 
an 

utterance as problematic. I’m 
a feminist, damnit. The more 
I thought about it, the more I 
realized how deeply engrained 
and pernicious this kind of 

sentiment is — especially in the 
realms of rock, punk and grunge.

This is nothing new. The role 

of women as accessories to male 
rockers has existed almost as 
long as the genre itself. Nearly 
all sub-rock genres — punk, pop, 
psychedelic, etc. — all share the 
thread of male-fronted or male-
dominated ensembles. Even when 
early punks like the New York 
Dolls subverted gender roles, 
dressing up in women’s clothing 
and heavy makeup, they did so 
without actually letting women 
into the scene. The music was too 
hard, too angry for women to pull 
off.

But, thankfully, women have 

not sat idly by. We have taken 
action, mobilized against this 
musical structure that tries to 
limit us. I think about Pussy Riot, 
and their status as one of the most 
overtly (and successfully) political 
bands — male or female. Or of 
groups like Sleater-Kinney, The 
Raincoats or Bratmobile. Even 
musicians that don’t fall under 
the rock umbrella continually and 
boldly do what they’re told they 
can’t. 

As grateful as we are for these 

talents, we shouldn’t leave all 
the legwork to them. We — the 
fans, 
aficionados, 
journalists, 

people — can help to break down 
these 
structures. 
Next 
time 

you encounter an Alex-esque 
comment, 
immediately 
think 

critically. Don’t wait for it to sink 
down and settle in you for you 
to realize the meaning behind 
the words, like I did. Engage in 
discourse. Support your local, 
national and extraterrestrial girl 
groups. Slowly but surely, it will 
make all the difference.

CARLY SNIDER
Daily Arts Writer

“She’s dating someone in the band”

TV REVIEW
COMMUNITY CULTURE PREVIEW

What happens when Sesame 

Street grows up? I mean like really 
grows up — like when you are 
all of a sudden a 
young unemployed 
puppet thrust into 
the 
cruel, 
cruel 

world of awkward 
sexual encounters, 
racism and internet 
porn? (With little 
more than a B.A. 
in 
English 
and 

relentless waves of 
anxiety about the 
future.) MUSKET’s 
“Avenue Q” seeks 
to explore these 
tribulations 
with candor and 
lightheartedness.

Both 
director 

Matt 
Kunkel, 
a 

senior in the School of Music, 
Theatre & Dance, and actor Josh 
Knoller, an LSA freshman, spoke 
of the production as something 
of a salve in a time of nationwide 
distress following the presidential 
election.

“With 
the 
whole 
political 

climate the way it’s been, we need ... 
to kind of have an escape from real 
life,” Kunkel said. He added that 
the theater is unique in bringing 
people together, with people from 
different walks of life all sharing a 
focus and space that allows them 
to enter into a different world.

And the world of “Avenue Q” 

is surreal. The show, a brainchild 
of Robert Lopez and University 
of Michigan alum Jeff Marx, 
premiered on Broadway in 2003 
and has since won multiple Tony 
awards. It has also continued to 
run Off-Broadway. The musical 
involves a cast of hand puppets, 

each 
controlled 

by actors who are 
visible on stage but 
seem to fade into 
the background as 
the plot progresses.

Although 

puppetry is so often 
relegated 
to 
the 

likes of childhood 
innocence, “Avenue 
Q” is anything but 
pure — showcasing 
musical 
numbers 

such 
as 
“The 

Internet 
is 
for 

Porn” and muddy 
discussions 
of 

topics like religion 
and financial strife, 

all played out through colorful 
puppets akin to the ones who 
taught you how to count or not to 
eat too many cookies. The puppets 
allow the cast to discuss heavier 
topics or take certain risks that 
they might not be able to take if the 
whole production were solely live 
action.

The MUSKET cast worked 

with Rick Lyon, one of the original 
puppeteers of “Avenue Q,” on 
perfecting their technique to 
give the puppets a lifelike quality, 
essentially, what allows the human 
behind the puppet to fall away 
from the narrative.

Due to the adult subject matter 

and “full puppet nudity,” Kunkel 
noted that the puppetry allows the 
script and music to take more risks 
in the content they discuss.

“If it were just two humans 

talking on stage like that, it may 
be considered too inappropriate or 
too risqué,” he said. 

Knoller, 
who 
plays 
Nicky, 

referenced comedians such as 
John Oliver and Trevor Noah, 
who use satire to shine light on 
the tense sociopolitical moment to 
explain the play.

“A lot of the most poignant 

rhetoric for people who are really 
upset is from things like that, 
somewhat raunchy but to the 
point commentary,” he said. He 
suggested that “Avenue Q” was in a 
similar movement, something that 
amid a funny and light exterior is 
an astute commentary that toes 
the line between hyperbole and 
truth.

Both Knoller and Kunkel noted 

that the script was especially 
poignant for a millennial audience, 
as it focuses on Princeton, a recent 
grad searching for a job, a home 
and above all of that, a “purpose.” 
In this vein, Kunkel highlighted 
nuggets of wisdom from the show, 
reassuring his audience, as the 
“Avenue Q” script says, “It’s okay 
not to know. It’s okay to not have 
everything figured out right away.”

Additionally, he tacked on a 

lyric from the end of the show that 
seeks to be a salve to the pain, fear 
and uncertainty present within 
the hearts of many.

“ ‘Everything in life is only for 

now.’ ”

MARIA 

ROBINS-SOMERVILLE

Daily Arts Writer

MUSKET’s ‘Avenue Q’ 
to play at Power Center

Musical production explores the adventures of grown-up muppets

I consider myself to be patient 

and compassionate, especially 
with the elderly. When I see a 
crusty Buick cruising at 50 mph 
on the highway, I don’t curse 
out the 80-year-old driver; I 
just pass them and go on my 
way, hoping that a semi truck 
doesn’t rear end them. When 
I’m 
grocery 
shopping 
and 

my cart gets stalled by a slow 
walking senior couple debating 
which off-brand cereal to buy, 
I smile and wait. I mean, this 
decision is difficult for everyone 
regardless of age — how could I 
be cruel enough to judge them 
for this?

However, when an elderly 

couple disrupts my movie going 
experience 
by 
chit-chatting 

about 
the 
most 
mundane, 

ridiculous things, all patience 
and compassion is lost. 

There is no excuse for talking 

during a movie. If you’re guilty 
of doing this, stop ruining 90 
minutes of other people’s lives 
and reevaluate your own.

Last May, my older brother 

Cam came home from New 
York to celebrate Memorial Day 
with the family. The weekend 
was filled with Stewart-family 
rituals, 
like 
(vegetarian-

friendly) backyard barbecues 
and late night conversations 
with 
him 
pretending 
like 

we know what’s best for our 
parents — this year’s theme was 
why they need to get a new dog.

That Saturday, we followed 

another 
Stewart 
holiday 

weekend tradition and went 
to see a movie. Our happy 

Midwestern family story hit its 
first and only roadblock here.

We were decided on “The 

Lobster.” We were seated and 
comfortable in the theater, and 
the previews starting. Honestly, 
there is nothing wrong with 
talking during the previews. 
If you really care about a 
movie trailer, just search it on 
YouTube. So, when I heard loud 
mumbling behind me, at this 
point, all was well.

Once the movie started, the 

incessant 
mumbling 
didn’t 

end. I turned back, giving 
a piercing stare, to realize 
that the perpetrators were a 
happy elderly couple. This was 
heartbreaking and a real moral 
challenge. How could I ever 
chew these people out?

Any feelings of empathy and 

tolerance 
were 
thrown 
out 

the window after about three 
seconds. I was hoping they 
would catch on to my frequent 
aggressive stares followed by 
overly dramatic gestures of 
disappointment. 
They 
never 

even locked eyes with me. I’m 
guessing the problem was they 
couldn’t see much of anything 
in the darkness of the theater 
and were likely just trying to 
guide one another through the 
movie. For this, I felt kind of 
mean, but I stayed strong on my 
whole “no excuses” stand.

My brother and I turned 

to one another and loudly 
whispered things along the lines 
of “Wow, that is so (expletive) 
annoying.” This didn’t quite 
catch on.

After every time I shushed 

them 
or 
countered 
their 

rudeness with more rudeness, I 
felt this weird adrenaline rush 

while thinking, “Yeah, serves 
them right. I feel great.” It felt 
no different than the tingly 
feeling after a rollercoaster 
ride. This was probably not a 
great sign; maybe I should’ve 
eased up a bit. Nonetheless, I 
was sticking up for my seating 
section, the Robin Hood of the 
movie theater.

At this point, I probably 

sound like a spoiled college 
student with no empathy and 
a complete lack of awareness 
that people get old. I hate to 
throw my brother, the most 
compassionate 
and 
loving 

person I know, into the mix. 
Maybe that can be further proof 
that absolutely no one likes 
when people talk in a movie 
theater. If Cam gets upset, 
everyone gets upset.

In 
our 
divided 
cultural 

climate, we should all come 
together and agree that people 
who talk during a movie suck, 
like people who leave their 
disgusting mess behind at the 
dining hall table which forces 
you to do some miraculous 
balancing act carrying their 
plates on top of yours to end up 
with all of them shattered on the 
ground. We all hate these things. 
During tumultuous periods of 
partisanship and division, our 
petty grievances remind us that 
we’re not so different.

If you are someone who talks 

at the movie theater, it’s okay. 
You deserve a second chance. 
On behalf of everyone who is 
equally annoyed by this, you 
are forgiven. It is not like the 
perpetrators are consciously 
trying to ruin everyone else’s 
experience; it is incognizant 
selfishness.

A24

See? They’re not talking, and they’re fine.

TV REVIEW

WILL STEWART

Daily Arts Writer

People who talk during movies suck

Please don’t ruin everyone’s experience with your selfish chattering

FILM NOTEBOOK

Musket 
Presents: 
“Avenue Q”

Power Center

Friday, Nov. 18 and 
Saturday, Nov. 19 
at 8 p.m., Sunday, 
Nov. 20 at 2 p.m.

 $7 students/ $13 

adults 

B-

“Red Oaks”

Season 2

Amazon Prime

All Episodes 

Available to Stream