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6A — Wednesday, September 20, 2017
Arts
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com

DAILY FILM COLUMN

Darren Aronofsky and his 
dangerous 
god-complex

Film 
Columnist 
Madeleine 
Gaudin 
criticizes 
Aronofsky’s 

recent 
‘Mother!’ 
in 
her 
continuing 
diatribe 
against 
the 
film

I can’t believe I’m still writing 

about this damn movie. I’d like 
nothing more than to wash my 
brain of Darren Aronofsky and his 
latest assault of the senses. But, 
alas, three days later and I can’t 
get “Mother!” out of my head.

I don’t remember the last 

movie that made me this mad. 
Beyond the hollowness of its self-
serving allegory and its reliance 
on 
spectacle 
over 
substance, 

something in this movie got under 
my skin, and I haven’t been able to 
draw it out quite yet. Hopefully, 
by the end of this piece, I can bury 
this — and my now irredeemable 
relationship 
with 
Aronofsky’s 

films — six feet under.

The image I keep seeing when 

I think about the film is that of 
Jennifer Lawrence, lying on her 
back in the middle of a crowd of 
people. We see her from above and 
headless hands rain down on her, 
hitting, clawing, cutting her. It’s a 
hard image regardless of who is 
making it. But knowing that the 
eye on the other side of the camera 
and the hand that wrote the scene 
both belong to a man, the same 
man — it’s not just awful, it’s bad 
writing. 

I’m reminded of a WIRED 

article from a few years back 
written in response to rape scenes 
in 
“Game 
of 
Thrones.” 
And, 

while there’s no explicit rape in 
“Mother!,” the same rules apply. 
Here, violence against women 
is not used to further a male 
character’s plot line, but rather 
for spectacle — a box Aronofsky 
checks off on his way to full 
sensory overload. 

More 
so, 
my 
nausea 
is 

heightened by the clear link 
between Aronofsky and the film’s 
male lead, the troubled male artist. 
A trope that normally warrants an 
eye-roll, in “Mother!” is, of course, 
brought to sickening heights. Javier 
Bardem’s character is a dismissive, 
emotionally abusive husband with 
a superiority complex. He’s a good 
character — probably the most 
interesting in the movie. But, it’s 

also clear that he’s supposed to be 
Aronofsky.

I thought, at first, that I was 

grasping at straws, looking for 
a way to connect the director to 
the center of the film’s evil. But 
then I read an interview in which 
Aronofsky described the script 
“pouring out of him” like “in a 
fever dream,” an event mirrored 
by the poet in the film. Bardem 
wakes up one morning and writes 
the poem that sets the third act in 
motion. 

While it’s not the poet’s hands 

that beat his wife in this horrific 
scene, it is his own inability to 
live without the attention his fans 
— who have overrun his house 
— give him that puts her in the 

position to be attacked. I’d like 
to think Aronofsky’s alignment 
with Bardem’s character is a self-
aware one. I hope he isn’t that 
dense. But, even if this is a self-
aware manifestation of himself, 
it doesn’t feel like one that has the 
level of self-criticism to make up 
for the vileness of the character.

I don’t doubt that Aronofsky 

loves the attention and admiration 
his fan base of film school kids give. 
He’s talked about eavesdropping 
on people praising his movies. He 
clearly thinks himself a genius.

I really wish I could laugh at him. 

This level of self-righteousness is 
hilarious. Aronofsky is the sort of 
character I wish I’d written. But, 
there’s something more sinister 
going on with the trope he buys 
into that keeps me from rolling my 
eyes, tweeting and moving on.

Everything 
Aronofsky 
does 

perpetuates the idea of “genius” as 
something that one man (always 
a man) achieves in a state of 
monomania, locked in his room, 
scribbling his masterpiece, riding 
the wave of adrenaline and the 
compulsion of God, the muses or 
innate and unmatchable skill. 

It’s absurd, yes. It’s laughable, 

of course. But it also severely 
limits the discussion of what art 
we consider “genius.” The solitary 
male 
genius 
is 
a 
dangerous 

narrative. It gives people like 
Aronofsky a hall pass to make 
movies like “Mother!” It asks 
us to overlook things like the 
aforementioned scene as part 
of a singular artistic vision, one 
whose power we mere consumers 
can only sense and whose deeper 
meaning we can only guess at. 

If Aronofsky wants to make 

a self-critical movie about an 
abusive, male “genius,” I’ll be the 
first in line. But I think he probably 
thinks he already did that with 
“Mother!,” which is a real shame. 
“Mother!” is a lot of things, but it’s 
definitely not a passable attempt 
to properly dismantle the myth of 
the solitary genius.

“Mother!” could have been good. 

If it did the things I think it wanted to 
do, it could have been a challenging 
and deeply vulnerable look at 
the interworking of the director’s 
mind. But, simply, Aronofsky takes 
himself too seriously, believes more 
wholeheartedly than he’d like to let 
on in his own myth to be truly self-
critical. 

That’s precisely why the image 

of Jennifer Lawrence at the center 
of the raging sea of people is so 
unsettling, and why I’m thinking 
about the dumpster fire that was 
this movie days after I left the 
theater — it feels like we’re seeing 
the scene through Aronofsky’s 
own eyes. And he stays, watching, 
for a beat too long, pausing before 
intervening to help. 

He basks too long in the glows 

of his creation to be truly critical 
of the creator. That’s why, with all 
it’s disgust and gore, “Mother!” still 
feels like Aronofsky’s wet dream 
about himself. Though we spend 
the most time with her, this movie’s 

not about Mother at all. 

MADELEINE GAUDIN
Daily Film Columnist

COMEDY CENTRAL

Yet another creepy still from a long-lasting show
The Oversized Shadow: 
20 Years of ‘South Park’

The animated show has graced and scarred the lives of 
millions. Here’s a testament to its cultural criticism

Philadelphia 
basements. 

Williamsburg 
hotel 
rooms. 

Michigan treadmills. For the past 
20 years, “South Park” has been 
with me through it all, but it 
didn’t get that way overnight.

It started — much to the 

disapproval of my parents — in 
fourth grade, once I discovered 
my brother covertly watching 
“South Park” in our dark, dusty 
living room. At the time, I barely 
knew “South Park” even existed. 
To me, it was just like any other 
raunchy animated comedy that 
I wasn’t supposed to watch. 
Settling into our peeling brown 
leather sofa, I quickly realized 
that it wasn’t like any of those 
other shows. I was hooked 
instantly.

For the rest of that dreary 

November afternoon, my brother 
and I sat perched on the couch, 
our eyes glued to the television 
screen. Ignoring the huge sheets 
of water pelting our house 
outside, we ran through dozens 
of classic episodes, beginning 
with “Trapped in the Closet.” 
As the Tom Cruise and Church 
of Scientology jokes piled up, 
my body began to ache from 
laughing so hard.

I was abruptly ripped from 

this euphoria by the noise of 
my mom’s white Ugg slippers 
smacking against the floor as 
she approached us holed up on 
the sofa. Almost immediately, 
my brother flipped the channel 
to CNN. I have no doubt that 

my mom didn’t believe that 
we’d been laughing so much at 
the news, but by that point I no 
longer cared. I just needed more 
“South Park.”

Luckily, it wasn’t hard to find — 

due to its overwhelming success, 
“South Park” had more airtime 
on Comedy Central than a shitty 
Viagra ad (and believe me, there 
were lots of those). It seemed 

to follow me everywhere, even 
to the cramped confines of the 
Williamsburg, Va. Holiday Inn 
during a seventh-grade school 
trip.

After an absolutely thrilling 

day exploring dusty shoemaker 
shops, we returned, weary and 
exhausted, to our worn-down 
hotel. To us middle-schoolers, all 
that mattered was sleep. That is, 
until one of my roommates heard 
that there was a new “South 
Park” episode premiering that 
night. Huddling in front of the 
small, ancient box in the center 
of the room, my roommates 
and I silently prayed for a good 
episode.

Our prayers were immediately 

answered in the form of one of 
“South Park”’s most hilarious 
episodes, 
“It’s a Jersey 

Thing.” For 22 minutes, “South 
Park” relentlessly mocked the 
worst that television has to offer 
in MTV’s infamous series “Jersey 
Shore.” And for 22 minutes, my 
roommates and I struggled to 
contain our laughter at seeing 
a gross render of “Snooki” run 
around yelling “smush smush.” 
Stuck in a 17th-century town 
on a trip led by everyone’s least 
favorite math teacher, “South 
Park”’s familiarity helped to not 
only entertain us, but comfort us 
by reminding us that there was, 
in fact, a world beyond our tiny 
Holiday Inn hotel room.

But “South Park” didn’t stop 

there — it followed me for 
another seven years to Ann Arbor. 
As I brainstormed ways to make 
my daily (read: weekly) treadmill 
run less monotonous, I realized 
there was nothing better to run 
to than “South Park.” I spent 
many of those Spring Term gym 
trips screening the latest “South 
Park” season to catch up on the 
series. My addiction got so bad I 
almost started to enjoy running, 
except for when I inevitably had 
to pause each episode to ensure 
I didn’t fall off the treadmill from 
dying of laughter.

I’ve never had enough time to 

watch every single “South Park” 
episode, but it’s always been 
there with me, like an oversized 
shadow following closely behind 
me. Whenever something big 
happens today, I’ve come to 
expect there to be a “South Park” 
episode dedicated to ripping it 
apart with jokes. It’s been that 
way for 20 years, so why stop 
now?

I’d like to think 

Arnofsky’s 
alignment 

with Bardem’s 

character is a self-

aware one

TV NOTEBOOK

CONNOR GRADY
Daily Arts Writer

this dead ad
comes to you

in four parts

one is isolation

one is d e s p a i r

 
 
one is pain

the last is arts
come on this journey

with us
— kupi rawr

E-mail arts@michigandaily.com for more 

information on applying.

ACROSS
1 Drains
5 Takes from page
to screen, say
11 One of
Beethoven’s
nine: Abbr.
14 Party with tiki
torches
15 Flashy Chevy
16 With 36-Down,
Dr. Seuss classic
with the subtitle
“The Simplest
Seuss for
Youngest Use”
17 Cowardly Snoopy
nemesis?
19 Seagoing “I see”
20 French film icon
Brigitte
21 “The Racer’s
Edge”
22 Urban air
concern
23 Much
25 Curriculum __
27 Gloomy route to
Oz?
32 Actress Vardalos
33 Butte relative
34 RadioShack
predecessor
35 Automaker
Ferrari
37 Watched closely
40 Fictional London
alter ego
41 United
43 Halt
45 Belonging to us
46 Embarrassed
three-person
Vegas act?
50 Kentucky pioneer
51 Divided sea
52 Applaud
54 Old PC monitor
56 “Altogether ooky”
family name
60 Rocker Ocasek
61 Primary mixes
that affect 17-,
27- and 46-
Across
63 Query
64 Fire up
65 Attract pigeons
for, say
66 Bluster
67 Colorful fish
68 2016 N.L. East
champs

DOWN
1 Untidy type

2 Certain
something
3 Early late-night
host
4 Ice cream treat
5 Polish removers
6 Apply carefully
7 Latin I verb
8 “Friday the 13th:
Jason Lives,”
sequentially
9 Torrid Zone
parallel
10 Junior
11 Words of
reproach
12 Up-and-down toy
13 Downloaded
video format
18 Jewish folklore
figure
22 Mother of Isaac
24 Recipe amt.
26 B’way buy
27 Many of its knives
have a limited
lifetime warranty
28 Arkansas team
29 Mrs. Gorbachev
30 Compute
31 Salon worker
32 Twice-monthly
tide
36 See 16-Across
38 Sicilian high point

39 Track events with
mechanical lures
42 “Strange Magic”
gp.
44 Museum with
Goyas and El
Grecos
47 Recital bonus
48 Red wine option
49 Gary who played
Beethoven in
“Immortal
Beloved”

52 Outcropping
53 Songwriter 
Loeb
55 __ de force
57 “Dancing 
Queen” 
quartet
58 Bubbly maker
59 Old fast fliers
61 Player in an
indoor tree
62 Soweto’s
country: Abbr.

By Kurt Mengel and Jan-Michele Gianette
©2017 Tribune Content Agency, LLC
09/07/17

09/07/17

ANSWER TO PREVIOUS PUZZLE:

RELEASE DATE– Thursday, September 7, 2017

Los Angeles Times Daily Crossword Puzzle

Edited by Rich Norris and Joyce Nichols Lewis

xwordeditor@aol.com

It started — much 
to the disapproval 
of my parents 
— in 

fourth grade

