The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Friday, October 20, 2017 — 5A
Arts
ALFAMA
‘Barrage’ premiered at Chicago Film Festival this week
COMMUNITY CULTURE REVIEW
Douglas Trevor christens
latest ‘Wonders’ at Literati
“The music of a short story
… is made up of cymbals and
screams and the metal of a
DC-10, twisting and crashing
into the cold, dead earth. No
survivors, friends. No one makes
it out alive.”
No one at Literati on Tuesday
night took Douglas Trevor’s
death
omen
seriously.
Or
maybe they did. Either way, the
bookstore’s second-floor was
packed with readers (filling
every seat and every place to
stand) excited for the release
of “The Book of Wonders,”
the newest collection of short
stories by Trevor, a professor of
English and Creative Writing.
The smells and sips of coffee
brewing at the cafe (tempting
for a coffee lover despite the
dangers of drinking caffeine
at 7 p.m.) delighted noses and
tongues
of
attendees;
ears
and eyes were treated with a
vibrant reading of the first half
of Trevor’s story “The Novelist
and the Short Story Teller.”
It follows Thom, a short-
story writer of experimental
fiction for obscure journals, and
Ellen, a novelist of a work titled
“Hand Job,” who both attend
the “Upstart Conference in the
Hills” for writers. While Ellen
presents herself to the crowd
with endearing words and a
wave, it is the ominous Thom
who claims that short stories are
death music with “no survivors.”
“The
book’s
really
about
exploring the ways that people
at different junctures in their
lives try to get through difficult
times and … the ridiculous,
and in some ways, the not-so-
ridiculous ways that we try
to connect with other people
and reinvent ourselves,” said
Trevor in an interview with The
Michigan Daily. At the same
time, the stories that comprise
“The Book of Wonders” include
moments of goofiness that are
intended to amuse readers.
In this way, Trevor’s reading
at Literati proved to be the
proper way to inaugurate his
new work. The humor in his
reading was well-received with
laughter from the audience, as
would be expected in response
to Trevor reciting in a deep
voice and with a low stare, “‘I
love the circle jerk in Hand
Job.’”
And
to
release
this
collection — one that endeavors
to show how human connection
manifests itself, even in the
most obscure of circumstances
— in a communal setting where
his
potential
readers
could
react and connect to the story
together seemed perfectly in
line with the book’s intentions.
Together, the audience could see
Thom’s attempt at conversation
with Ellen about hand jobs as
more than a humorous detail: It
is an attempt to connect.
“Short stories are constituted
as much by what isn’t in them
as opposed to what is,” Trevor
said. That being the case, the
excitement and the challenge
of writing a short story is “that
you give your reader a glimpse
... into the given circumstances
surrounding a given person, and
the reader can connect with that
person even if they only know
that person over the course of a
few pages.”
Trevor is practiced in the
literary
challenge
of
short
stories. He is a celebrated
author who has won awards
for his previous collection of
short stories, “The Thin Tear
in the Fabric of Space,” and
for his novel, “Girls I Know.”
Additionally, he has published
stories
in
multiple
literary
journals. Trevor is also the
Director of the Helen Zell
Writers program, whose mission,
as stated on the program’s
website, — “to embody and value
those practices that speak to
the importance of empathy and
compassion” — Trevor applies in
his own writing.
“Literary endeavor is one of
the most important means by
which we try to foster empathy
in other people and remind
people of the importance of
different perspectives,” Trevor
said. All of the eyebrow-raising
and laugh-inducing stories in
“The Book of Wonders” — one in
which an isolated librarian seeks
to satisfy his intense longing to
feel the sensation of butterfly
wings by touching a young girl’s
eyelids, and another in which a
lonely CPA invites a mysterious
animal control man to live in her
bed for days — are applications
of literature as a tool to show
how people connect.
“The Book of Wonders” is now
available in stores and available
for anyone who wishes to read
and connect to these accounts of
various wondrous happenings.
University professor read from his new collection this past Tuesday
ALEX SUPPAN
Daily Arts Writer
Opening the Chamber of
Secrets in our own stalls
Almost exactly one year ago, I
spent a Saturday visiting all the
girls’ bathrooms on campus to
document the graffiti in them.
I was writing an essay for a
journalism / memoir writing
class, and had been thinking
about women’s spaces on campus
after spending the summer doing
research on the history of women
at U-M. I had also been mulling
over how the girl’s bathroom
feels like an unusually influential
place in girl’s lives — at least, it
has been in my and all my friends’
lives. It has been both a place of
exclusion and inclusion, of mental
breakdowns and fun wild nights, a
strange kind of solidarity.
A lot of what I saw scribbled on
stall walls was sweet: Messages
of hope, funny anecdotes, quotes,
even several political dialogues
— one stall was literally covered
in
discussions
of
privilege,
appropriation and the current
political
climate
on
campus.
Somehow, the inspirational quotes
scrawled in Sharpie on the inside
doors of these bathroom stalls
felt more intimate, despite their
technically public nature, than,
say, chalked inspiration on the
Diag. By the end of the afternoon, I
was excited; I felt like I understood
the graffiti lexicon of the ladies’
room, and could definitely write
an essay about it.
On my way out of Angell
Hall, I decided to check one
final bathroom. In the last stall I
looked into, under the toilet paper
dispenser — so you could only
see it if you were sitting down or
bending over deliberately to look
— I saw something etched into the
wall, and underlined:
“Campus rapists.”
Underneath it, there was a
single name, almost too faint to
read. This bathroom looked like it
hadn’t been painted in years; there
was no way of knowing how long
ago someone had decided to pull
out her keys and warn other girls
in what might have been the only
way she felt like she could.
I went home and took a long
shower after that.
I’ve been thinking a lot about
that etched name recently, as
Harvey Weinstein’s name joins
those of the past few years: Bill
Cosby.
Casey
Affleck.
Roger
Ailes… the list, as we all know
and choose to forget, goes on,
and on and on. I’ve been trying
to think about something new
to say about rich and powerful
men getting away with sexual
assault in this industry. But there
isn’t anything new to say. It’s all
already been said, and reworded,
and retweeted, and turned into a
hashtag and a think piece, and said
again.
As per usual, people have
combed through the media of
the last decade looking for hints,
suggestions, clues to prove that
Weinstein’s
behavior
wasn’t
unknown. In one video going viral,
an interviewer asks Courtney
Love for advice she would give to
a young girl moving to Hollywood.
There’s a flash of recognition in
Love’s eyes; looking away from the
camera, she says, “I’ll get libeled if
I say it,” almost to herself. Then,
making a decision, she leans into
the camera and wryly remarks, “If
Harvey Weinstein invites you to a
private party in the Four Seasons,
don’t go.” That was from 2005.
I could write about what a
retrospective combing through
clues by the media looks like
to survivors of assault who are
used to not being believed —
even those whose stories have
been
corroborated
time
and
again. I could write about all
of the different hashtag trends
that have been borne of this
story — #womenboycottTwitter,
#WOCaffirmation, and #metoo
—
and
all
of
the
inherent
contradictions or problems with
them. I could write about how
exhausting it is to keep hearing
simplistic debates over separating
the art from the artist (although
calling Weinstein an artist would
be a bit of a stretch — and besides,
I’ve already done that).
As much as all of those thoughts
are swirling around in my head —
as I sit scrolling through Facebook,
watching as #metoo appears on
the profiles of well over half of my
women friends from high school
or college — I keep thinking about
how Courtney Love struggled
in front of a camera between
that simultaneously public and
private
warning,
ultimately
choosing to risk it. About how we
are constantly having to wrestle
with ourselves in situations like
this, negotiating between private
whispered warnings and public
shouts. Because the stuff in the
middle — the obligatory self-aware
Billy Cosby jokes at award shows,
the semi-ironically given statistics
on late night TV, the hashtags
that get us banned from Twitter
— none of it ever seems to make a
difference. And more often than
not, in this struggle to choose to go
big or go home, going big doesn’t
make much of a difference either.
I can’t help but keep thinking
about that faintly etched name on
that bathroom wall. That chamber
of secrets, if you will.
A couple weeks ago, I checked
that stall again, to see if it was still
there. It had been painted over.
My third day at the Chicago
International Film Festival began
with “Barrage,” a film from
Luxembourg and the country’s
submission for the Oscar for Best
Foreign Language Film. Written
and directed by Laura Schroeder
in her feature length debut,
“Barrage” tells a rather common
story
with
flair.
Schroeder’s
film revolves around the trio of
women — a mother, a daughter
and
the
daughter’s
daughter.
The matriarch, Elisabeth (the
legendary
Isabelle
Huppert,
“Things to Come”), has raised
her
granddaughter
(Themis
Pauwels, “Suite Française”) since
her daughter, Catherine (Lolita
Chammah,
“Anton
Tchékhov
1890,”
and
Huppert’s
own
daughter), skipped town. When
the estranged Catherine returns,
what was something of a cohesive
relationship between grandmother
and granddaughter disintegrates.
Catherine all but abducts Alba,
taking her to her own apartment
and to a countryside home that
stayed in the family.
The idea of a mother returning
to plead for a new role in her child’s
life isn’t terribly new — last year’s
“Krisha,” for instance, was a
fantastic horror riff on the concept,
and Meryl Streep’s Oscar-winning
turn in “Kramer vs. Kramer”
helped establish her career — but
Schroeder’s screenplay draws its
characters rather vividly. This
is no doubt due to the very real
mother-daughter
relationship
between Chammah and Huppert.
It’s awfully hard to hold one’s own
against Huppert, but if there’s
anyone who could attempt it,
it’s her own daughter. Pauwels
delivers a great performance as
well: even at her young age, the
film treats her with respect as an
equal participant in the weekend’s
events, not as a pawn in a fight
between mother and daughter.
The film’s boxy aspect ratio
splendidly frames the lush green
forestry, set against a dreary, gray
sky, that drapes much of the film
when Catherine and Alba retreat
to the countryside home. At two
hours, though, it can feel rather
over-extended, and the needle
drops that dot the film’s runtime
don’t land quite as powerfully as
they should.
Schroeder was present after the
screening for a Q&A. I asked her
what role, if any, improvisation
played in the making of the film.
“I didn’t have much time for
[improvisation] because you have
your crew and you have your
schedule, too,” she said. “It’s very
much prepared.” But even within
these confines, she acknowledges
that often the film demands
some on-the-spot changes, when
her actresses propose a new
interpretation or, specifically in the
film’s case, if the weather doesn’t
cooperate. “I like it, the way it
comes out in the film now, you
know, but the weather conditions
weren’t at all as I intended them to
be.”
—
“God’s Own Country,” a love
story between a British farmer’s
son and his father’s Romanian
hired hand, tells a familiar story
in a new context. It’s “Brokeback
Mountain” by way of British social
realism, in a wonderful feature
debut by Francis Lee. Johnny, the
restless Brit, feels trapped at home
on the family farm; he goes into
town and heavily drinks each night,
violently expunging his body of
the alcohol-spiked shame in ritual
cacophony in the early hours of the
morning. Along comes Gheorghie,
bearded and quiet and often in a
knit sweater, who takes up some
of the farm work after Johnny’s
father (Ian Hart, “Harry Potter
and the Sorcerer’s Stone”) remains
incapacitated
after
a
stroke.
At first antagonistic — Johnny
calls Gheorghie a gypsy — their
relationship develops over a stretch
of days spent alone in cabin set up
for birthing goats (or lambs, I’m no
expert). They become intimate and
the moments they share together
brim with energy.
Where “Brokeback Mountain”
and Lee’s film diverge, aside from
the British countryside, is how the
protagonists’ sexuality is treated
by the film’s world. Simply put,
no one cares; no one is mocked or
denigrated for being gay. And it’s so,
so refreshing. Johnny has sex with
other men and it feels unremarkable
and, more importantly, normalized.
When Gheorghie comes along, their
intimacy is stylized and filmed
with an artistic flourish, not with
removed
voyeurism,
but
with
aroused participation. It’s sensual,
and it’s about time.
At just short of two hours, “God’s
Own Country” can drag a bit,
especially since its style, like other
young British directors, is very
bare in its felicity to realism (as an
example, see Andrew Haigh’s 2011
queer romantic drama “Weekend”
or
William
Oldroyd’s
“Lady
Macbeth” from this summer). The
film also includes, but does not
address in any meaningful way,
some degree of ethnic animosity
from Johnny to Gheorghie when
they first meet, which pretty
quickly dissolves as their romance
develops. But on balance, “God’s
Own Country” is a splendid
romantic tale that one can only
hope serves as a harbinger for queer
love stories to come.
—
“Princess Cyd,” the latest film
from Chicago-based filmmaker
Stephen Cone (“Henry Gamble’s
Birthday Party”), is, according to
the writer and director, his “love
letter” to the city. Unsurprisingly,
then, it played well before the
Chicago crowd (which included
many crew members and the first
gathering of the four main actors).
Cyd (Jessie Pinnick, “Shameless”),
a high school student, comes to
Chicago in the summer to look at
colleges. She stays at the childhood
house
of
her
mother,
where
Miranda Ruth (Rebecca Spence,
“Easy”), Cyd’s aunt and a relatively
successful novelist, lives. Cyd, like
many teenagers, is interested in
sex and love. Miranda, a bookish
academic, is interested in other
pleasures. The two have a strange
relationship, not having seen each
other for several years.
It’s
delightful.
The
weaves
that unspool over the film’s brisk
96 minutes aren’t particularly
unpredictable — Cyd starts to
appreciate
her
aunt’s
writing
(and values), and Miranda starts
to think of herself more sexually
— but the on-screen between the
pair feels so real because of how
unique the relationship between
aunt and niece is. They’re both
caught off-guard by how little
they know about each other. When
Cyd confesses, or rather asks
discreetly about, her attraction for
another girl, Miranda’s response
is inquisitive and friendly, like a
supportive parent, but she also
deftly maintains her ground in the
liminal space between close peer
and loving guardian. Many will be
quick to praise Pinnick, which is
fair, as Cyd is delightful, but the real
star-making performance here is
Spence, who has such a mastery of
using the camera to her advantage.
Cone’s cast is suffused with
excellent Chicago theater actors,
but Spence is the best of the bunch.
Unlike
Cone’s
other
films,
“Princess Cyd” doesn’t wade too
deeply in the waters of dissecting
white Christian culture; religion
is discussed a bit, but it isn’t one of
the film’s central currents. But even
without his usual subject, Cone’s
film is deeply humanist. He adores
his characters and it’s contagious.
GENDER & MEDIA COLUMN
Exploring the writing on the inside and what’s done on the outside
At Chicago International
Film Festival, Day 3: ‘Cyd,’
‘Barrage,’ and ‘God’s Own’
DANIEL HENSEL
Daily Film Editor
“God’s Own
Country”
Picturehouse
Entertainment
October 25,
2017
“Princess Cyd”
Wolfe Releasing
November 3,
2017
“Barrage”
Alfama Films
October 13,
2017
SOPHIA
KAUFMAN
It endeavors to
show how human
connection
manifests itself,
even in the
most obscure of
circumstances
FILM FESTIVAL COVERAGE