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Arts
Thursday, January 11, 2018 — 5
Across our many backgrounds,
identities, opinions and values,
there is one thing that every
single college student can agree
on: Freshman year is an absolute
shitshow. You’ve never had
this much freedom in your life,
and at the tender age of 18, you
really aren’t quite sure what to
do with it. Sometimes the urge
to do something undeniably
stupid is so strong that it takes
a few minutes to stop and think,
“Hey, maybe I shouldn’t have a
drunken, six-hour long Cards
Against Humanity marathon on
a Wednesday afternoon.” (Side
note: If you do, please invite me).
But alongside all of the stupid
mistakes and lifelong memories
of freshman year, there is a
level of personal growth that is
unmatched by any other time in
your life. This is the time to make
decisions and relationships that
will define the rest of your time
in college, and it’s as incredibly
exciting as it is excruciatingly
nerve-wracking.
Nothing else on television
right now truly captures this
moral mess that is the first year
of college better than “Grown-
ish.” A spin-off of the popular
ABC show “Black-ish,” “Grown-
ish” follows Zoey Johnson (Yara
Shahidi, “The First Family”) as
she gets started at university.
Her stories are told from the
future looking back, and the
series
premiere
takes
place
mostly in a single classroom,
with each main character telling
their new classmates how they
ended up there in a “Breakfast
Club” style confessionary.
For badass Jewish feminist
Nomi
(Emily
Arlook,
“The
Good Place”), it was because
she missed registration while
hooking up with a girl in the
bathroom. Drug-dealing Vevek
(Jordan Buhat) was too busy
closing a sale with frat boys to
register for classes. And Zoey?
Well, Zoey ran away from
registration after seeing her first
college friend, who she had left
in a pool of her own vomit at a
“day party,” standing in line.
Despite the questionable morals
of the rest of the characters,
Zoey’s response is the only
one that draws any backlash,
immediately signaling to both
Zoey and the audience that
this transition into college isn’t
necessarily going to be a smooth
one.
Despite the glaring plot hole
that for some reason, in the
21st century, these kids are
registering for classes at some
kind of office rather than at home
on their computers, “Grown-
ish” is almost uncomfortably
close to reality. As a freshman
myself, watching the show felt
like watching a professionally
filmed recap of my first semester
set to hip hop and synthesizers.
The water-themed frat parties,
the late-night pizza runs and,
most importantly, the nagging
realization that every decision
you’re faced with is now yours
and yours alone to make are
pivotal aspects of the freshman
experience. And Zoey, like the
rest of us, is far from perfect
when she deals with them.
It is this that makes “Grown-
ish” such an important show,
especially
for
the
younger
audience that it targets. So many
teenagers have an idealized
version of college that they
comb through over and over
again in their minds before
finally saying that last good bye
to their parents and stepping
foot on campus. More often than
not, that picture-perfect fantasy
world is shattered within the
first week, and all that’s left is a
scared kid who isn’t sure of who
they really are, and certainly
doesn’t know who they want to
be.
“Grown-ish” shows us that
it’s okay to not have everything
figured out, and it’s okay to
be
lost,
because
even
life
on a television screen isn’t
perfect. For the next four
years, life is going to be a series
of wrong choices and huge
embarrassments, but through
it all there will be someone
coming out of every disappoint
just a little bit more grown.
I recently participated in the
University Jazz Lab Ensemble
winter
concert.
While
we
mostly performed traditional
big band charts on this concert,
we also performed the vocal
piece “Too Close For Comfort”
from the 1956 musical “Mr.
Wonderful.”
For about a month leading
up to the concert, we rehearsed
the piece without the vocalist.
Though the name of the song
seemed a little strange to me,
I will admit that I gave it little
thought.
The day before the concert,
we had a dress rehearsal with
the vocalist (and with proper
amplification)
at
Rackham
Auditorium.
As
the
words
to the piece began to be
distinguishable, I was shocked
at what I was hearing. With
lyrics such as, “Be soft, be
sweet, but be discreet / Don’t go
off your beat,” and, “Be firm, be
fair, be sure, beware / On your
guard, take care, while there’s
such temptation,” I began to
question what exactly we were
condoning in our performance
of this piece. Was it about a
non-consensual
relationship?
Was this song something that
I was comfortable with? What
did this song mean?
We had begun rehearsing this
piece in mid-Oct., only weeks
after The New York Times
published their investigation of
Harvey Weinstein. Al Franken
announced
his
planned
resignation from the Senate
just hours before we rehearsed.
It
seemed
impossible
to
understand this piece without
thinking about the #MeToo
movement. I could not help
but
consider
the
cultural
implications of this piece; the
deeper meaning behind the
song.
To other members of the
ensemble, however, this song
was neither uncomfortable nor
upsetting. At the ending of the
song, the narrator continues
to narrate thoughts about the
woman without ever acting on
them. “She’s much too close for
comfort now / Too close, much
too close / She’s much too close
for comfort now,” and it ends.
The fact that we had a female
vocalist also seemed to make
the song more appropriate
to
some
members
of
the
ensemble. To some, it was a
relic of a bygone era — it had
been premiered in 1956, and
it thus represented the beliefs
of that time period. While by
our standards it may be wrong,
they argued, it was permissible
in that time period.
In Nov., I wrote a piece on
William
Bolcom’s
“Dinner
at Eight” and experienced a
similar phenomenon — while
trying to discuss the opera
and the director’s thoughts
about approaching the opera,
our
conversation
almost
inevitably turned to politics.
This opera depicted upper
class
Manhattan
socialites
during the Great Depression.
It emphasized the disconnect
between this upper class and
the lower and middle classes
during this tumultuous time
in American history. The opera
was composed in 2008 in the
midst of the Great Recession;
it could not have been more
relevant to modern events.
As I interviewed various
members of this production,
one thing was clear: Everyone
had an idea of what this
production
meant.
While
they all agreed that the piece
was about this upper class
disconnect, every member of
the
production
interpreted
and
applied
this
meaning
differently. To some, it was
a
veiled
criticism
at
the
elitism of the upper classes,
particularly
the
modern
upper class opera audiences.
To
others,
it
emphasized
the failures inherent to the
human condition that occur
irrespective of class. To still
others, it exposed the attempts
by the upper classes to hide
their failings from the lower
classes.
In
our
modern
cultural
environment, it seems as if
all performance art is riddled
with
cultural,
social
and
political implications. We are
a country defined by red and
blue, and it seems impossible
for performance art to have
no overt connections to one
side of this divisive cultural
landscape.
For performers, this can
lead
to
over-analysis.
If
performance
art
cannot
lack a worldly relevance, if
performance
art
must
be
immediately relevant to one’s
beliefs, then relevance must
be found even where relevance
doesn’t exist. The controversy
over this summer’s “Julius
Caesar” at New York City’s
Shakespeare In The Park, for
example, generated unexpected
interest in the production.
While the production itself
was
incredibly
thought-
provoking, the references to
the current political climate
were
successful,
although
slightly predictable, means of
generating modern political
controversy around an old
classic as a means of garnering
interest and attention.
For creators, this cultural
divide has contributed to a
modern art culture almost
oppressively
saturated
in
political subtexts. Art with
political
meaning
is
being
created at an alarming rate,
easily overshadowing almost
all
non-political
art.
The
Golden
Globes
this
past
weekend, for example, were
equally as focused on politics
as they were on art. Almost all
non-political statements at the
award ceremony were ignored
in favor of the many political
statements made throughout.
And
while
these
political
statements may be warranted,
and they change that they
are provoking may be viewed
(by most people) as good,
this glorification of political
resistance slowly eats away at
the core values shared by those
on both sides of this cultural
divide.
Performance art can and
should be used to challenge
beliefs and provoke thought
— not merely to confirm one’s
beliefs.
Performance
art
can and should be used as a
means of protest, not a means
of glorifying the concept of
protest
and
the
rejection
of commonality with one’s
ideological enemies. Art is
the vehicle that moves culture
forward,
that
challenges
unconscious
biases
within
culture. Art is the means by
which culture is forced to
improve. Art is always a step
ahead
of
culture,
pulling
culture towards this next step,
towards a shared vision of a
utopic future that both possess.
If anything, I fear that the
current political climate is
overwhelming
art’s
ability
to provoke positive change.
With so many disagreements
between the political left and
the political right, with so
many fundamental differences
between blue and red, with
fundamental
differences
developing between liberals
and conservatives over the very
meaning of truth — art is being
overwhelmed by the desire
for political protest. With so
many differing beliefs for both
sides to challenge, art is being
used to glorify the idea of
challenging the other side, not
the positive changes brought
about by these challenges.
Performance art must avoid
becoming obsessed with the
elephant in the concert hall.
This elephant can become all-
consuming
and
repressive.
Just like members of the Jazz
Lab Ensemble, I struggled to
either condemn or condone
“Too
Close
for
Comfort.”
Many concert-goers must now
analyze the performance art
they are viewing against this
elephant in the concert hall,
determining whether or not
they support or denounce the
art they are viewing.
Art should make one think.
Whether it conforms to or
challenges one’s understanding
of the world, art should force
a
reevaluation
of
position;
one’s inherent biases and one’s
hidden beliefs. Art should be
provocative, not reactionary.
Art should challenge one’s
own beliefs not the beliefs
of the elephant in the room.
Art should be used to bring
people together, not divide
them. The response to this
elephant in the room should
not be glorification of the
criticism of others. As Leonard
Bernstein said, the response
to this elephant in the concert
hall
should
be,
“to
make
music more intensely, more
beautifully,
more
devotedly
than ever before.”
The elephant in the
concert hall
Netflix’s ‘Bright’ is an
off-balanced fantasy
“Bright” is a film directed by
David Ayer (“Suicide Squad”)
and written by Max Landis
(“American
Ultra”).
Anyone
who has seen the work of either
of the two will surely have an
idea of what they will get with
“Bright.” “Suicide Squad” was
one of the ugliest and worst
shot movies of 2015. “Bright”
easily takes the cake for 2017.
Subtlety is neither the writer
nor the director’s strong suit.
A Netflix release, “Bright” hits
the audience over the head so
hard with its message that some
might actually feel concussed
after the watching the film.
Thank heavens no one will
ever have to see this on the big
screen.
Will Smith (“Suicide Squad”)
and Joel Edgerton (“Loving”)
are two cops butting heads, but
with a twist. Edgerton is an
Orc. In the world of “Bright,”
humans and elves fought side by
side millennia ago against The
Dark Lord and his army of Orcs.
Ever since the humans won
the final battle, Orcs have been
seen as second-class citizens.
“Bright” makes sure that the
parallel between human/Orc
tensions and racial tensions in
the real world are as clear as
possible, even if the analogy
doesn’t hold up upon much
thought. It’s a strange thing
to compare racism in America
to divisions between a fantasy
society wherein the different
citizenry groups are literally
different species, leaving the
movie filled with ambiguous
metaphor that is at times clever
and at other times horribly
tone deaf (one example is an
off handed mention that Orcs
have terrible verticals, and thus
are terrible at basketball). The
social commentary is misguided
and mishandled.
The world set up in “Bright”
is
one
that
actually
has
potential, albeit for a different
movie. A world where fantasy
elements such as Orcs, elves and
magic wands are treated with
complete seriousness, and “The
Lord of the Rings” is basically
ancient history, is an interesting
concept that is totally wasted
on a generic buddy cop story.
The way magic wands are
treated like nuclear weapons,
and the idea of a United States
Magic Bureau are fun ideas, but
nothing interesting is done with
them.
To that end, “Bright” feels
more like an extended TV pilot
than it does a feature film.
There are a multitude of side
characters,
shadowy
figures
and
organizations
that
are
given only lip service here, with
the clear implication being that
they will get more development
in a sequel or sequels down the
line. One wonders if it would’ve
been more interesting to take
this idea and turn it into a
Netflix miniseries à la “Stranger
Things” rather than a Netflix
movie. “Bright” has gotten a
lot of flack on the internet and
has been labeled by some critics
as the worst movie of the year.
That’s hyperbole for what, at
the end of the day, is really just a
generic action movie with some
fantasy elements thrown in, but
it speaks to the growing critical
internet subculture that either
aggressively praises or skewers
films completely, giving almost
no room for middle ground.
“Bright” is bad. It is not
abhorrently bad. It is not an
affront to viewer’s intelligence
or an insult to cinema. It is just
a bad movie. The kind of bad
movie that, given time, could
find a future as some kind of cult
classic. It’s weird, and it has got
some interesting ideas floating
around in it. The execution is
pretty much a disaster across
the board, but it is hard not to
feel like there was something
cool in there somewhere. If
you look at “Bright” and squint
really hard, you can almost
see the blockbuster fantasy
franchise Netflix is hoping to
create. Almost.
IAN HARRIS
Managing Video Editor
‘Grown-ish’ premiere
mirrors college experience
SAMANTHA DELLA FERA
Daily Arts Writer
NETFLIX
“Bright”
Netflix
COMMUNITY CULTURE COLUMNIST
“Grown-ish”
Series Premiere
Freeform
Wednesdays @
8 p.m.
FREEFRORM
SAMMY
SUSSMAN
TV REVIEW
FILM REVIEW