The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Arts
Wednesday, February 21, 2018 — 5A
Maybe the strangest thing
to come out of the rise of the
television antihero was the
writers’ room assumption that
if viewers could root for the
flawed and morally ambiguous
— the Don Drapers and Tony
Sopranos — surely we would
find it in ourselves to extend
that empathy to the downright
insufferable.
Sometimes, if executed well,
we actually might; “Girls” and
“You’re the Worst” come to
mind. But that’s not the case
with “Here and Now,” a new
HBO series from Alan Ball
(“Six Feet Under”) that feels
simultaneously
overstuffed
and empty, all while serving up
perhaps the most unpleasant
bunch of characters in recent
TV history.
At the center of the show
is the Portland-based Bayer-
Boatwright
family,
led
by
matriarch
Audrey
(Holly
Hunter,
“The
Big
Sick”)
—
a
conflict
resolution
specialist
and
director
of
one-woman
nonprofit
The
Empathy Initiative — and her
husband Greg (Tim Robbins,
“The Brink”), a washed-up
philosophy professor.
The
couple
has
three
grown, adopted children, each
varying degrees of unlikable:
Vietnamese
Duc
(Raymond
Lee, “Mozart in the Jungle”), a
“motivational architect” whose
job appears to involve little
more than barking meaningless
platitudes at his Instagram
followers while being paid
an infuriatingly large sum of
money for it; Liberian Ashley
(Jerrika
Hinton,
“Grey’s
Anatomy”), the owner of an
online fashion boutique; and
Colombian
Ramon
(Daniel
Zovatto, “Fear the Walking
Dead”), a video game designer.
The
Bayer-Boatwrights
also
have a biological daughter, the
whiny 17-year-old Kristen, who
unconvincingly maintains her
contentment being “the boring
white chick in the family.”
For
Greg
and
Audrey,
Berkeley alums who met at
a protest for disarmament,
this multiracial family is the
living embodiment of their
progressive dream for America.
But things are different now.
Donald Trump won the election.
The
truth
doesn’t
matter
anymore. White supremacy is
on the rise. And even Portland
— the self-styled progressive
utopia — isn’t safe from any
of this. “We lost, folks,” says
Greg, at his birthday dinner in
the first episode. “I look back
on this great experiment that
is our family and I wonder, I
really do wonder, did any of it
make any difference?”
And so the show finds itself
very much in the here and now,
keenly aware of its place in
the Trump era. But instead of
capturing the mood of America,
Ball’s answer to this peculiar
time is a bizarre, whirlwind
tour through every hot-button
issue imaginable, never quite
stopping to give any of them
the time or depth they deserve.
Each character throws around
buzzwords
(“genderqueer,”
“slutshaming”)
with
the
avidity and preachiness of a
college freshman home for
Thanksgiving break, recently
mindblown by the first two
months
of
Introduction
to
Sociology and simply dying
to tell you all about it. There’s
plenty of talking about plenty
of different things — abortion,
policing, gender identity, white
pride, religion and political
correctness — but for all that
talking, it’s remarkable how
little is actually said.
As if that weren’t enough
material, there’s also a hint of
the supernatural — Ramon,
the
golden
child
of
the
family,
begins
experiencing
hallucinations, and the number
11:11 seems to be haunting him.
It’s in this storyline that the
show begins to find its real
narrative and emotional core,
which lies not in any of the
Bayer-Boatwrights, but with
Dr. Farid Shokrani (an excellent
Peter
Macdissi,
“Six
Feet
Under”), Ramon’s psychiatrist.
At home with Dr. Shokrani,
his
wife
Layla
(Necar
Zadegan, “Girlfriends’ Guide
to Divorce”) and his son Navid
(Marwan Salama, “American
Crime”) is where we finally get
characters worth caring about.
Like the Bayer-Boatwrights,
the Shokranis have problems of
their own; they disagree about
how to practice their Muslim
faith and worry that Navid’s
gender fluidity will put him in
danger. But unlike the Bayer-
Boatwrights,
they
actually
come across as real people, not
television characters.
And that’s the fundamental
problem with “Here and Now.”
It’s so obvious what Ball is
trying to do here that nearly
every scene, every miserable
character,
every
piece
of
dialogue
seems
inauthentic,
carefully
constructed
to
get
some
heavy-handed
message across. The result is
a disingenuous, self-involved
rumination on upper middle
class
ennui
that
doesn’t
accomplish any of the things
it’s clearly trying to.
‘Here and Now’ is a great
experiment gone wrong
MAITREYI ANANTHARAMAN
Daily Arts Writer
HBO
MUSIC ALBUM REVIEW
The intrigue of Beach
House, composed of Baltimore
duo Victoria Legrand and
Alex Scally, stems from their
minimalism. Albums seemed
to be endless, largely unbroken
by variation or complexity.
Within the empty stretches of
Depression Cherry’s “Days of
Candy” or Bloom’s “Lazuli,”
the mind wandered, filling in
gaps with daydreams. Beach
House was the music to bring
on long plane rides. Suspended
in air, their lethargic pull dis-
solved time, holding every
second spellbound — forever
immortalized in the amber of
repetitive melodies and even-
toned vocals.
Beach House’s newest
single “Lemon Glow” builds
off of the band’s trademark
creeping sensuality, but sharp-
ens it. The hazy smudge that
their past discography left
behind becomes more defined
with every layered component.
“When you turn the lights
down low / Lemon color,
honey glow,” Legrand sings,
and the tempo pulses under-
neath, unwavering. Organ
meshes with keyboard meshes
with electronic abstraction
until the song itself vibrates
with tension — the final build
into “Candy-colored mystery
/ The color of your mind” is a
dramatic cacophony. There’s
an abrasiveness here that isn’t
normally heard with Beach
House. Vocals are harsher,
brought into focus through the
jarring kick of an unwavering
synth line. Somewhere, almost
lost in the dissonance, a bass
drum races on.
“Lemon Glow” is constantly
in motion and hopefully this
is indicative of a new direc-
tion for Beach House, a
much-needed change after
the dreary trudge of their last
full album, 2015’s Thank Your
Lucky Stars.
– Shima Sadaghiyani,
Daily Music Editor
‘LEMON GLOW’ BY BEACH HOUSE
“Lemon Glow”
Beach House
Sub Pop Records
PAULO DAURDO
“Here and Now”
Episodes 1-4
Sundays, 9 p.m.
HBO
History
was
made
this
past Saturday night at Hill
Auditorium.
The
University
Musical Society and the School
of Music, Theatre & Dance
presented the new, scholarly
performing edition of the score
of the Gershwins’ “Porgy and
Bess” in a concert style. The
original Gershwin score was
edited and refined by Wayne
Shirley from the University’s
Gershwin
Initiative,
which
aims
to
create
scholarly
versions of the Gershwins’
works.
A standing ovation at the
end of the four-hour long
performance and the multiple
applauses that exploded from
the audience in the middle of
acts attest to the incredible
vocal and performing skill of
the entire cast. “Porgy and
Bess” is a work that deals
with heavy topics, such as
drug abuse, sexual abuse and
racism,
in
a
controversial
way. The opera was not only
vocally exhaustive — singing
for four hours is no small feat
— the content of the opera
inevitably makes it emotionally
exhaustive, as well. Soprano
Karen Slack, who was the
role of Serena, gave a notably
heartbreaking
performance
of “My Man’s Gone Now.”
Her
powerful
voice
and
expressiveness sent a wave of
anguish over the audience. As
Slack sang about the heart-
wrenching grief of a widow, I
found my own heart aching and
paining for Serena’s loss of her
husband.
Tenor
Chauncey
Parker
gave
a
lively
performance
playing Sportin’ Life, a dope
dealer. Parker fully embodied
this
deceivingly
charming
character in both voice and
movement. One of his most
memorable
moments
was
his performance of “It Ain’t
Necessarily So,” where Parker
masterfully inflected his voice
to embellish the already jazzy
and bluesy music, and danced
to
the
more
light-hearted
jazz melody. His fun energy
emanated
from
the
stage,
giving the audience a rest
from the heavy emotions that
are constantly hammered at
throughout the entire opera.
Parker
used
the
character
to charm the audience as he
charms most of the rest of
the characters in “Porgy.” It’s
a genius way to approach a
character that is supposed to
represent a malicious force in
the community.
The
chorus,
under
the
direction of Jerry Blackstone
and Willis C. Patterson, played
an interesting role in the
scheme of events of the opera.
They provided many functions
in
this
performance,
such
as commentators, narrators,
scene setters or informants
interacting with the lead roles.
They produced a beautiful,
well-blended
sound
and
partook in the emotions that all
of the main roles were feeling.
The chorus was flexible and
effectively acted in whatever
role they were in at the time
— not just singing words from
a
page,
but
understanding
the significance of the words
they were singing and finding
their own individual meanings
behind the words. Whenever
they chimed in on the action of
Porgy and Bess, it was always
a memorable and powerful
moment.
The singing was exquisite.
Morris Robinson (who played
Porgy) had a bass voice that
bellowed
every
time
he
opened his mouth, sending
dark, rich tones sweeping over
the audience. His bombastic
grumbles vibrated the walls of
Hill Auditorium, a beautiful
contrast with the smooth and
floaty tones that soprano Talise
Trevigne, who played Bess,
produced.
Trevigne’s
voice
was enchanting to listen to
and complimented her graceful
stage presence.
All of the title roles displayed
great
attention
to
vocal
technique,
which
produced
powerful and alluring sounds.
Still, at times, I wished that
the performers would have
paid more attention to detail
when it came to physically
embodying their characters.
The performance was given
in a concert style, giving room
for the performers to not
only showcase their beautiful
voices, but to fill the stage
completely
with
the
raw
emotion that the opera lends
itself to. When characters were
alone on stage in order to sing
their arias, it seemed more
natural and easier for them to
express the emotions of their
characters in a convincing and
natural way.
However, when more than
one performer was on stage,
the body language of the
characters seemed to change.
I wished that the performers
would have gone further in
establishing their relationships
by making more eye contact
and
interacting
with
each
other in a non-superficial way.
“Porgy and Bess” is a work
that should leave the audience
in tears from the pain, in a
cloud of bittersweetness. This
performance
did
not
have
that effect on me, despite
the
beautiful
voices
and
orchestration.
The University Orchestra,
under
the
direction
of
Kenneth
Kiesler,
gave
a
stellar performance. I really
enjoyed hearing the bluesy
and
jazzy
tones
coming
from the orchestra — it gave
a very cool dynamic to the
show.
The
instrumentalists
displayed such stamina and
professionality
—
playing
together for four hours straight
and not seeming the least bit
exhausted by the end of the
show.
Time flew by watching this
spectacular
performance
of
“Porgy and Bess” and listening
to the premiere of the new
scholarly
performing
score
edited by Wayne Shirley. It was
an incredible experience to see
a piece of history form before
my own eyes.
History is made with the
‘Porgy and Bess’ concert
ISABELLE HASSLUND
Daily Arts Writer
A standing
ovation at the end
of the four-hour
long performance
and the multiple
applauses that
exploded from
the audience in
the middle of
acts attest to the
incredible vocal
and performing
skill of the entire
cast
BOOKS
No one is proud of reading
self-help
books.
I’m
not
referring to the pop-science
books about harnessing your
brain power, or the Malcolm
Gladwell-type stuff that tells
you how to beat the odds. I
mean real self-help: I’m talking
“Chicken Soup for the Teenage
Soul.”
I’m sure most people aged 15
to 25 have stumbled across (or
been gifted) “Chicken Soup for
the Teenage Soul.” It’s a self-
help book (of sorts) made up of
a series of personal narratives
written by teenagers about love,
friendship, school and family.
In a bizarre turn, I recently
found out that the publishers
of that book also created a
number of ridiculously specific
variations: “Chicken Soup for
the Cat and Dog Lover’s Soul,”
“Chicken Soup for the Mother
of
Preschooler’s
Soul”
and
“Chicken Soup for the Latter-
day Saint Soul.” My personal
favorite title is “Chicken Soup
for the Woman Golfer’s Soul.”
Why is it so easy to make
fun of these books? Maybe
because the first-person stories
are so eager, so simple, naive
and nice. A review by Will
Friedle of “Boy Meets World”
(how very ‘90s) on the first
page of “Chicken Soup for the
Teenage Soul” commends the
very concept of the book: “The
idea of teenagers writing about
their experiences to help other
teenagers is brilliant.”
Is it? The advice my mom
gave me in high school and
middle school was a lot better
(in retrospect) than whatever
convoluted solutions my friends
came up with. I don’t think the
power of this book is that the
content is really helpful in any
tangible way, although I guess
it’s comforting to know that
everyone else is heartbroken and
pimply, too. Instead, it’s that it’s
entertaining. This book is like
all the gossip that went around
your middle school, written
up and condensed. There’s a
disappointing first kiss, a young
romance cut short by a cross-
country move and many, many,
many stories of unrequited love.
Rereading “Chicken Soup,” I
was surprised by how deeply I
was drawn into the narratives.
The intensity of their emotions
is somehow both ridiculous and
poignant. I’m not much older
than the contributing authors,
and I vividly remember how hard
it is to be 15 — everything is the
end of the world.
Rereading ‘Chicken Soup
for the Teenage Soul’ now
MIRIAM FRANCISCO
Daily Arts Writer
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