5 — Tuesday, March 6, 2018
Arts
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
‘Annihilation’ takes on
more than it can handle
In the late 2010s, science
fiction
as
a
film
genre
has
seen
something
of
a
renaissance,
with
critically
acclaimed releases such as
2016’s
“Arrival.”
The
film
is an excellent example of
the genre’s ability to touch
on complex, profound ideas
through
intensely
personal
human
stories.
Director
Alex Garland seemed to have
tapped into this concept with
his 2015 directorial debut, “Ex
Machina.” Garland displayed
a unique tact for developing
characters
in
fascinating
ways, all the while tying those
characters up in the story
being told. Garland’s follow-up
release, 2018’s “Annihilation”
seemed set to be another
example of intense, character-
driven science fiction.
The film tells the story of
Lena (Natalie Portman, “Song
to
Song”),
an
ex-military
biologist whose husband, Kane
(Oscar Isaac, “Star Wars: The
Last Jedi”), suddenly reappears
after having vanished for more
than a year into The Shimmer,
a
mysterious
jungle
that
appeared on a United States
coastline after a meteor strike.
When it becomes apparent
that The Shimmer left Kane
terminally ill, Lena teams
up with four other scientists
— all of them women — to
investigate The Shimmer in
hopes of finding a cure.
Unfortunately,
the
result
is a mixed bag. Perhaps the
film’s
greatest
hindrance
is
its
ambition.
Over
its
runtime, it becomes apparent
that the film was adapted
from a novel, lacking the
room to breathe and explore
characters and ideas that a
book offers. In just two hours,
the film must characterize and
develop all five of its scientist
protagonists, tell a compelling
story and touch on concepts
concerning what it means to
be human. As a result of its
extensive to-do list, the film
ends up accomplishing none of
these things outright.
The area where this is most
apparent is in its characters;
simply put, the film lacks
heart.
Alex
Garland’s
last
film, “Ex Machina” was able
to devote ample screentime
to developing its three-person
cast. With five characters to
juggle — six including Kane
— Garland struggles to find a
way to make us care about the
characters. The film reaches
its emotional peak about five
minutes in as we see Lena
tearfully paint the bedroom she
once shared with her missing,
presumed-dead husband while
listening to Crosby, Stills &
Nash’s “Helplessly Hoping.”
It’s a tender and moving
scene, but one that ultimately
leaves a bitter taste in your
mouth, because this is the
most we’re going to get in
terms of characterization for
Lena. She, and the other four
scientists investigating The
Shimmer, are characterized
almost exclusively by their
past trauma. The film lacks
either the time or the will to
make its characters anything
more than shallow archetypes.
Despite
this,
there
are
flashes
of
brilliance
throughout.
The
film’s
third
act,
titled
“The
Lighthouse,” is some of the
most breathtakingly stunning
filmmaking this year. This
is where the film rolls up its
sleeves and flexes its muscles,
showing
its
audience
the
payoff of all the tension and
mystery it had been building
up. There are select scenes
throughout
“Annihilation”
that serve as the gold standard
for drawing audiences in. The
film caused me to physically
react on numerous occasions;
my jaw hung open, I gasped, I
covered my mouth in awe. In
terms of building visceral, gut-
twisting situations, Garland
proves himself as a master.
In the end, however, this
isn’t enough to distract from
the fact that the film doesn’t
come close to satisfying in
the end. “Annihilation” poses
some
massive
questions
concerning
human
nature,
individuality and death, but
ultimately fails to answer — or
even address — these concepts
in any meaningful capacity.
Garland
is
aware
these
questions exist because the
film actively strives to avoid
addressing
them.
Instead,
it
feigns
profundity
with
intense visual spectacles and
vague dialogue that seem to
trick audiences into thinking
they’ve witnessed something
meaningful. Films that ask
big questions don’t necessarily
have to answer them, but
they have to give audiences
something substantive. By the
end of “Annihilation,” it felt
like the film had thrown up its
hands and shrugged.
Ultimately, it isn’t a bad film.
You’ll see some crazy stuff,
but it won’t teach you much of
anything; that doesn’t make it
bad, but it is a disappointing
offering
from
a
director
who’s proven he can balance
substance and shock value in
the past. At times absolutely
brilliant and at times shallow
and glib, “Annihilation” feels
like it’s constantly reaching for
some kind of profundity which,
despite trying in an intense
and spectacular fashion, it
never truly manages.
MAX MICHALSKY
Daily Arts Writer
PARAMOUNT PICTURES
“Annihilation”
Paramount Pictures
Ann Arbor Quality
16
The
debate
over
this
country’s best slice of pizza
is as contested and heated as
the partisan political debates
plaguing our society intensely
in the 21st century. Democrat
or
Republican?
Pro-life
or
pro-choice?
Gun
control?
Immigration?
Education?
Where can you get the best
pizza around here?
The
question:
What
is
the best slice of pizza in
the
country?
At
the
very
least, despite its vicious and
aggressive implications, this
debate
consistently
ends
positively, due to a mandatory
post debate taste test in order
to truly come to some sort of
conclusion. It’s a debate that
brings people together over a
slice of pizza — because at the
end of the day, there’s no such
thing as bad pizza (unless you’re
on the West Coast, then maybe
reevaluate). It’s necessary that
time and time again we have
this pizza conversation, one
of great magnitude and vital
necessity.
Take this as a state of the
union address for ’za — a state
of the slice address, if you will.
The
Chicago
deep
dish,
“Detroit” style pie and, of
course,
the
famous
New
York slice all have cult-like
followings — groups of people
devoted to the locationally
specific style of ’za that they
hail as this country’s “best
slice.” But anyone who knows
anything about food at all
knows that the New York slice
is superior.
People that believe that any
pizza is better than New York
pizza have A) never been to
New York B) are confused or
C) are clearly wrong. Pizza was
introduced to New York in 1905
by Gennaro Lombardi who saw
it as the solution to not wasting
the day old bread in his grocery
store.
Lombardi’s
genius
sparked an energetic revolution
for the city that never sleeps,
making
pizza
a
ubiquitous
staple of the New York streets.
New York pizza is notorious.
It is scientifically proven that
the water in New York is quite
literally better for making pizza
dough than anywhere else in
the United States. Supposedly,
Frank Sinatra, Hoboken native,
had New York water shipped
out to the west coast biweekly
in the 1940s to make edible
pizza when he wasn’t close to
home.
There
are
32,000
pizza
places in New York City, lining
each street corner — all at once
similar and incredibly unique.
New York pizza is the pizza that
began the slice industry, selling
pizza by the slice instead of
by the full pie, making ’za
an individual experience. A
casual moment. A stop by or a
game time choice instead of a
planned and plotted, also often
shared, full pie. Opening the
opportunity for small human
moments in the interaction
that takes place during the
transaction of a lunch slice, a
snack slice, a serendipity slice.
Pizza in New York is in
high demand, and there are an
abundance of options available
to New Yorkers and visitors
alike. Due to the variety of
pizza places, New York pizza
is a situational concept. What
I mean by that is that one can
always determine where to
get pizza in New York based
on
their
unique
situation.
There’s
a
major
difference
between your classic 2:00 a.m.
late-night drunk slice, your
“I need my suburban parents
to meet my new significant
other and like them” slice and
your important-meeting-with-
people-that-I-have-to-have-
my-shit-together-for
slice.
That’s what makes the New
York pizza scene so special:
There’s
a
slice
for
every
occasion. The breakup slice,
the hangry slice, the first date
slice, the quick slice, the fancy
slice, the just married slice,
the I have time to stand on a
30 minute slice, the celebratory
slice.
In terms of specific New
York and East Coast slices,
you can say I’m relatively well
versed. As a pizza connoisseur
who was raised by a pizza
messiah, I take pizza very
seriously.
Everyone
in
my
family does, and the red Italian
imported pizza oven sitting
on our kitchen countertop is
testament to just that. On a
recent trip to New York, I had
the pleasure of visiting my
favorite spots to share some
intimate moments with my
favorite slices. A group of slices
with which I have reliable and
dependable relationships. The
physical sensation is always
great, and emotionally, we just
connect.
Joe and Pat’s, a Staten Island
pizzeria, is a firm 10. The three
chefs crank out approximately
500 pizzas on any given Friday
to the beats of funky ’80s
music. The customers bring
vibrance and diversity to the
old-fashioned
atmosphere.
I recommend sitting at the
counter with a blood orange
San Pellegrino and a plain pie,
about noon on a Friday, for
the full experience. The plain
pie is to die for, its circles of
mozzarella
memorable,
the
dash of romano to finish, a
hot take, but in my opinion, a
blessing. The sauce is young,
punchy and sweet, a perfect
pairing to the flaky, crisp crust.
The crust of a Joe and Pat’s
plain pie is arguably the best
pizza crust in the country, if
not the world. Its crust is its
magic and the exact vehicle
that allows customers to eat
an entire pie in one sitting. It’s
light, it’s romantic, it’s easy. It’s
the reliable guy your parents
love and you can always depend
on. Joe and Pat’s is a dream
slice, one that puts Staten
Island on the map as more than
a New Yorker’s punching bag.
A wise pizza lover once
told me that in order to be
a perfect 10, the slice has to
pass the most important pizza
taste test: You must be able to
taste each ingredient; sauce,
dough, cheese. On the opposite
end of the spectrum from Joe
and Pat’s skinny little slice of
heaven is Brother’s Pizzeria
Sicilian slice. Down the road
from Joe and Pat’s, Brother’s is
close in distance but miles away
in style. Its thick, deep dish
crust is a textural journey —
crispy, doughy, flaky and thick.
Its stretchy mozzarella and
zesty, peppery sauce cratered
between the soft pillows of
dough make a home in your
mouth. Unlike Joe and Pat’s,
one slice of Brother’s Sicilian
is plenty. But that doesn’t mean
you should stop at one, because
clearly, you need at least two
slices to get a true gauge on the
quality of slice.
A
whole
borough
away,
tucked into a little no-frills
corner of Brooklyn, is quite
possibly
the
best
slice
in
the country: Di Fara. The
pizzeria makes one of the most
sought after slices in New
York City, a two hour line of
hungry
customers
spilling
onto the sidewalk awaiting
the enlightenment of a pricey
five dollar slice day after
day. Domenic DeMarco, the
shop’s owner (also known as
Jesus to his loyal disciples),
stands unaffected by the daily
commotion,
over
crackling
round pies, slicing basil onto
their exteriors with a pair of
kitchen scissors. When I was
four years old, my father took
me for my first slice of Di Fara
pizza,
and
simultaneously
awakened me from the dark
world I’d been living in without
it. To my chagrin, but not
surprise, I apparently stood
up on the counter, in my young
impatience and beckoned at the
72-year-old DeMarco: “Excuse
me, mister, where’s our pizza?”
We didn’t wait much longer
after that.
Di Fara was worth the
wait then, and it still is now.
DeMarco uses San Marzano
tomatoes, the most famous
plum tomato to come out of
Italy, and I’d deem this a power
move. His sauce is tangy yet
delicate, the imported Italian
buffalo mozzarella cheese its
perfect pair. DeMarco is the
only person who makes the
pizza, which contributes to the
ridiculous line, and also the
notoriety of the famous slice.
Di Fara pizza is the type of slice
you wish to never end — it’s a
head over heels, hot romance.
It’s balanced in the way pizza
should be, and its simplicity is
nothing short of outstanding.
A few subway stops away
is Marta in NoMad, a special,
newer addition to my list. Marta
specializes in pizza of the
Roman style, which is funny,
being that nobody ever goes
to Rome for the pizza. Sure,
Rome has pizza, and yes, a lot
of it is good, but it’s no Naples.
Marta, however, celebrates the
extra thin crust of a typical
Roman pizza. Of course, thin
crust pizza in New York is no
shock, but the pizza at Marta
is notably thin. It’s comparable
to a thin cracker that doesn’t
crumble, a perfect vessel for its
fresh toppings. Most wonderful
of
these
toppings
is
the
homemade pulled stracciatella
cheese, which I’d call a gift to
pizza. Other notable Marta
’za’s include the egg, grated
pecorino, potato and guanciale
masterpiece (a deconstructed
Carbonara sauce finding home
on a pizza) and a personal
favorite of mine, the absolutely
worth-it 60-dollar tartufo nero,
which is topped with shaved
Italian truffles. Marta is your
fancier slice indeed, but we all
need to feel fancy and sharp
now and again.
Rounding out my New York
slice list at number five is
Staten Island’s best known
pizzeria, Denino’s. Opened in
1937, the little brick building on
the northern end of the island is
at once both a tourist attraction
and “the spot” for locals.
Though I am a firm believer
that the plain pizza is the only
kind of pizza any of us should
be eating — Denino’s changes
the game and tests my long-
standing loyalty to the plain
pie. The trademark “M.O.R”
pie, is the must order here.
It’s a simple romance between
meatball, ricotta and onion
that puts Denino’s on the list.
The crust here is thicker than
a usual New York slice, though
still slender with a sweet sauce,
which is complemented by a
perfect blend of ricotta and
mozzarella.
The
meatballs
make the pie a worthwhile
contestant
for
a
shotgun
wedding, as it is impossible to
be anything but in love with the
specialty pie Denino’s is known
for.
Despite my defiant opinion
that New York pizza is a one-of-
a-kind, out of everyone’s league
slice, there are other places that
certainly threaten to challenge
New York’s seat at the top of the
pizza hierarchy.
One of these places, Sally’s
Something in the Water: A
spotlight on NYC pizza
DAILY FOOD COLUMN
Apizza, a New Haven, Conn.
hole in the wall, definitely puts
up a good fight. Both Sally’s
Apizza and its neighbor and
brother pizzeria Frank Pepe’s
consistently
make
national
best slice lists. Both have
large fan bases, and most
of these fans have a strong
opinion as to which place
serves the better ’za. For me,
it’s Sally’s Apizza, which I’ve
had the great pleasure of
eating at twice in my 19 years,
not counting the leftovers.
Both Sally’s and Pepe’s serve
thin, charred crusted pizza,
and
their
differences
are
not
immediately
apparent.
However, Pepe’s is known for
its trademark (and incredible)
white clam pizza, and Sally’s
for its signature tomato pie,
stark in its simplicity, topped
with nothing but a sprinkle
of parmesan. Despite Pepe’s
unique take on ’za, Sally’s
brings me back to my base,
reminds me why I eat pizza,
and gives me the reality check
only the best things in life
can. Sally’s is open five days a
week at 4:00 p.m., and the line
begins to form about an hour
beforehand on days of business,
because the slice is that good.
What makes these slices
perfect 10s comes down to a few
things. First, the ingredients,
all of which are fresh and, for
lack of a better term, primo.
Second is the heart and passion
of the pizzerias; these slices
are
handcrafted
to
mean
something
more
than
just
pizza. They are time machines
to
other
worlds,
invoking
memories
of
grandmothers
passed,
family
dinners
on
Sunday afternoons, heritage
and a country with an innate
capacity of bringing people
together through good food.
What I recommend when
seeking
out
a
good
slice
anywhere, but especially in the
five boroughs of New York, is
to ignore appearances, follow
the crowds, don’t be afraid of a
shabby exterior or a crumbling
infrastructure — instead look
for the heart, the San Marzano
tomatoes and the hands of the
pizza chef. Those hands make
the magic of the perfect slice
— never underestimate the
architects of such ecstasy.
Whereas in Chicago you’re
confined to the deep dish, in
Detroit, some square looking
nonsense (sorry) and on the
West Coast cardboard (sorry
again),
the
diversity
and
simplicity of the slice in New
York City is what makes it the
pizza capital of the United
States. The notoriety of the
New York City slice makes all
other cities overwhelmed with
a jealousy so intense that they
should turn it into motivation
to get on New York’s level.
After all, I don’t think any
of us East Coasters here in the
Midwest would complain if
someone could figure out the
key to bringing the New York
slice a few hundred miles west,
but then again, confining the
best pizza in the country to
the city’s 303.33 square mile
area is what makes it such an
idiosyncrasy.
A wise pizza
lover once told
me that in order
to be a perfect
10, the slice has
to pass the most
important pizza
taste test: You
must be able
to taste each
ingredient
FILM REVIEW
ELI RALLO
Daily Food Columnist