5A — Wednesday, March 14, 2018
Arts
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Mindy Kaling’s ‘Champions’ off to a slow, steady start
A
carefree
bachelor’s
life
turns upside down when his
kid is dumped on his doorstep.
We’ve seen that before, haven’t
we? “Parenthood” did it. So did
“Baby Daddy” and the short-lived
“Grandfathered.” But if anyone
can take an old trope and give it
new life, surely it’s Mindy Kaling,
who
elevated
the
workplace
sitcom with heart and chutzpah
on “The Office,” and subverted the
expectations of romantic comedies
on “The Mindy Project” just as
often as she reveled in them.
On
“Champions”
—
her
charming new NBC comedy with
“Mindy
Project”
co-producer
Charlie Grandy — Kaling returns
to TV in a recurring role as
Cleveland-based
single
mom
Priya Patel, who surprises her
high school flame Vince (Anders
Holm, “Workaholics”), a washed-
up gym owner in Brooklyn, with
their
flamboyant
15-year-old
son Michael (J.J. Totah, “Glee”).
Michael needs a place to live in the
city so he can attend a prestigious
performing arts high school, and
Vince is Priya’s last resort.
Holm did excellent work on
“The Mindy Project” as pastor-
turned-DJ-turned-shoe
mogul
Casey, but as Vince, he’s woefully
underwritten and lacking the
depth or charisma of anyone he
shares scenes with, leaving him
in the awkward position of being
a supporting character on his
own show. He’s helped out a bit
by the delightful Andy Favreau
(“The Mick”) as Vince’s brother
Matthew, who manages to muster
enough energy for the both of
them.
The breakout star here is J.J.
Totah as Michael. An updated
version of “Ugly Betty”’s Justin
Suarez, Michael is equally stylish
and quippy, this time with a little
extra swagger, delivering every
biting takedown with a breezy
elan, but also with a fragile, earnest
hunger for a life beyond Ohio that
recalls the likes of Rachel Berry
and Kurt Hummel. His great fear is
having to “go back into the closet,
marry an ugly girl from my high
school and run a pashmina cart at
the mall.”
It’s refreshing, and maybe a
testament to the state of TV today
that Michael’s homosexuality is
neither bad comedy fodder nor
some nagging source of tension.
Where Justin’s coming out was a
seasons-long,
milked-for-all-the-
drama-it’s-worth saga typical of
television in the aughts, Michael’s
is done quickly after meeting his
newfound father and uncle, who
are both totally unfazed. “You
think we have a problem with gay
people?” Vince chuckles. “Our big
dream is that someday our gym will
become a gay gym, because women
and straight guys are filthy.”
If something like “Champions”
had aired 10 years ago — even five
years ago — it would certainly be
littered with lazy jokes operating
under the bizarre premise that
jockish homophobia is hilarious.
But thankfully, there’s none of that
here, and the show is far better for
it.
But one wonders how far the
“theater-crazed kid meets gym
bros who don’t understand him”
gimmick can really go. It got old
‘In The Heights’ highlights
real Latinx communities
MAITREYI ANANTHARAMAN
Daily Arts Writer
TV REVIEW
NBC
But if anyone
can take an old
trope and give it
new life, surely
it’s Mindy Kaling,
who elevated
the workplace
sitcom with heart
and chutzpah on
“The Office,” and
subverted the
expectations of
romantic comedy
on “The Mindy
Project” just
as often as she
reveled in them
COMMUNITY CULTURE
Prior to 2008, few musicals
centered
around
(or
even
contained) Latinx characters.
Besides “West Side Story,” a
musical now heavily criticized
for its casting of white actors and
actresses in Latinx roles, Latinx
communities
were
depicted
almost entirely in a negative light.
Lin-Manuel Miranda’s award-
winning
“In
The
Heights,”
however, was the first hit musical
to realistically depict America’s
Latinx lifestyle. Predating his
now famous “Hamilton,” it uses
rap music and bilingual lyrics to
depict both the strength of the
Washington Heights community
in New York City and the
challenges that it faces. Written
while Miranda was still in
college, it is a first-hand depiction
of the Latinx experience.
“It tells a very recent story
about
Latino
immigration
in
the
United
States,”
said
Musket
production
director
Bruna d’Avila, a junior Theatre
Performance major in the School
of Music, Theatre & Dance. “It’s
about a community that is so
lively and happy and energetic,
and so many people can relate to
this story.”
“It really changed the game for
Latinos in terms of representation
on stage,” said Gian Perez, a
sophomore
acting
major
in
SMTD. “It’s never a piece about
Latino pain or Latino struggle.
It’s the first show to meet the
mainstream
that
portrays
Latinos as just a community with
a particular culture.”
“The audience in the Midwest
doesn’t know this as well,” said
d’Avila. They are “welcoming the
audience into this community
like they’ve never felt welcomed
anywhere before.”
Musket has worked to preserve
the diverse nature of the original
production,
putting
together
an extremely diverse cast. It is
a point of pride for all involved,
with d’Avila boasting that it
is, “the most diverse stage the
University of Michigan has ever
seen.” It’s a topic that is deeply
personal to many members of the
cast.
“I’ve always thought that as a
Puerto Rican actor, I should be
limited to Puerto Rican roles,”
said Perez, “but there are parts
of being a Latino man that I’m
learning in these roles.”
The play even goes beyond
the
generic
Latinx
identity
to
pick
apart
the
various
nationalities within this identity.
Seemingly subtle differences in
pronunciation and dialect, for
example, can represent entirely
different
national
identities
within the larger Washington
Heights community.
“It brings together so many
different styles of Latin American
music into one musical,” said
d’Avila.
Though the significance of the
rap and hip-hop influences in
the show’s music is now largely
overshadowed by “Hamilton,”
it was a groundbreaking idea
that sparked the careers of
both Lin-Manuel Miranda and
music director, arranger and
orchestrator Alex Lacamoire.
“When
I’m
rapping
I’m
actually just speaking,” said
Perez. “I think that the audiences
can engage with this much
more than they can with other
musicals.”
The musical also features a
style of rap noticeably different
than much of what is being
produced today. It is the rap of
the early 2000s and earlier, the
rap that was being produced
not for streaming services or
mass-market consumption, but
for public performances within
urban environments such as
Washington Heights.
“I’ve never really felt that
I could readily access poetry
that speaks about struggle and
pain at face value like this,” said
Perez. “It has that essence of rap
being used for togetherness and
unity. It’s about erasing the lines
between people.”
Earlier this semester, the cast
was given the rare opportunity
to work with Alex Lacamoire.
The musical theatre department,
through their extensive alumni
network, was able to reach out
to Lacamoire. Last week was
the 10 year anniversary of the
musical’s premiere on Broadway.
Lacamoire’s
recent
work
on
“Hamilton” and “Dear Evan
Hansen,” however, has distracted
from this early success — he was
just as excited to speak about this
early work as the cast was to work
with him during the rehearsal
process.
“It was very emotional to talk
about ‘In The Heights’ the way
that he would have 10 years ago,”
said d’Avila. “He had several
amazing notes, and it made the
process so much more exciting.”
And while the story may take
place in a Latinx community, it is,
at its core, about the basic struggle
of human emotion. Whether it is
the experience of first attending
college or the struggle of working
three jobs, it is a deeply relatable
story
about
the
American
experience — particularly among
recent immigrants.
“We all went through what
Nina goes through,” said d’Avila.
“We have all had to make a whole
new group of friends.”
“In The Heights” is a story
about the Latinx experience in
contemporary America. It is a
story of a diverse, multifaceted
group of people overcoming the
stereotypes that they face both
in the real world and on stage.
A striking relic of the diverse
American dream as it was defined
in 2008, the musical is a chilling
reminder of the changes that
this concept has undergone, as
previously marginalized groups
have sought to redefine it.
“It will open the audience’s
eyes to a different perspective,”
said d’Avila. “It’s about all those
who have immigrated to America.
It’s a message from them saying,
‘We’re OK. We’re doing fine.’ And
it’s about sharing this story as
only theater can.”
SAMMY SUSSMAN
Daily Arts Writer
“In the Heights”
Mar. 16 and 17 @
8:00, Mar. 18 @ 2:00
Power Center
$7 - $15
‘Rudderless’ demonstrates
painful struggle of healing
FILM NOTEBOOK
Art and emotion share an
essential link, and in order to
thoroughly leave an impression
on their audiences, artists must
harness what they feel within
and translate it into something
tangible. As one of the most
intense human emotions, grief
is a timeless topic explored by
artists, and one that William
H. Macy’s film “Rudderless”
exemplifies and entwines with
song. Severely unrecognized,
“Rudderless” is a film that
will draw audience members
under with sorrow, while still
managing to entrance them
with the marvelous and curative
powers of music.
Desperate and floundering
to regain purpose following
his son Josh’s (Miles Heizer
“Nerve”) death in a university
shooting, Sam (Billy Crudup
“Almost Famous”) is, as the
film title suggests, rudderless.
Quitting his high-paying suit-
and-tie job for a construction
gig and splitting from his wife,
Sam enters a life of solitude,
sustained by low-budget meals
and
booze
on
an
isolated
houseboat. Despite his clear
attempts to distance himself
from the outside world and from
the memories of the past, Sam
slowly begins to unravel his grief
when he happens upon drafted
songs written and recorded by
his son. He reconnects with one
of the passions that he and his
son shared: music.
Through
the
reluctant
relationship that he develops
with
energetic,
fanboyish
Quentin (Anton Yelchin “Star
Trek”),
who
idolizes
Sam’s
musical prowess, Sam is able
to regain a semblance of the
musical connection he shared
with his son. Crudup and
Yelchin’s portrayal of Sam and
Quentin’s slow-growing bond is
golden. On the surface, through
his exudence of childishness
that counters Sam’s uncaring,
asshole
attitude,
Yelchin’s
character
could
be
labeled
as a convention, serving as a
“replacement” of sorts for the
hole in Sam’s life left by his
son. However, what Crudup
and Yelchin are able to conjure
on screen feels so genuine
that, convention or not, we
want to buy into it. Though in
completely different life stages,
Sam and Quentin are able to find
an
unexpected
commonality
through their affinity for music.
For Quentin, his musical talent
represents a glimmer of hope for
finding a path to success, fame
and money, while for Sam, it is
a means of holding on to what
little he has left of his son.
Along
with
the
fabulous
performances
by
Yelchin
and
Crudup,
another
commendable piece of this film
is its soundtrack. A perfectly
compiled mixture of tunes sung
by a mashup of artists, the music
in this movie is truly masterful
in its remarkable ability to be
simultaneously
raw,
spirited
and
heartbreaking.
Filled
with both the slower and more
downcast pieces composed by
Sam’s son and a variety of new,
more upbeat songs crafted by
Sam and the band, the blend of
contrasting tones in the songs
creates a bittersweet effect,
reflective
of
Sam’s
broader
internal
struggle.
On
the
one hand, music for Sam has
become a means of regaining a
sense of joy and light in his life,
emphasized through fast-tempo,
eccentric and playful numbers
like a rock-infused “Wheels on
the Bus” and “Real Friends.” At
the same time, however, playing
Josh’s songs functions as a
cutting and consistent reminder
that his son’s presence in his life
only exists through the songs he
has left behind.
The final scene, in which
Sam strums one last song, “Sing
Along,” before the screen goes
black, is perhaps the film’s most
impactful
exemplification
of
grief. By the end of the film,
Sam is not cured of the pain
and heartache that the death
of his son has inflicted because
there is no such cure. The depth
of this closing scene comes
from the fact that it does not
attempt to provide resolution
or a guarantee of happiness for
Sam in the future, nor does it
illogically suggest that Sam’s
grief
will
eventually
fade.
Instead, it demonstrates Sam
confronting the grief, owning
it, playing for his son, not out of
acceptance of his death, but out
of remembrance. Finishing the
song, Sam tearfully sings, “I will
find a way to sing your song,” a
final promise to hold on to the
memories of his son, painful as
it may be.
In its essence, “Rudderless”
is a film about finding direction
and
regaining
purpose.
It
explores
the
complexity
of
grief, the necessity of friendship
and the healing capabilities
of music. Far quieter than its
contemporary — the popular,
bold and critically adored music-
centric picture “Whiplash” —
“Rudderless” is undeservingly
overshadowed.
Despite
the
film’s lack of recognition and
appreciation by the cinematic
community, its poignancy and
profundity is undeniable and in
passing it by, viewers would be
missing out on a true treasure of
a film.
SAMANTHA NELSON
Daily Arts Writer
pretty fast on “Glee,” and it gets
old pretty fast in the pilot. Jokes
that write themselves tend not to
be very funny. At a certain point,
the audience sees it all coming, so
the show will have to work to avoid
falling into the sorts of clichés its
premise suggests it will fall into.
The bad news? “Champions”
isn’t instantly impressive. The good
news? Network sitcoms rarely are
— “The Mindy Project” certainly
wasn’t — and Kaling’s shows tend
to be at their best once they’ve
gotten into a reliable groove
and established a set of familiar
rhythms.
What
“Champions”
will have to do to be fresh and
compelling is what “The Mindy
Project” and “The Office” often
struggled to do in later seasons:
balance out the zaniness with
some narrative heft and walk that
fine line between character and
caricature. It has all the pieces
of a great comedy, all that’s left is
putting them together.
PARAMOUNT
“Champions”
Series Premiere
NBC
Thursdays at 9:30
p.m.