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Saturday, September 29th -- 8pm

Rackham Auditorium

Featuring pianist Benyamin Nuss and the New World Players,
conducted by Eric Roth

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Comedy catharsis

COMEDY COLUMN

In the past couple of years, TV

shows have started to portray
mental
health
—
specifically

trauma
and
its
psychological

and physical repercussions — in
more authentic ways than before.
Comedies like The CW’s “Crazy
Ex-Girlfriend”
and
Netflix’s

“Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt”
present
enlightening
and

thought-provoking depictions of
trauma through a humorous lens
without resorting to superficial
stereotyping. TV dramas, however,
still seem to be fixated on using
trauma as a catalyst for suspense.

Crime procedurals such as

“Law & Order: SVU” often address
the trauma of every episode’s
victim through their harrowing
testimonies, treating their painful
experiences with admirable albeit
somewhat surface-level reverence.
More
controversially,
Netflix’s

“13 Reasons Why” tackles trauma
through the protagonist Hannah
(Katherine
Langford,
“Love,

Simon”), a high schooler whose
tragic suicide is not only displayed
in full, but the circumstances of
which are serialized through 13
cassette tapes made for all the
people “responsible” for her death.
Though its attempts to spotlight
the detriments of trauma and
bullying are well-intentioned and
occasionally nuanced, watching
“13 Reasons Why” can be almost
too violent and melodramatic
to stomach, especially with one
supporting character’s unexpected
(and unnecessarily brutal) rape in
the season two finale.

How, then, can a show attain

an in-depth illustration of trauma
without dumbing it down or
glamorizing it? In the case of
HBO’s
slow-burning
murder

mystery
miniseries
“Sharp

Objects,” the portrayal of trauma is

transfixing and meticulous, acting
as both a recurring theme and as a
heavily stylized aesthetic. Trauma
itself becomes a character rather
than a mere plot device.

Based on the novel by “Gone

Girl” author Gillian Flynn (who
also wrote a few episodes for the
series), “Sharp Objects” follows
hard-drinking journalist Camille
Preaker (Amy Adams, “Arrival”)
as she returns to her hometown
of Wind Gap, Mo. to investigate
the murder of two young girls.
As
Camille
becomes
more

invested in the crime, the sparse
details surrounding her history
of
self-harming
and
troubled

relationship with her domineering
mother Adora (Patricia Clarkson,
“Delirium”) gradually come to
light.

Rather than exploit Camille’s

trauma for the sake of spectacle,
“Sharp Objects” deftly underscores
Camille’s
fraught
emotional

interiority through the show’s
disjointed editing, out-of-context
flashbacks and disorienting sound
design. These techniques certainly
elicit a build-up of dread and
terror. But more importantly, they
are not made to entertain; they
deliberately immerse the viewer
into Camille’s fragile state of mind.

Each scene in which Camille

finds a clue to the crime, spots
a curious object or recognizes a
familiar face, she’s transported
into her adolescence, her memories
of which are paradoxically lucid
and spotty. During some of these
moments, the atmospheric sound
from the scene set in the present
— usually the hypnotic noise of
summertime crickets or heavy
breathing
—
remains,
while

the sound from the scene set in
the past is erased completely.
The
vivid
parallels
between

Camille’s
fractured
past
and

equally unstable present signify
her inability to reconcile the
unresolved issues of her childhood

(and even adulthood) trauma. It’s
a smart, riveting and haunting
way of showing that trauma is a
very real, inescapable wound, an
eternal, ominous specter that can
only be vanquished once it’s faced
head-on.

This, of course, isn’t the first

time this kind of depiction has been
executed. “Sharp Objects” director
Jean-Marc Vallée (“Demolition”) is
known for incorporating a similar
evocation of trauma in his other
acclaimed HBO miniseries “Big
Little Lies,” wherein young mother
Jane Chapman (Shailene Woodley,
“Adrift”) experiences a slew of
intense flashbacks to her rape a few
years before moving to the seaside
town of Monterey, Cali. Similar to
“Sharp Objects,” “Big Little Lies”
focused less on how Jane’s trauma
and emotional troubles could be
used as a marker for tension and
more on how it informed who she
was as a character.

Netflix’s “Jessica Jones” also

gives a notable take on trauma,
wherein the titular superhero
(Krysten Ritter, “Marvel’s The
Defenders”) uses her superhuman
strength
(both
physical
and

emotional) to combat her inner
turmoil
from
witnessing
the

death of her family, as well as
the evil forces that threaten to
destroy her and the world at large.
Though “Jessica Jones” doesn’t
shy away from explicit violence, it
manages to remain grounded by
emphasizing Jessica’s struggles
and
eventual
triumph
over

controlling her PTSD.

A topic like trauma is as difficult

to talk about in real life as it is
difficult to translate on screen.
Luckily, “Sharp Objects” and
programs like it operate as complex
models for how trauma can be
properly discussed and dissected
on TV — and perhaps they can also
further the conversation of coming
to terms with the hard truths that
dictate our own inner lives.

SAM ROSENBERG

Senior Arts Editor

TV NOTEBOOK

Thanks for turning to this

page, clicking on this link or
picking this particular piece
of paper off the gum that has
been stuck to the bottom of
your shoe since day one of
Welcome Week. But enough
about you, this column is about
me. I wanted to write a humor
column because comedy has
always been a form of catharsis
for me, a way to let go of things
and just laugh. Ever since I was
a chubby kid in the chorus of
every JCC community theater
play from 2005 to 2010, I turned
to making others laugh in order
to make myself feel better. I
was overweight and not even
talented enough to play one of
Tevye’s irrelevant daughters
(their names are Bielke and
Shpritzke, and I am proud that
I didn’t even need to look that
up). So, cracking up the cast
backstage was the only way to
get the attention I craved and
most certainly deserved. My
hope for you, dear reader, is that
you find some catharsis with
this column as well. Perhaps,
between stressing about class
and stressing about love and
stressing about stress, you can
read my carefully crafted prose
and giggle, smile or grimace,
and let go of something keeping
you down.

This
column
is
an

experiment: An amalgamation
of my own perverse mind farts
and
unwelcome
suggestions

from my mother that combine
to craft a piece of journalism
so hysterical that President
Schlissel
himself
will
add

it to his stack of required
morning reading. I may have
high hopes for this column,
but don’t be discouraged by

my cockiness, dear reader, I
am, in fact, terrified that no
one, not even Schlissel, will
laugh at my column. However,
I promise you, no matter how
un-funny this column ends up
becoming, I swear I will keep
writing it until, of course, I
decide to stop writing it or
my editor commands me to do

so. Consider this a contract
of sorts, a way to hold both
you and me responsible. I, as
writer of this column, vow
to provide you with funny
content that may be deeply and
uncomfortably personal while
occasionally offering my expert
and valid opinions on the state
of comedy today. While, you,
dear reader, must do your due
diligence in not hurting my
feelings because I am honestly,
like, really sensitive, so if you
have a negative review of this
column please try your best to
sandwich the insult with praise
so the mean stuff doesn’t hurt
so bad. I respond really well to
positive reinforcement, so keep
the compliments flowing and
criticism minimal because my
self-esteem is, like, really, really

low and I just don’t know if I can
handle a hit like that right now.
I mean, there is this guy… and
I just read a really sad article
about dead puppies… and the
economy… so I feel like I really
can’t handle any negativity
right now. You know how the
spoonful of sugar makes the
medicine go down? I want you
to flatter me before you tear
me to shreds. That pretty much
covers your end of the deal. In
summation, I will try to make
you laugh and you should really
try to not be a dick. I mean, I
am really putting myself out
there with this thing. So a little
respect would be nice.

As a woman (since the age

of 11, thanks Aunt Flo) I have
heard time and time again
that I have to censor myself.
I should be less loud so as not
to threaten potential mates. I
should be less silly as to seem
more attractive to potential
mates. I should be less myself
as to more easily attain and
hold
onto
potential
mates.

Comedy has given me the outlet
and confidence to hold nothing
back and to put it all out there,
potential mates be damned.
Comedy is about making others
laugh at you before they laugh
about you. Comedy should be
cathartic. It should be a release
— a breath of fresh, hilarious air
that reminds you that there are
more reasons to laugh than cry.
That chubby girl in the chorus
still lives in a really messy attic
with “Twilight” posters on the
walls and a collection of feather
boas. She is somewhere deep
in my subconscious, but she
is still there. She is desperate
and eager to make you laugh
to make herself feel better. So
humor me, dear reader, and
stick with me on this wild
experiment, you might get a
laugh out of it.

BECKY PORTMAN

Senior Arts Editor

The aesthetics of trauma

Comedy has given
me the outlet and
confidence to hold
nothing back and

to put it all out
there, potential
mates be damned

The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Arts
Wednesday, September 5, 2018 — 5A