The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Arts
Monday, October 29, 2018 — 5A
By Paul Coulter
©2018 Tribune Content Agency, LLC
10/29/18
Los Angeles Times Daily Crossword Puzzle
Edited by Rich Norris and Joyce Nichols Lewis
10/29/18
ANSWER TO PREVIOUS PUZZLE:
Release Date: Monday, October 29, 2018
ACROSS
1 Autos
5 Cutlass
automaker
9 Stick-on design
14 Fever with chills
15 Hide, as a bone
16 100 bucks
17 Breadbasket
item
18 Read bar codes
on
19 “Wizard of __
Park”: Edison
20 Protective net
above a cradle
23 __ Paulo, Brazil
24 Some tech sch.
grads
25 Type of energy
or reactor
29 ’60s-’70s
quarterback
Tarkenton
31 Content cat
sound
33 Spanish gold
34 Government
prosecutor
37 Philip of “Kung
Fu”
38 Live and breathe
39 “Ich bin __
Berliner”: JFK
40 Reduced
responsiveness
to medication
45 “Casablanca”
pianist
46 She sheep
47 Blues singer
James
48 At first, second
or third
50 Long __ of the
law
51 Airline to
Stockholm
54 Unexpected
classroom
announcement
... and, initially,
one hiding in
each set of
puzzle circles
58 Gorge
61 Aesop’s
also-ran
62 “East of Eden”
director Kazan
63 Blender button
64 Barely makes,
with “out”
65 A short distance
away
66 Accumulate
67 “Wild” frontier
place
68 IRS form IDs
DOWN
1 King and queen
2 Greek
marketplace
3 Hitchhiker’s
principle?
4 Actress Ward
5 Lewd
6 “Star Wars”
mastermind
7 “Dang!”
8 Lip-__: mouth the
words
9 U.S. capital
transit system
10 First month of
el año
11 Pro’s opposite
12 Braves, on
scoreboards
13 DiCaprio, in fan
mags
21 Potatoes partner
22 “B.C.” cartoonist
Johnny
26 Tennis great
with nine Grand
Slam singles
titles
27 Goodnight
woman of song
28 Coquettish
30 Tolled like Big
Ben
31 Romeo’s rival
32 Salt Lake City
team
34 Leftovers wrap
35 Postage-paid
enc.
36 Cost of living?
40 Brit. military
award
41 Job applicants’
preparations
42 Pretty pitcher
43 Most concise
44 “Don’t look __ like
that!”
49 Beasts of burden
50 Buenos __
52 From China, say
53 Popular
performers
55 “That was close!”
56 Leaves gatherer
57 Addition column
58 Auditing pro
59 Run smoothly
60 Altar in the sky
“Don’t Pass Cars / On Curve
or Hill / If the Cops / Don’t
Get You / Morticians Will.”
“If Daisies Are Your / Favorite
Flower / Keep Pushin’ Up /
Those
Miles-Per-Hour.”
“If
You / Don’t Know / Whose
Signs / These Are / You Can’t
Have / Driven Very Far.”
If none of these phrases are
familiar to you, it likely has
less to do with how far you’ve
driven and more to do with the
fact that this is 2018. From the
late ’20s through the early ’60s,
poems like these were painted
on advertisements for Burma-
Shave, a company known for
spacing out its iconic red,
white-lettered signs along the
sides of roads. Some had to do
with shaving (“Shaving Brushes
/ You’ll Soon See ‘Em / On the
Shelf / In Some / Museum”),
some with road safety (“It’s
Best For / One Who Hits /
The Bottle / To Let Another /
Use the Throttle”). The main
trademarks were their dry wit
and funny, memorable rhymes.
Today I’m going to use this
space to talk about an odd little
corner of the literature world:
signs. This column has always
been about pieces of literature
that
aren’t
often
analyzed
critically or sometimes even
considered literature to begin
with. I believe that the subject
of signs is fitting and that
signs, in all sorts of contexts,
are indeed literature — and
not only that, they also offer
us windows into culture and
humanity in a way that few
other types of literature can.
To illustrate what I mean,
here are two of my most recent,
memorable experiences with
signs. The first happened two
weeks ago, when a few friends
and I were on our way back to
Ann Arbor after spending a long
weekend in Washington, D.C.,
and Baltimore for fall break.
The drive back was nearly 10
hours, and a lot of it was spent
in silence — we hadn’t slept
much the night before, and all
of us were anxious to get home
and rest.
So, for about three continuous
hours, we played the Alphabet
Game. I’d played so many times
before, on countless road trips
with my parents and family
and other friends, and the
game was classic, familiar and
fun. We’d taken a route that
avoided tolls and therefore
spent a lot of time on smaller,
winding and uneventful roads,
but even on these, when we did
happen upon a town or a cluster
of houses, we found so many
unexpected gems: “Quarry.”
“Quartz.” “Junction.” “Zeal.”
And then, of course, there were
the midterm election signs
that peppered so many yards,
beckoning locals to vote for
Republicans
and
Democrats
we’d never heard of.
The
second
experience
was last weekend, when I ran
the Detroit Free Press’ U.S.-
only half marathon. I pretty
much hadn’t trained at all, and
was feeling the weight of the
distance as early as four or five
miles in. But all along the way,
people in Detroit had gathered
— some in big block parties,
some in small clusters — with
signs: “Worst Parade Ever!” “I
trained for MONTHS to hold
this sign!” “That’s a lot of work
for a free banana!” and “New
mile who dis?”
Some were more creative
than
others,
but
in
my
struggle to keep getting the
miles behind me, I smiled at
almost all of them. I had also
run the Chicago Marathon
my sophomore year, a month
ahead of the 2016 election, and
seen a lot of similar signs back
then. Some had the exact same
phrases. The main difference
was that in Chicago, I also saw
political jokes everywhere I
looked: “If Trump can run, so
can you” and, “Run like Trump
is trying to grab your p*ssy.”
I don’t usually think about
or look at signs unless they’re
right in front of my face. I
think it’s fair to say I’m like
most people in that regard.
But in many ways, the signs
we make are a bellwether for
what we’re thinking and what
we value. There are the ones
made by companies, billboards
and
advertisements
along
highways,
storefront
signs,
neon signs. And then there are
the ones made by individuals —
standing up for politicians they
like, or against the politicians
they dislike, or simply touting
a funny joke meant to help
another
person
along.
The
night before the half-marathon,
my mom and I saw a crowd
of people gathered outside a
hotel in Detroit, chanting and
picketing something for hours
in the freezing sleet and snow,
all holding signs.
Signs show us what humor we
appreciate, what we’re willing
to stand for and what we won’t
tolerate. They show us what our
culture values aesthetically,
and what language we speak.
The first time I left the U.S.,
the signs were the first thing
that stood out to me: giving
directions
and
information,
simple and familiar things, in
a language other than the one
I’d never realized I always took
for granted. Walking around
airports and train stations,
driving
through
cities
and
towns and walking down busy
streets — I was in that country,
Germany, for a week and a half,
and I was still reading signs
everywhere we went by the
time we left. I
never got tired
of it.
A sign may
not
be
much
like a book, but
I think it is at
least
possible
to read a sign
like
a
poem.
I
even
think
it’s poetic that
a sign comes
with so much
surrounding it:
the place and
the context in
which you saw
it, the person
showing
it
to you. Signs
interact with us
all the time, and
not in purely
functional
ways:
They
keep
us
awake
during
long
trips,
they
propel
us
through
tough
races
and
games
because
they
remind us that
people,
even
total strangers,
are out there
rooting
for
us, or looking
out for us. We
make
signs
for
concerts,
for
picking
people
up
at
the
airport,
for
parades
and
rallies.
It’s funny that
something
designed
to
relay such little
information
can
actually
tell
you
so
much, but there
you have it.
What signs tell us
about ourselves
DAILY LITERATURE COLUMN
LAURA
DZUBAY
Signs, in all
sorts of contexts,
are indeed
literature
Last weekend, I ventured
down to a part of Ann Arbor I’ve
never been to before. Another
Daily Arts Writer joined me, and
though it was tough to find, we
were determined to watch “The
Stone Witch” for its opening
night at Ann Arbor’s new venue,
Theatre Nova.
“The Stone Witch” by Shem
Bitterman is about young artist
Peter Chandler, who was hired to
help the world’s most illustrious
children’s book author, Simon
Grindberg, finish his overdue
book. I wasn’t familiar with this
play before watching, but the plot
was clear enough to follow along.
Theatre Nova is comprised
of a simple, black box theater. It
has been a long time since I’ve
watched a performance in such
an intimate space, and I enjoyed
being close enough to actually
see the actors’ facial expressions.
I was impressed by the high
production value of the play.
The space was well-used and
the set was detailed, with many
decorations
that
reflected
Grindberg’s
character.
The
lighting was used intentionally,
which I appreciated because it
can often become overwhelming,
especially in smaller venues.
In
particular,
Dennis
Kleinsmith’s
performance
as
Grindberg stood out. He delivered
his lines with power and seemed
to capture the audience with all
of his scenes. Because there are
only three actors in the play, his
death at the end makes us feel his
physical loss, and the stage feels
empty without him.
Though there were some sad
moments in the play, a lot of
humor balanced out these parts,
and the audience could be heard
laughing along enthusiastically.
Watching the progression of
Chandler’s
relationship
with
Kleinsmith is endearing and
sweet, and touches on how
special the mentor and mentee
relationship can be. It’s a story
that
anyone
can
relate
to,
regardless of age, gender or
ethnicity.
Ethan Kankula’s performance
of Chandler was also admirable,
though
there
were
a
few
times
where
Chandler
had
outbursts of surprise or anger
that felt uncharacteristic for
Kankula’s portrayal. Despite this
spottiness,
Kankula
depicted
Chandler’s
character
growth
realistically and with charisma.
I found the scene when
Chandler
and
Grindberg
go
swimming to be jarring because
it started progressing towards
nudity. Both actors ended up
remaining in their boxers, but
the choice to have them remove
clothing didn’t add anything to
the performance and felt slightly
uncomfortable. This scene didn’t
detract from my experience
viewing the play, but it didn’t
enhance it either.
My favorite part about the
play was the idea of imagination.
Chandler and Grindberg are
incredibly curious and creative,
and this was fleshed out through
their dialogue and the props
of their drawings. The use of a
screen to portray the witch or a
change in setting also conveyed
the importance of strong visuals
to the characters as they created
illustrations for the book and
sometimes got lost in them.
Overall, “The Stone Witch”
was a relaxing and comical way
to spend my Friday night. By the
end of the play, I noticed many
of the audience members were
regular attendees of Theatre
Nova’s
productions,
and
I
think that speaks highly to the
quality and portrayals of their
productions. They’ve figured out
how to choose and direct plays
that resonate with the majority
of
their
audience
members,
allowing us to enjoy the simple
beauty in their plays.
If you want to watch “The
Stone Witch,” it will be running
at Theatre Nova until Nov. 11.
Theatre Nova’s ‘The Stone
Witch’ portrays beauty in
friendship & imagination
NITYA GUPTA
Daily Arts Writer
COMMUNITY CULTURE REVIEW
Courtesy of Shem Bitterman
Courtesy of Shem Bitterman
Courtesy of Shem Bitterman
In particular,
Dennis
Kleinsmith’s
performance
as Grindberg
stood out. He
delivered his lines
with power and
seemed to capture
the audience with
all of his scenes