COMMUNITY CULTURE
Jardín de amores, jardín de
amores, Castigo liviano pudean
merecer los amadores.
These words, projected unto
me by some of the finest vocal
chords at the University, have
been ringing in my ears for
some days now. Translated into
English, the phrase means,
“Gardens of love, gardens of
love, those who love deserve
only a slight penalty.” The
piece, “Al tribunal de tu pecho
vengo a pedirele Clemencia,”
is from a 1967 set of songs
called “Indianas” composed
by Carlos Guastavino. Despite
the language barrier and age
of the piece, The Orpheus
Singers were able to draw from
the late Guastavino and, with
their voices, create an impact
on their audience. That is
certainly something special.
This past Thursday, The
Orpheus Singers, an ensemble
with the School of Music,
Theatre
&
Dance
at
the
University, performed their
second and final concert of
the semester. The Orpheus
Singers consist of graduate
and
undergraduate
music
majors in voice, choral music
education,
organ,
piano,
composition and harp, all of
whom are conducted by Dr.
Eugene
Rogers’s
graduate
studio of Master of Music and
Doctor of Musical Arts choral
conductors.
This
performance
was
called
“The
Poet
Speaks
of Love,” as the concert’s
repertoire was chosen for each
piece’s poetic description of
love, ranging from playful and
adoring to devoted, enduring
and unrequited.
More
than
that,
the
performance included pieces
from
a
wide
selection
of
cultures and lingual origins.
Director Dr. Eugene Rogers
writes, “(t)he program, The
Poet Speaks of Love, features
a
variety
of
music
styles
stemming from the diverse
cultural background of the
selected composers.”
Rogers
included
pieces
extracted from choirs and
conductors
in
America,
Argentina, the British Isles,
England, Canada, France and
Brazil. Rogers also included
works from composers both
male and female, authors of
varying ethnic backgrounds.
It was clear that Rogers and
his fellowship of conductors
took care to truly explore the
various perspectives of love in
the world. This care made the
validity and dedication of the
group’s work visible, which
has not gone unappreciated.
“The Poet Speaks of Love”
was exhilarating, yet haunting.
Each piece carried an explicit
tone as given by its categorized
heading
—
playful
and
adoring, passionate, devoted
and enduring or unrequited
— but each piece also held
a more softly-spoken air of
chanciness, precariousness.
Conducted by Eric D. Reyes
with soprano Adriana Tam,
“Nocture” from “Five Short
Choral Works” by Adolphus
Hailstork is written with a
playful flow, inviting a lover
to enjoy some of the world’s
beauties. And yet the world’s
beauties are presented as “the
insects with their countless
array of sounds,” “the black
grass
rustling,”
“the
suns
floating (in the sky), each a
fiery universe,” “the broad
expanse” that is the night sky.
All of these images are, to
the writer, some of the finer
qualities of the universe. But
it is not difficult to see the
underlying tone of darkness
in the described beauty. The
Orpheus Singers, so it seemed
to me, picked up on the distinct
tone, and presented Hailstork’s
piece
with
the
underlying
grim mood. It was as though
each performer knew that
love, poetic as it may be, is not
always light and certain.
It
is
always
a
joy
to
watch
fellow
students
of
the University pursue their
interests, and it is even more
enjoyable when these students
can prescribe a unique message
as The Orpheus Singers have
done in their final concert of
the semester.
The Orpheus Singers show
a mastery of choral music
ZACHARY W.S. WAARALA
Daily Arts Writer
Television is running out
of tactics. With tropes like
the nagging wife and goofy
husband pairing or the fun-
loving gang of friends falling
flat on viewers who expect
more, showrunners are forced
to look for another common
thread to string together their
shows with. It appears that
they’ve found one in the form
of reimagining history. And it’s
working: Amazon’s “The Man
in the High Castle,” which
looks at a world in which,
after World War II, the Axis
powers emerged victorious,
was recently renewed for its
fourth season. This plot device
asks: You know that thing that
happened a while ago that
seems like a pretty big deal?
Well, what if that thing ...
didn’t happen?
Now, a new Polish-language
thriller from Netflix, “1983,”
is hoping to find success in
its alternate reality. It takes
place in an alternate world
where
terrorists
attacked
Poland in 1983, suppressing
the
Solidarity
movement
and
subsequently
Poland’s
liberation from the Soviet
Union. In this realm, the
Iron Curtain never fell, and
Poland has sustained a rather
peaceful existence until a new
resistance movement begins to
materialize in 2003.
The main storyline follows
Anatol
Janow
(Robert
Wieckiewicz, “Blinded by the
Lights”) a steely detective
well past his heyday as a
high-profile investigator and
Kajeton
Skowron
(Maciej
Musial, “Rodzinka.pl”), a naive
young lawyer. The pair are
each investigating a mystery
of their own, but they are
brought together to uncover
the conspiracy that hast kept
Poland under dystopian reign
for so long.
Dystopian
markers
are
prevalent throughout every
scene of “1983.” The aesthetic
is
gray
and
dreary;
the
characters appear weathered
and anxious. Everything from
the title of the show to the
dialogue is a heavy-handed
reference to George Orwell’s
foundational
novel
“1984.”
Poland’s government is known
as “The Party,” which is split
into
various
“ministries.”
There are even multiple too-
obvious-to-miss shots of the
book just in case you really
weren’t picking up what the
show was putting down.
Despite
the
dystopian
backstory,
“1983”
thrives
more as a mystery than an
alternative
reality
story.
Change up a couple details and
this true-crime show may as
well take place in New York
City with Mariska Hargitay
leading the investigation. It is
a gripping detective story, and
that is what makes it worth
watching. The idea of Poland
under Soviet control is second
thought, playing into a lazy
and reckless trope that forges
an image of totalitarianism for
entertainment as dictatorships
rage on in the real world.
There is no joy in imagining
what life would be like if the
bad guys won. Whether it’s
“1983” or “The Man in the
High Castle,” the answer is
pretty clear to that what-if
scenario. If the bad guys won,
life would be — and stay with
me here — pretty damn bad.
Why imagine a society still
ruled by the Nazis when there
are real-life Nazis in a world
where the good guys did win?
Why thrust a free nation into a
falsified dystopian state when
there are countries living that
as their true reality? “1983” is
an interesting detective story
within a tired context, falling
victim to the privilege of being
able to imagine “what if.”
Polish thriller ‘1983’ falls
victim to American tropes
SAMANTHA DELLA FERA
Daily Arts Writer
NETFLIX
“1983”
Netflix
Episodes 1- 2
“1983” is an
interesting
detective story
within a tired
context, falling
victim to the
privilege of being
able to imagine
“what if”
TV REVIEW
FILM NOTEBOOK
Here are two things that
seldom go together: horror and
beauty. It seems like the very last
consideration many of us have
when turning on a scary movie is
the potential for visual splendor
or cinematic style. And most of the
time, our expectations are right.
Horror movies are largely defined
by a crudeness, an uncomfortable
manipulation of our sensibilities.
They aren’t made to amaze us.
They’re made to make us scream.
That’s not to say, however, that
style and scares can’t coexist.
In fact, they can come together
with
overwhelming
synergy
when placed in the right hands,
and have done just that in some
of the most memorable horror
movie moments. Think about the
terrifying simplicity of Kubrick’s
tracking shots of the tricycle in
“The Shining.” The razor-sharp
editing and piercing strings of
the now-legendary shower scene
from “Psycho.” Heck, even the
uncannily ominous atmosphere
that Jordan Peele musters leading
up to the final act of “Get Out” is
a testament to the value of artful
horror.
But if there’s any filmmaker
who so consummately embodies
stylish horror, it has to be Dario
Argento. The Italian director
made his best work in the ’70s
and ’80s, and his sheer artistic
control over these films renders
them inimitable and profoundly
subjective. His stories are often
a blend of mystery, thriller
and horror, striking a balance
between the brutally tactile and
the disconnectedly ethereal.
Argento’s specific brand of
horror does not sacrifice scares
for style, or vice versa. Not only
are the two features equally baked
into the DNA of his filmmaking,
but they are inseparable from one
another. His films are probably
most
recognizable
by
their
affinity for gore and their unique
depiction of the human body.
His murder scenes are a prime
The visual glory of Dario
Argento’s stylish horror
ANISH TAMHANEY
Daily Arts Writer
example of this quality. While
initially jarring, the sequences
turn intentionally cartoonish the
longer one watches, showcasing
ridiculously bright blood and
limbs that seem more like the
appendages of a doll than those of
a human.
He is perhaps best known for
his cult classic “Suspiria,” which,
in the context of his evolution as a
director, is a brilliant experiment
in toying with the line between
reality and fantasy. There are
moments during the experience
that not only ask one to question
Argento’s reality, but their own as
well.
The lighting in “Suspiria”
in particular is one of its most
indelible aspects. Much of the
film happens in the confines of
a German dance academy, and
every hallway is permeated with
a ghostly red quality, whether
by strange painted hues or some
inexplicable source of crimson
light. In one tension-filled scene,
all the lights of the academy
shut off, leaving us in temporary
blackness only to give way to
a
new,
pale
night-vision-like
perspective. The characters in
the film can’t see this new light,
lending the film the ability to bend
and distort our perspective. By
deftly intertwining the physical
with the metaphysical, he allows
viewers to interpret the film
through a distinctly individual
lens.
Director
Luca
Guadagnino
(“Call Me By Your Name”) even
recreated the movie with his own
specific interpretation. His 2018
remake of “Suspiria” showcases
the variety of messages the
original can impress onto its
audience. He reinterpreted an
admittedly simple story into
something far more nuanced and
political. Whether this choice
was the right one is questionable,
but it doesn’t matter either. It
was
inarguably
Guadagnino’s
own choice, a confident decision
inspired by the ingenuity of his
predecessor. That transition —
the creativity of one filmmaker
igniting that of another — speaks
to the importance of films like
Argento’s “Suspiria.”
There’s also something to be
said about Argento’s fixation on
artistically talented protagonists.
Whether through the mystic
dancing of Susie from “Suspiria,”
the author of a serial killer novel
that inspires a real-life copycat in
“Tenebre” or a jazzy piano-player-
turned-murder-investigator
in
“Deep Red,” Argento relishes
in the opportunity to connect
the boldness of art with mortal
danger. We’ve noticed a similar
pattern even in Damien Chazelle,
whose films “La La Land” and
“Whiplash”
depict
the
self-
corroding nature of musicians
entrenched in their craft. While
the
two
filmmakers
clearly
diverge in their subject material
beyond this comparison, it is
worth noting the tendency for
directors in pursuit of artistic
excellence to leak that excellence
into their own characters.
On the topic of music, it is
impossible to even discuss Argento
without any mention of his
frequent collaborators, the Italian
progressive rock band Goblin.
The group’s auditory additions
to his films are as disquieting
and dreamy as the images they
overlay. Goblin wrote twinkling,
pulsating and at times operatic
riffs that are somehow catchy and
creepy at the same time. Their
ability to seamlessly switch time
signatures grants their scores an
offsetting and incessant quality.
Even a week after finishing “Deep
Red,” I found it impossible to get
the groovy soundtrack — or the
film — out of my head.
An
undermentioned
and
truly special effect of Argento’s
signature subjectivity is this:
His films can be as artsy or as
uncomplicated as you want them
to be. If you have the capacity
to explore the various enigmas
he posits, his heady symbolism
and the significance behind his
deceitful
camerawork,
those
options are readily available. If
all you want is to enjoy his movies
for the twist-riddled, adventurous
mysteries they are at face value,
no one’s stopping you either. It’s
easy to write off Argento as an
artsy filmmaker purely for the
horror-obsessed, but that couldn’t
be further from the truth. His
films are for anyone and everyone
to see. At worst, they are exactly
what you want out of them, and
at best, they are deeply revelatory
masterpieces that have elevated
my understanding of cinema
itself.
WIKIMEDIA COMMONS
6A — Monday, December 3, 2018
Arts
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com