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