The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Arts
Tuesday, December 11, 2018 — 5
At the very least, “Bad Blood”
lives up to its name: It’s bad
and there’s blood. Other than
that, there isn’t much nice to
say about the stale six-episode
mafia docudrama making its
international debut on Netflix
after a premiere on Canada’s
Citytv last year.
It’s limply acted, turgidly
written and plotted in such a
way that the season feels much,
much longer than it is. In some
stretches, “Bad Blood” is so
painfully boring, you’ll wish you
were sleeping with the fishes. It
doesn’t help that we’ve seen this
type of story told a million times
before, to much better success.
“Bad Blood” does begin with
an interesting hook: It’s telling
a true story, one of Montreal’s
notorious Rizzuto crime family,
which oversaw a vast criminal
empire from the port city for
decades.
A
flashy
opening
sequence introduces us to Vito
Rizzuto
(Anthony
LaPaglia,
“Without a Trace”), who takes
over for his father as mob boss
and
successfully
unites
the
city’s warring syndicates. We’re
also treated to a little cameo
from Cheryl Blossom’s maple-
syrup-mogul-turned-Canadian-
heroin-smuggler dad. (Joke.)
Vito’s
son,
Nicolo
Jr.
(Brett Donahue, “The Other
Kingdom”) is clean-cut and
independently successful with
no interest in the mob business.
So naturally, when Vito is sent
to prison, Nicolo is — gasp! —
roped into the mob business.
The exception to otherwise
uninspiring
performances
is
the excellent Kim Coates (“Sons
of Anarchy”) as Declan, Vito’s
capable if ruthless right-hand
man, who keeps the Rizzuto
operation running when Nicolo
Jr. proves inept.
Oh, and there are also some
women characters. In a big win
for diversity, the female roles
on “Bad Blood” range from
stripper to mistress to backup
mistress to shrill politician. It’s
not quite clear whether these
lovely, leggy ladies have inner
lives or distinguishing traits. But
who needs those when a made
man makes you his woman? At
one point, Vito’s two paramours
fistfight in a department store,
a failure of the Bechdel test so
spectacular it makes “The Wolf
of Wall Street” look like it was
directed by Betty Friedan.
Sure, this genre has never
been
especially
friendly
to
women. But even the stingiest
analysis of Carmela Soprano
or Kay Adams would find them
lightyears
more
progressive
than the women of “Bad Blood”
— if for no other reason than that
they have names.
Is it really fair to compare
“Bad Blood” to “The Sopranos”
and
“The
Godfather,”
two
universally-adored,
zeitgeisty pieces of gangster
entertainment?
Maybe
not,
but that’s the tricky fate of
any
on-screen
depiction
of
mobster life. “Bad Blood” very
badly wants to say something
interesting about family and
difficult decisions. But in the
process, it forgets that prestige
TV, in addition to the nudity and
violence, also needs to be good.
The closer resemblance here is
to “House of Cards,” another
show cloaked in enough neo-noir
and masculine energy to dupe an
audience into believing that its
hokey truisms about power are
actually profound.
The
explicit
cultural
connections
“Bad
Blood”
is inviting aren’t doing the
show many favors either. That
writer-producers Simon Barry
(“Continuum”)
and
Michael
Konyves (“Barney’s Version”)
have
described
this
as
a
“Shakespearean-level
revenge
tale” betrays an almost laughable
inexperience with the Bard’s
work. If only there were some
hugely renowned Shakespeare
festival in Canada where they
could discover just how far off
that comparison is.
Canada,
you
may
have
universal health care, the better
side of Niagara Falls and Kawhi
Leonard. But when it comes to
the gangster genre, we’ve got you
squarely beat. It’s not personal,
it’s strictly business. So let’s just
call it even, eh?
Watching ‘Bad Blood’ is
an offer you should refuse
MAITREYI ANANTHARAMAN
Daily Arts Writer
NETFLIX
“Bad Blood”
Season 1
Netflix
TV REVIEW
I didn’t think I would ever be
able to write a Books that Built
Us column. I read a lot, but my
memory of anything beyond my
freshman year of high school is
spotty at best. I have plenty of
favorite books from my childhood,
most of which proved formative
enough to warrant me writing a
column like this. But, alas, I’d have
to reread each of those books,
cover to cover, to understand
what about them made them
great. And even then, I’d never
fully remember the ways in which
those books impacted me; I’d only
remember that the impact they
carried was profound.
But then I read “Becoming,”
the recently released memoir
by
Michelle
Obama,
and
I
realized that I’m not finished
building myself. According to
Michelle, even her identity has
yet to completely round out.
Call it corny, call it meta, but
“Becoming” is a book about
building ourselves; it built me
by proving that this journey
never stops. Like Michelle, I’ll
spend my entire life constructing
the woman I want to become,
creating change on a scale that’s
even a morsel of what my Forever
FLOTUS has managed to enact.
The opportunity for lifelong
growth is a beautiful thing, and
I was too caught up in my insular
college bubble to notice that until
now.
“Becoming” is divided into
three sections. In “Becoming
Me,” Michelle takes us from her
early childhood on Chicago’s
South Side through her tenure
at high-power Chicago law firm
Sidley Austin. In “Becoming
Us” she explains how a former
mentee, named Barack, became
her partner in life and, eventually,
the 44th President of the United
States. Finally, in “Becoming
More,” Michelle details how she,
her husband and their daughters
Malia
and
Sasha
navigated
eight years in the White House,
holding themselves to standards
infinitely more stringent than
those of former First Families,
whose everyday actions weren’t
seen as representing an entire
racial group. The life of Michelle,
a working-class Robinson turned
world-leader
Obama,
clearly
hasn’t been an easy one, but she
makes it known that it’s been
fulfilling in ways she never
imagined.
The book is peppered with
gloriously
honest
anecdotes
that
transform
Mrs.
Obama
from an almost otherworldly
superwoman into a real-world
role model, one who struggles to
balance the needs of a country
with the needs of her family and
who embarrasses her kids on a
regular basis. She recalls Malia’s
prom night (then 16 years old,
she asked her mom to “Just be
cool please”) with the same level
of detail as her feelings toward
Donald Trump (spoiler: She’s not
fond of him). Michelle’s choice to
take equal care when discussing
candid
family
moments
and
global politics speaks volumes.
This, I thought while reading, is a
In ‘Becoming,’ Michelle
Obama is transformative
TESS GARCIA
Daily Style Editor
BOOKS THAT BUILT US
woman who has her priorities in
line.
I now see a little piece of
Michelle Obama within myself,
and lately, that has been enough
to lift me out of my most insecure
moments. I watch my talented
friends secure internships at
Fortune
500
companies
as
my email inbox runs dry, and
instead of moping, I remind
myself
that
Michelle
was
waitlisted at Harvard Law, a fact
I hadn’t known before reading
“Becoming.”
When
I
catch
myself getting frustrated with
an unexpected shift in routine,
I remember her resilience as
her husband’s political career
uprooted the life she’d built in
Chicago, catapulting herself and
her daughters across the country
into a world of opulence and
cynicism unlike anything they’d
ever seen.
We’re
all
building
and
building ourselves. As Michelle
conveys through “Becoming”’s
melancholy epilogue, that process
is full of ups and downs. At some
point, each of us will see our
hard work upended by our own
personal Trump administration.
It’s inevitable, but it’s up to us to
decide how we respond. We can
lose hope and retreat, or we can
be like Michelle. “In my most
worried moments, I take a breath
and remind myself of the dignity
and decency I’ve seen in people
throughout my life, the many
obstacles that have already been
overcome,” she writes, adding:
“I hope others will do the same.”
Consider this column my answer
to that call. I will continue to
struggle against my personal
evils, but I will continue to build
myself. No matter what comes my
way, I’ll be like Michelle and I’ll
never stop becoming.
LET’S MOVE!
The book is
peppered with
gloriously honest
anecdotes that
transform
Mrs. Obama
from an almost
otherworldly
superwoman into
a real-world role
model
Each year, I wait until the week
prior to Thanksgiving to begin
listening to Christmas music. I
know that I won’t feel guilty for
listening too early, and the delay
of gratification is not deleterious
to my experience of the holiday
season. This year, a month before
my season-opening date, Eric
Clapton released his first-ever
Christmas album, Happy Xmas,
on Oct. 12.
We last heard from Clapton
with his 2016 return to the
country-blues arena with I Still
Do, which received poor ratings
from a number of publications
as it failed to serve as a return to
the 73-year-old guitarist’s “glory
days.”
Clapton’s
release
of
a
Christmas album was a bit
unexpected.
Clapton
has
been relatively silent since a
disappointing 2016, so the fact
that his next attempt at a “return”
would be through a Christmas
album is, for his critics and
listeners, out of left field.
Nonetheless, Clapton is a
connoisseur of the blues, and
I was interested to see what
his take on a Christmas album
would be. In short, Clapton
combines
Christmas
classics
with lesser-known Christmas-
themed titles to compile a set of
covers that (mechanically) work.
Essentially, Happy Xmas is not
going to drive Clapton back to
the center of popular music, but
it contains the pillars of Clapton’s
craft — masterful blues guitar,
soothing vocals and an absence
of much editing — that make for
a functional Eric Clapton album.
Each
track
from
Happy
Xmas is a cover, similar to the
construction
of
the
classic
Christmas albums from Bing
Crosby,
Frank
Sinatra,
Ella
Fitzgerald, Nat King Cole and
so
forth.
However,
Clapton
intentionally
included
some
lesser-known Christmas songs,
such as “For Love on a Christmas
Day,” and covers of Christmas
pieces from Slade. As such,
Clapton’s
Christmas
album
covers a spectrum of sorts — he
covers the classics while dusting
off Christmas pieces from the
bottom shelf.
Clapton covers this spectrum
while
maintaining
a
blues/
country
atmosphere
to
his
renditions — except for one house
rendition of “Jingle Bells” that
would throw the uneducated
listener off. “Jingle Bells” is
situated between “Home for the
Holidays” and “Christmas in My
Hometown,” both of which are
the more bluesy tracks on the
album. “Jingle Bells,” however,
is a house/EDM track — unheard
of from an artist like Clapton.
According to Clapton, the track
serves to pay tribute to the late
Avicii, with whom Clapton had
worked on spotted occasions.
Clapton’s
outrageous
venture
from his typical low-key style
will no doubt come as a surprise
to most. In fact, when I first
listened to the album, not only
was I thrown off by the venture
into EDM, but I was disappointed
to be hearing EDM while I
was trying to listen to a blues
Christmas album. That said,
upon my research of the album, I
was glad to discover that “Jingle
Bells” is not Clapton’s attempt to
get into the house/EDM game
and rather a tribute to one of the
genre’s greats.
Clapton’s Christmas album
feels like a reflection on what
is important to him, musically
and personally. In an interview
released on Clapton’s YouTube
channel upon the album’s release,
he said that the album “has
taken a lifetime of Christmas
experience and (listening to)
Christmas music.” It is not
difficult to feel that “lifetime of
Christmas experience” baked
into the Happy Xmas album.
The mistake that Clapton’s
critics make, in 2016 with I
Still Do and likely in 2018 with
Happy Xmas, is the erroneous
assumption
that
Clapton
is
trying to get back to his “glory
days” or back into the popular
music arena.
With no slight to the legendary
musician, both I Still Do and
Happy Xmas are examples of
Clapton’s new career outlook:
Clapton is making music for
himself and his team, and
whether his listeners enjoy the
music is not his top concern.
The album’s cover art was
done
by
Clapton
himself,
mimicking Bob Dylan’s artistry
for Music from Big Pink. Clapton’s
rough illustration of Santa Claus
on a white background sets the
tone for the album. The rough-
around-the-edges
(literally)
album art further symbolizes the
notion that Clapton’s new music
is homemade, made for himself,
made for the joy that is making
music, occasionally made for his
long-standing fans.
Eric Clapton’s homemade
festive Christmas album
ZACHARY M.S. WAARALA
Daily Arts Writer
ALBUM REVIEW
WIKIMEDIA COMMONS
Happy Xmas
Eric Clapton
Bushbranch/
Surfdog
Happy Xmas is
not going to drive
Clapton back
to the center of
popular music