WORK ON MACKINAC ISLAND
This Summer – Make lifelong
friends.
The Island House Hotel and Ryba’s
Fudge Shops are seeking help in all
areas: Front Desk, Bell Staff, Wait
Staff, Sales Clerks, Kitchen, Baristas.
Dorm Housing, bonus, and discount‑
ed meals. (906) 847‑7196.
www.theislandhouse.com

By Ed Sessa
©2019 Tribune Content Agency, LLC
01/31/19

Los Angeles Times Daily Crossword Puzzle

Edited by Rich Norris and Joyce Nichols Lewis

01/31/19

ANSWER TO PREVIOUS PUZZLE:

Release Date: Thursday, January 31, 2019

ACROSS
1 Word that
appears four
times in a 1963
film title
4 Roof tiles
10 Deadens, as a
piano string
15 Media agcy.
16 Roadster in
the Henry Ford
Museum
17 How sardines are
packed
18 Mythical bird
19 With 63-Across,
ending lines
of a poem by
72-Across
21 Hydrocarbon
group
23 1995-2006 New
York governor
George
24 Alice Sebold
novel, with “The”
27 The W in kWh
31 Athlete’s peak
performance
32 Wines and dines
34 Thrill
36 Credits list
39 Place for
spectacles
40 __ Navy: discount
retailer
41 Harmful spells, in
the Potterverse
44 Gen-__
45 Like universal
blood donors
47 Nantes notion
48 Drill parts
49 Symbolized
52 Roof features
54 WWI battle river
55 Really cool place?
60 “Indubitably!”
62 Hot pot spot
63 See 19-Across
68 __ Van Winkle
69 Tolkien
ringbearer
70 Tell
71 Sheep’s call
72 Poet who used
the starts of
24-, 41- and
55-Across to
describe the
woods
73 Old-Timers’ Day
VIP
74 Unspecified
amount

DOWN
1 Diego Rivera
creation
2 Speed skater
Ohno
3 “Mary Poppins”
and “Mary
Poppins Returns”
actor
4 Component of
the “at” sign
5 Chaney of
horror
6 Toss in
7 Beat
8 Cuban boy in
2000 headlines
9 One curing meat
10 Saucer, e.g.
11 Like many
’60s-’70s
protests
12 __ juice
13 Trough guy
14 Road sign
caution
20 Move gently
22 Safecracker
25 Initial disco hit?
26 Smokey, for one
28 1964 Anthony
Quinn role
29 Religious belief
30 Dynasts of old
Russia

33 What H, O or N
may represent
34 Pirate riches
35 Choir group
37 __ lift
38 Tiny bit
41 Lair
42 Great Barrier __
43 Hot streak
46 Stretches
48 Sweet root
50 Actress Falco
51 Itch
53 Evening star

56 Southend-on-
Sea’s county
57 Focus group
surveys
58 Water brand
59 Give back
61 Harness race
pace
63 Fave pal
64 Be in the
wrong
65 Egg __ yung
66 “Mangia!”
67 Zeta follower

Classifieds

Call: #734-418-4115
Email: dailydisplay@gmail.com

SUMMER EMPLOYMENT

In terms of his methods,
director
Hirokazu
Kore-eda
(“Nobody Knows”) is algebraic.
His latest film “Shoplifters”
interrogates every axiom that has
been used to define family. Is it
childbirth that makes a mother?
Does calling someone mom, dad,
sister or brother automatically
baptize that person into fulfilling
the corresponding role? Do these
titles even encompass all that a
person actually means to us? Can
family be chosen, or renegotiated
or be anything other than an
unalterable birthright?
At
the
same
time
that
Kore-eda
reevaluates
these
supposed axioms, he applies
selective
coefficients
within
the formula for family drama,
focusing
specifically
on
the
effect of poverty. The family
in
“Shoplifters”
consists
of
couple Osamu (Lily Franky,
“The Devil’s Path”) and Nobuyo
(Sakura Andô, “100 Yen Love”),
as well as the various dependents
with whom they share their
lives: A young boy named Shota
(Jyo Kairi, “Erased”), a young
woman
named
Aki
(Mayu
Matsuoka, “A Silent Voice”),
Aki’s
grandmother
Hatsue
(Kirin Kiki, “Returner”) and
the most recent addition to the
nontraditional family, a young
girl named Yuri (Miyu Sasaki,
“Samurai
Gourmet”).
The
nontraditional family is united in
their shared victimization, each
one clinging to the bottom rung
of the economic ladder; they also
share the burden of finding a way

to survive in spite of their poverty
(usually taking the form of the
titular practice of shoplifting).
All the while, the constant
pressure of their precarious
financial situation threatens to
erode the unquestionable care
they have for one another and
instead compel selfishness.
Other filmmakers would do
well to pay attention to Kore-
eda’s
cinematic
arithmetic,
especially
others
who
also
endeavor to tell insightful stories
about families. It is tempting
to try to account for each of
the countless variables that

shape family dynamics but, as
“Shoplifters” attests, much more
rewarding to zero in on a few.
While
his
approach
is
mathematical,
Kore-eda’s
results are poetic. For example,
he structures his investigation
of family dynamics in what
could be described as a series of
couplets. He pairs off members
of the nontraditional family and
devotes to these duos scenes
like stanzas, each one poignant
enough to stand alone but each
one also working together to
form a more resonant whole.
And through all these stanzas,
“Shoplifters”
speaks
with
a
steady
tone
of
composure,
inflecting
characters’s
exchanges
with
unselective
compassion. As if to say, “So

what if we shoplift? So what if
break the rules? We are trying
to survive. We are trying to take
care of one another.”
So take, for instance, one
of the most thoughtful of the
aforementioned
couplets:
the
relationship between Aki and her
grandmother. When Yuri wets
the bed the first night she stays
with her new family and Aki’s
grandmother offers to sleep next
to Yuri, Aki protests, insisting
on her rightful place beside her
grandmother. Aki’s jealousy is
not conveyed as dispassionate
but rather a childish, touching
manifestation of fierce love and
loyalty – a familial dynamic
too subtle for other directors to
capture on screen.
Or take the design of a
recurring set in “Shoplifters”:
that is, the shabby place this
nontraditional
family
calls
home. It houses the dregs of
consumerist capitalism. Every
room is congested with cheap
goods, to the point that the scenes
in this house always border on
inducing claustrophobia. And
yet, it is in one of these cluttered
rooms that Aki’s grandmother
tends to Yuri’s wounds from her
abusive upbringing. It is here
that every member of Yuri’s
new family strives to reteach
her what it means to love and be
loved. It is here that this family
somehow finds room and reason
to breathe and continue to live in
spite of their living conditions.
Take
any
scene,
any
conversation,
any
shot
in
“Shoplifters.” Revel in its careful
calculation and pore over its
resonant results.

‘Shoplifters’ approaches
film with algebraic eyes

JULIANNA MORANO
Daily Arts Writer

FILM REVIEW

AOI PRO, INC.

When I was in high school, one
of my composition teacher’s first
challenges for me was to compose
a piece for the organ. The organ is
a notoriously difficult instrument
for non-keyboardists to compose
for, and I had little familiarity
with organ repertoire. As my
composition teacher and I reviewed
an early draft of my piece, he said
something profound; something
that stuck with me and affected
how I think about the performance
arts.
He told me that the hardest part
of the composition process is not
generating ideas, or getting ideas
down on the page; it is the struggle
between the ideas being conveyed
and the medium through which
they are being conveyed. It is not the
struggle between the mind and the
blank page, in other words, but it is
the struggle between the musical
ideas and the instrument that must
communicate them.
As
I’ve
grown
older,
this
philosophy has influenced how
I think about art. It has come
to qualify how I classify “good”
performance art across genres. This
art transports the audience member
past the world of the artform to the
world of the artwork. The audience’s
need not focus on any meta realms
of criticism or analysis; their entire
focus is captured by the performers
and the artwork itself.
This past weekend, for example, I
attended a performance of “Juliet,”
a retelling of “Romeo and Juliet”
set in the Great Depression. This
performance was an unstaged
reading of the play; it featured actors
and actresses dressed in normal
clothing reading from music stands
and thick black binders.
The
script
was
written/
adapted by Alix Curnow (SMTD
sophomore), Kellie Beck (SMTD
sophomore) and Eli Rallo (SMTD
junior). I will be scoring this play
this coming month as it moves
into the Duderstadt Video Studio
for
a
staged,
choreographed
production in April. Going into
the performance, I had read the
script three or four times, and I was
quite familiar with the changes the
playwrights made in adapting the
script to the Great Depression era.
Yet despite my familiarity, I
was
unexpectedly
touched
by
the conclusion of this unstaged

reading. Though I was skeptical
at the beginning, I had gotten past
the limitations of the production
by the end. I was touched by the
slew of deaths taking place onstage,
though the actors and actresses on
stage were clearly not dying. I was
no longer distracted by the music

stands, the lack of costumes, or
the stage directions being read out
loud. I had learned to observe the
production for what it was, not what
it could be.
I also find that I can judge
“good” artwork as a performer
through similar means. These
past two years, for example, I have
been a member of the University’s
Javanese
Gamelan
Ensemble.
The instruments that we play are
many years old, and few are in very
good condition. On a couple of the
instruments, a few keys don’t even
resonate, instead producing a rather
pitiable “thud” when struck by the
mallet.
Though not every instrument
produces a pure sound, the effect
of the overall ensemble, at least to
my ears, is breathtaking. It is like
nothing I am used to experiencing,
and yet I find it to be incredibly
engaging. When we perform, I
sometimes enter a state of mind
where the quality of the instruments
and the sound they produce doesn’t
matter. I am experiencing the piece
for what it is, not for what it could
be.
If this is the defining feature of
“good” art, then the best art in my
view is that for which audience
member is no longer even conscious
of the performers. Performance
arts, after all, are an inherently
hierarchical
endeavour;
the
performers presents something to
the audience, while the audience
observes
and
experiences
the
performance. The performers are

the source of the entertainment, the
audience the recipients of it.
The best art, then, is that which
collapses this boundary. Just as my
composition teacher argues that
bridging the gap between what
is possible and what should be
possible is the greatest challenge
of the creative process, bridging
the
boundary
between
those
onstage and those in the audience
is the biggest challenge of the
performance practice.
Occasionally,
I
witness
performances where this comes
true,
where
I
don’t
perceive
this natural hierarchy between
performers
and
audience
members to exist. These are
performances where it doesn’t
matter who is performing, or what
they are performing. These are
performances where all I perceive
is the work itself. I have completely
immersed myself in the suspension
of disbelief.
I don’t mean to make it seem
as though this is a common
occurrence. Personally, I can think
of perhaps five or ten performances
where this is the case. There was a
solo piano performance in Paris,
a video opera in Carnegie Hall.
There was a moment of traditional
religious music in a rural village in
Vietnam, a recording of the New
York Philharmonic that I first
listened to when I was 16.
These moments are few and far
between. I never know when I will
next experience them. And to this
end, I sometimes fear that they
are as much a result of my state
of mind as they are the quality of
the performance taking place. No
matter how good the performers,
if I am not ready to receive their
performance, I will never truly
appreciate it.
But this is perhaps the most
magical aspect of the performing
arts; their inexplicable ability to
draw in a willing audience member
for an hour or two and not let go.
It is hard to explain and harder to
replicate, an ever-elusive experience
far out on the temporal horizon.
And yet it is what motivates me to
attend rehearsal after rehearsal,
performance after performance.
It is an incredibly powerful force,
these performing arts; simple, brief,
fragile, and yet moving beyond all
else.

Art for what it is, not
what it could be

DAILY COMMUNITY CULTURE COLUMN

SAMMY
SUSSMAN

‘Shoplifters’

Aoi Pro, Inc.

State Theatre

The promise of an original
premise
isn’t
enough
to
distinguish “An Anonymous Girl”
from your common thriller.
Money forces us to consider
things we wouldn’t normally do. It
worms its way into our brains,
saturating
every
thought
with
the
anxious
sense
that: You need this. When
desperate, conventions are
put to the side. I remember
clamoring to raise money
for a student organization.
The situation was classic: a
fast-approaching
deadline
with less than half the funds
raised. Suddenly, it seemed so
easy to stand outside in biting
cold and ask passersby for
spare change, or to cast away
reservations
in
soliciting
distant family friends to donate. I
signed up for psychological studies
and began to perceive throwaway
flyers scattered around campus in
a different light — like decadent,
bittersweet chocolate, promising
to reward its subject 10 dollars
for 30 minutes of their time for
something as simple as filling out
a questionnaire. Nothing, really. It
was almost too good to be true.
Jessica, the protagonist of
“An Anonymous Girl” by Greer
Hendrick and Sarah Pekkanen,
needs money. Jessica works as a
makeup artist for BeautyBuzz, a

fictional company that is a stickler
to their rules and apparently
doesn’t pay their workers enough.
Hey, isn’t that the rub? She
stomachs the insecure ramblings
of sixteen-year-olds and high-
strung mothers, using pasted
smiles and insincere assurances to
reap better tips. Sure, she doesn’t
love her job, but it pays the bills.

In particular, it pays the medical
bills for Becky, Jessica’s sister,
whose treatment Jessica has
been secretly paying for the last
18 months. When one of Jessica’s
clients, an entitled college student,
complains about an eight a.m.
appointment for a psych study
— a questionnaire with a $500
payment — Jessica shows up in her
place instead.
The
study,
an
innocuous
questionnaire on morality, unfolds
in an eerie manner. It starts with
relatively tame questions like:
Could you tell a lie without feeling

guilt? That, in and of itself, doesn’t
warrant an eyebrow raise. I
imagine myself thinking sure, face
deadpan. The “thriller” aspect
slowly creeps up on you, offering
readers only bits and crumbs with
alternating perspectives of Jessica
and
the
psychologist
behind
the study, Dr. Shields, gradually
escalating to a prolonged, spine-
chilling end. By then, it’s hard
to know who to trust. At one
point, I even doubled down on
the dog.
I
admit,
the
premise
itself is a tad gimmicky.
$500 dollars for a two-hour
questionnaire?
I
had
to
suspend my disbelief for over
half of the novel and take it
as it is: a thriller. I pushed
logical questions aside — say,
basic ethical principles? — so
that my incredulity didn’t
cloud up my experience. I
wanted to shake Jessica and
tell her: “Just go to the police!”
In an attempt to emphasize
its psychological premise, “An
Anonymous
Girl”
is
littered
with well-known psychological
studies like The Asch Conformity
Study and The Invisible Gorilla
experiment, references that allow
readers to recall what they learned
in their high school psychology
class, but also cheapen the plot of
“An Anonymous Girl” itself.

‘An Anonymous Girl’ is a
poorly developed thriller

SARAH SALMAN
For The Daily

‘An Anonymous
Girl’

Greer Hendricks & Sarah
Pekkanen

St. Marten’s Press

Jan. 8, 2019

BOOK REVIEW

Read more at
MichiganDaily.com

6 — Tursday, January 31, 2019
Arts
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com