At this point I’m convinced
that everyone who took French
in high school knows the lyrics
to a Stromae song by heart.
Maybe I’m way off the mark, but
my anecdotal evidence suggests
that “Papaoutai” and “Tous
Les Mêmes” are universally
known and beloved. Whether
or not that’s true, Belgian
artist Stromae’s 2013 album
Racine Carrée (Square Root)
is a great choice for budding
Francophones.
Stromae
had
already
broken through the world of
Francophone music and even
internationally
by
the
time
Racine Carrée was released. His
2009 song “Alors on Danse,”
(“So We Dance”), a nihilistic
dance anthem (that was way
ahead of its time in terms of
subject matter) reached the
top of several European charts
and was eventually remixed by
Kanye West.
Racine Carrée contains more
of the formula that made “Alors
on Danse” so powerful. It’s
filled with disillusionment and
disappointment
with
family,
relationships and technology.
It’s fundamentally cynical. Yet
the musical influences that
Stromae channels and combines
are playful and sugary as (name
your European continental pop
group here).
“Papaoutai,”
the
album’s
biggest hit, is an emotional plea
to his father, who died in the
Rwandan Genocide early in his
son’s life. The track starts out
with a tone of resignation before
transitioning to one of frenetic,
desperate anger. Stromae snarls,
“Tout le monde sait comment on
fait les bébés/ Mais personne
sait comment on fait des papas”
(“Everyone knows how to make
babies/ but no one knows how to
make papas”). The track is built
on a layer of piano rolls you
would expect to hear in a house
track in a Brussels nightclub
and rhythms influenced by the
African music that Stromae
mentions he grew up on.
In an interview with The
Guardian,
Stromae
states,
“Hip hop, pop, dance – the
common point is melancholy.
That’s international, and I like
this word because it’s not only
about sadness or happiness –
it’s both at the same time. And
that’s human and that’s life.”
Stromae’s best work on Racine
Carrée embodies this to a T. I’m
reminded of one of the biggest
hits of the century so far: “Hey
Ya” by Outkast, in which André
3000
chides
his
audience,
“Y’all don’t want to hear me,
you just want to dance.” “Hey
Ya” is also fundamentally a
song
about
disillusionment
and
relationships.
It
just
also happens to be one of the
catchiest songs ever made.
However, I don’t think that
Stromae wants to chide us for
enjoying his work at all. The
experiences
he
details
are
extremely personal and might
not apply to everyone, but
the emotions themselves are
universal. In the music video for
“Formidable” (“Wonderful”), he
stumbles drunkenly around the
streets of Brussels, airing out
his regrets and heartbreak over
a recently ended relationship.
The autotune on his voice makes
him end up resembling the voice
and spirit of his countryman
Jacques Brel in the tear-jerking
“Ne Me Quitte Pas” (“Do not
leave me”) with all its throaty,
rolled “r”s. Everyone’s been
there before. What’s a better
way to become closer than to
sing and dance about it.
On the power of Stromae &
his fundamental cynicism
DAILY WORLD MUSIC COLUMN
The
last
few
days
of
Sundance
are
an
overwhelming,
delirious
mix
of
exhilaration
and
exhaustion.
In
between
attending the final screenings
of the festival and being holed
up in a coffee shop writing
reviews for hours, I spent my
remaining time in Park City
at a wonderfully animated
panel with Desiree Akhavan,
the winner of last year’s
Grand Jury Prize for “The
Miseducation
of
Cameron
Post,” and Nisha Ganatra, the
director of the Mindy Kaling-
penned comedy “Late Night.”
The
conversation
between
Akhavan
and
Ganatra
was better than I could’ve
expected. Along with going
off on hilarious tangents and
spilling tea on people they’ve
worked
with,
they
each
discussed their backgrounds
studying film at NYU Tisch,
directing TV and movies, how
they’ve grown as artists from
their previous projects and
the challenges of making low-
budget productions.
Although meeting Akhavan
and Ganatra after the panel
was one of the many great
moments during the festival,
my packed showing of “Honey
Boy” was just as unforgettable.
The star of the show Noah
Jupe and the director Alma
Ha’rel
(“Bombay
Beach”)
were in attendance as were
other
famous
folks
like
Kiersey
Clemons
(“Hearts
Beat Loud”), Tessa Thompson
(“Thor: Ragnarok”), Damien
Chazelle (“First Man”) and
Millicent Simmonds (“A Quiet
Place”).
During
the
post-
screening Q&A, out stepped
“Honey Boy” writer and actor
Shia Labeouf, and naturally,
the crowd greeted him with
rapturous applause.
Equipped with a green
ushanka, Labeouf entertained
the
audience
with
his
lovable weirdo personality,
unspooling a series of stream-
of-consciousness
reflections
with a disarming gentleness
about
working
through
his demons while making
“Honey Boy.” As the Q&A
grew more emotional, Jupe
leaned his head on Ha’rel’s
shoulder, a loving sight to
behold, while she discussed
her own experiences with
having an alcoholic father.
One
might
think
there’s
an
air
of
manipulative,
uncomfortable performativity
with sentimental moments
like these, but judging from
the film itself, which you’ll
read my thoughts about below,
nothing felt more authentic.
My final, sold-out screening
of the festival, “Late Night,”
was similarly ecstatic, despite
no celebrities in attendance.
Though the comedy itself was
a tad underwhelming, the
audience’s engaged reactions
— lots of laughing, especially
during one early scene when
Mindy Kaling’s character gets
hit with a bag of garbage —
made the whole experience
worthwhile.
‘Honey Boy’:
Writing about the past
traumas
that
continue
to
haunt us is perhaps the best
and most accessible way to
overcome them. But trying
to
perform
our
traumas?
That’s a whole other kind of
transcendent catharsis. This
is the heady goal actor-writer-
provocateur
Shia
Labeouf
(“Nymphomaniac”) attempts
to achieve — exceptionally so,
if I might add — in the script
for his trippy, brilliant meta
memoir “Honey Boy.” Directed
with sharp sensitivity by Alma
Ha’rel
(“Bombay
Beach”),
“Honey Boy” operates as both
a harrowing tale of child abuse
and PTSD and a psychological
and emotional deep dive into
Labeouf’s psyche.
Like
a
buried,
bruised
memory come to life, “Honey
Boy” is as unabashedly raw in
its depiction of troublesome
father-son dynamics as it
is vibrant in its fantastic
performances. Some might
find it difficult to watch
the
physical
mistreatment
Labeouf endured as a child,
but almost everyone can relate
to the feeling of immense
pressure our parents put on
us to fulfill the grand ideal
life that they never had the
opportunity to live through
themselves. That feeling is no
more actualized than in the
title of the film itself, which
stems
from
an
endearing
nickname
Labeouf’s
father
gave
him
while
raising
Labeouf in a Hollywood motel
to support his burgeoning
career as a young TV star
on Disney Channel’s “Even
Stevens.”
Blending
fiction
and
reality, “Honey Boy” cements
Labeouf’s relationship with
his father as the foundation
of its premise, but projects
it through characters with
different
names.
Standing
in for Shia’s persona is Otis
Lort (played by both Noah
Jupe, “Suburbicon” and Lucas
Hedges,
“Boy
Erased”),
a
successful young actor who
uses his craft to channel
his creative spirit and mask
the loneliness of his dismal
environment at home. And
standing in for Shia’s father
is James Lort (played with
magnificence
by
Labeouf
himself),
a
recovering
alcoholic rodeo clown who
simultaneously praises and
envies his son’s newfound
fame.
The inner turmoil wrestling
inside Shia — oops, I mean
Otis — is distilled beautifully
in
the
film’s
phenomenal
long-take opener, where an
older Otis, strapped into a
harness, is thrust backward
during an explosion stunt
on what looks like a set of a
“Transformers”
sequel.
It
becomes immediately clear
what
Labeouf
and
Ha’rel
(and Hedges, for that matter)
are trying to convey in this
one scene: You can’t escape
the pain of the past and its
overwhelming
pull.
After
running into the law over
drunken misconduct, Otis is
sent to rehab and encouraged
by his therapist (Laura San
Giacomo,
“Sex,
Lies
and
Videotape”) to revisit his
childhood and explore his
suppressed anger. From there,
the film shifts back and forth
between two time periods
in Otis’s life: the older Otis
struggles with deep-seated,
unaddressed
frustrations
while
the
younger
Otis
grapples
with
quiet
resentment toward his father.
Within
its
therapeutic
narrative,
“Honey
Boy”
injects these two concurrent
storylines with a compelling
amount of tenderness and
vulnerability
provided
by
the main cast. In the limited
screen
time
he’s
given,
Hedges, reliably mesmerizing
as
ever,
elevates
his
character’s blunt mannerisms
and unhinged personality into
more than just a solid Shia
Labeouf caricature. Labeouf
is
transfixing
as
James,
latching onto the empathetic
nerve of his father’s own
internal
troubles
with
a
surprising amount of depth.
It takes so much courage
to portray the person who
basically is the cause of all of
your anguish. But of the three,
Jupe shines the most. The
up-and-coming British actor
delivers a marvelously mature
and
soulful
performance,
taking challenging material
and executing it as if he’s been
in the business for decades.
Along with his turn in “A Quiet
Place,” Jupe has secured his
status as a star in the making
with “Honey Boy.”
Though the performances
alone are enthralling, “Honey
Boy” is definitely not without
its flaws. There’s a sweet albeit
lazy
and
inconsequential
subplot involving a sex worker
named Little Q (enigmatic
musician FKA Twigs in her
feature debut), who acts as
a sort of surrogate mother
character for young Otis. Even
though her brief friendship
with Otis is touching in parts,
the lack of substance brought
to her character and their
dynamic as a whole wears
down the infectiously scrappy
pacing of “Honey Boy.” The
same goes for Tom (Clifton
Collins Jr., “The Mule”), a
man hired by an agency to
accompany Otis on social
excursions
when
James
proves
to
be
unavailable.
While his character is given
much more emotional weight
than Q’s, Tom’s presence in
the film doesn’t make much of
a lasting impression.
With that said, “Honey Boy”
is an exemplary Capital-D
Drama whose intense impact
will linger long after the
credits roll. Consider this Shia
Labeouf’s magical return to
the spotlight, as we finally get
to understand the fragmented,
complex mind behind the
chaotic,
much-publicized
image we’re so used to seeing.
From the Sundance Film
Fest: The final few flicks
SAYAN GHOSH
Daily World Music Columnist
Hot off their performance
at the 42nd annual Ann Arbor
Folk Festival hosted by local
NGO and music club, The Ark,
The RFD Boys lost no steam
with
another
fantastic
live
performance.
Between The Ark’s intimate
concert space and The RFD
Boys’s
laid-back,
authentic
country vibe, I felt more like
I was sitting in a casual bar in
southern West Virginia than
a respectable music club in
downtown Ann Arbor. Most
of that is due to the band’s
personal brand of magic; with
both the nature of their music
and their easy rapport with the
audience in between songs, The
RFD Boys almost completely
eliminate
any
perceived
distance between themselves
and the audience. Complete
with a red mailbox leaning
awkwardly off to the side of the
stage inviting patrons to submit
their
requests,
the
entire
experience was comfortable,
easy and warm.
The band took a quick stroll
down memory lane, opening up
the first half of their set with
“Leavin’ the Ozarks,” a song
they fondly remarked was one of
their first ever written. Between
songs, the band took some time
to reminisce, having come up
on an impressive milestone:
The group has 50 years of
performance under their belt,
with no intentions of slowing
down anytime soon. “Leavin’
the Ozarks” remembered the
familiar yearning to break free
and find your own path, as the
band sang “every mile I travel
is a mile from our past.” The
song took on an interesting
double meaning as The RFD
Boys played on their home turf
at this long-awaited milestone
while singing, leaving the past
behind.
“Blues Stay Away From Me,”
“She’s Gone, Gone, Gone” and
“The Train That Carried My
Girl From Town” were the
perfect blend of soulful blues
and foot-stomping folk to warm
up with on a blisteringly cold
Friday night. “The Train That
Carried My Girl From Town”
in
particular
highlighted
the
skills
of
new
addition
Dan Roehrig on guitar (and
occasionally
on
mandolin).
Then, the banjo and fiddle took
up a duet in “Turkey in the
Straw,”
showcasing
(another
newbie) David Mosher’s jaw-
dropping fiddle playing skills.
Mosher took a turn on lead
vocals with his rendition of a
country classic, “She’s Gone,
Gone, Gone,” while Roehrig’s
own heartfelt singing got some
much-appreciated spotlight in
“The Train That Carried My
Girl From Town.” As a girl with
some country roots herself in
West Virginia, The RFD Boys’
cover of Johnny Cash’s “Sea of
Heartbreak” was perhaps the
highlight of the night.
The
RFD
Boys
are
an
underrated gem hidden away
in the Midwest. Combining
old-style,
traditional
blues
and
country
while
maintaining a fresh edge to
every performance, the band
capitalized on the electricity
live
performance
lends
to
the rootsy energy of folk and
blues. And while most of the
audience were of Ann Arbor’s
older crowd, the RFD Boys
maintain their relevance with
their dedication to their craft.
And for anyone who considers
themselves a folk and country
fan, The RFD Boys, above all,
feel like “home.”
Spending a night with The
RFD Boys, who aren’t going
to slow down any time soon
MADELEINE GANNON
Daily Arts Writer
CONCERT REVIEW
SUNDANCE FILM FESTIVAL
SAM ROSENBERG
Daily Arts Writer
Read more at
MichiganDaily.com
I don’t think that
Stromae wants
to chide us for
enjoying his work
at all.
6A — Monday, February 11 , 2019
Arts
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
SUNDANCE INSTITUTE
THE RFD BOYS