The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Arts
Tuesday, March 19, 2019 — 5
This week the book review will
be featuring works from Gimmick
Press, a independent publisher of
niche literature and art based in
Plymouth, Michigan. Gimmick
was established in 2015 by Josh
Olsen and Katie MacDonald with
a commitment to diversity and
inclusion of both subject matter
and voice throughout all aspects
of their work. Gimmick publishes
digitally
through
“Worthless
Treasures” and calls for printed
chapbook
and
anthology
submissions
throughout
the
year. They’re currently accepting
submissions for an anthology of
creative nonfiction about pop
culture obsessions.
“Three-Way
Dance,”
a
collaborative effort combining
work by Michael Chin, Frankie
Metro and Brian Rosenbacher,
is a collection of creative work
on professional wrestling. This
singularity is not particularly
rare; there are lots of only-
one-on-this-topic books, and
the
professional
wrestling
niche is practically its own
genre. The onslaught of books
about very specific subjects
(historically
significant
beverages, insomnia, dirt, the
evolution of houses) usually sits
comfortably in nonfiction, but
“Three-Way Dance” entirely
shuns jovial didacticism. This
is no Bill Bryson romp through
the
glut
of
WWE
(World
Wrestling
Entertainment,
Inc. Stay with me) — it’s
Allen Ginsberg as a Reddit
poet, “Fight Club” starring
“Arrested
Development”
era
Michael Cera, a fully plausible
analogy for the palatial scale
of absurdity in American life.
Like
professional
wrestling
itself, the collection is cheesy
and heartbreaking, true but not
real.
For those who are unfamiliar,
professional wrestling is an
orchestrated
performance:
a match whose outcome is
decided
beforehand,
whose
every move is predetermined
and practiced. Fight becomes
theater,
thrill,
spectacle,
a concertina of pain (real,
manufactured) and glory (the
same) packaged for maximum
entertainment. WWE is the
biggest professional wrestling
corporation
in
the
United
States. It’s a conglomerate that
includes
a
film
production
wing
(animated
and
live
action), a publishing sector for
biographies and calendars, a
fleet of private jets and even
a music studio that releases
albums of entrance music as
well as songs sung by wrestlers
(John
Cena’s
“You
Can’t
See Me,” for example). I say
this
because
it’s
important
to
understand
the
giddy,
unhinged hugeness of WWE,
the enormous size and scope of
its excesses.
Neither
informative
nor
consistently beautiful, “Three-
Way Dance” is simply weird.
What’s so captivating about
the collection is the exhausting
comprehensiveness
of
the
authors’
infatuation
with
a wacko slice of American
culture, this overlooked world
of
violent
dramaturgy
and
faithful spectatorship.
“Fritz Von Erich wasn’t a
Nazi soldier, but he played one
in the ring in the 1960s,” writes
Chin in “The Family Trade.”
What a way to start a poem!
The whole book is shot through
with a sense of the surreal:
“Was it that you were the first
white dude I ever saw wearing
a do-rag, a fashion plate /
Before your time, well before
Hulkmania, and I can’t believe
your fuzzy boots never / Caught
on
with
the
mainstream,”
Rosenbacher writes.
For Chyna, one of the only
female professional wrestlers,
Chin writes an ode: “You signed
a new contract. This time with
Red Light District Video. A
distributor for your homemade
sex tape. They called it, ‘One
Night in China.’”
In “Todo Lo Malo,” Metro
writes, “It seemed only right
to take a pound of flesh as
a souvenir, maybe not a full
pound, thought El Matarife,
as he commenced to digging at
the boy’s right eye and finally
removing it, tossing it into the
horrified/elated crowd.”
Split
into
three
distinct
sections by author, “Three-
Way
Dance”
never
feels
cohesive or purposeful. The
jarring
differences
between
the
authors’
styles
and
formats pushes the book into
dangerous territory; meaning
is often obscured in exchange
for
unsatisfying
simplicity
or confusing distortion. This
would be more of a problem if
professional wrestling didn’t
offer up so many incredible
tidbits, so much rich material to
be transformed.
Luckily, WWE has nearly
everything: gender, childhood
obsessions,
money,
sex,
consumption, race. Facades of
control, appearances, histories.
You watch knowing the fight
is a sham, that it’s made up,
but your eyes insist this must
be real: the contact of face on
mat, fist on face, teeth forced
into gums and bones into
muscle. It’s love, death, failure,
opulence. It’s all fake.
“Three-Way
Dance”
is
unafraid of these contradictions.
Instead,
Chin,
Metro
and
Rosenbacher embrace the ways
professional wrestling presents
a version of the world and then
immediately negates it. The
book is a tempest, directionless
and unpredictable, and within
that mess sentences often jump
out for their succinct loveliness.
Rosenbacher, in “O is for Ole
Anderson
and
Ox
Baker”:
“2nd best bet – Ox Baker’s
heart punch. / It landscapes
cemeteries.”
A heart punch, landscaping
cemeteries: what a startling gem
in a jumble of truly mediocre
poetry. This book is full of
awful lines (“It is in falling that
we might rise,” Chin writes in
“The Falls”), but when it’s good,
it’s good. Which is sort of like
wrestling, in a way. When it’s
bad, when you see through it,
when the fight is boring, you’re
reminded of the falseness of
the whole enterprise. But when
it’s good the fight takes on an
eternal drama, something that
(like literature) both requires
and rewards faithful attention.
“Like Icarus who dared to
touch the Sun / Like Icarus who
dared to burn too brightly.”
Horrified and elated: Professional wrestling literature
I can appreciate the old-timey
charm of “The Sting,” the wit
and absolute hilarity of “Snatch”
and even the sub-par jokes in
“Tower Heist.” That said, there
is secret sauce to any heist
movie, an imperative ingredient
without which the plotline will
inevitably fall flat. So, what
makes a heist movie solid? It
isn’t really about the heist at
all. It’s about the characters.
Unfortunately, “Triple Frontier”
doesn’t
follow
this
golden
rule from the heist handbook.
Though stacked with a star-
studded cast and a potentially-
intriguing storyline, Netflix’s
latest release only manages to
offer guns, brawny men, money
and more guns, failing to include
any relationship development,
humor or substantial flavor.
The
film
begins
in
classic-heist fashion, with
a
group
of
ex-Special
Forces
operatives
reuniting with the shared
motive of filling their
wallets. Leader of the pack
Santiago
(Oscar
Isaac,
“Ex Machina”) reveals his
intentions to rob a high-profile,
South American cocaine lord,
Lorena, who is known to be
swimming in money. Though
not without coaxing, Santiago
manages to convince former
operatives and friends to put
their honored reputations as war
heroes on the line and embark
on the ultimate heist, for a shot
at the massive jackpot. However,
Santiago and company quickly
find themselves in for more than
they bargained for, when their
swift plan to get the money,
take out Lorena and split goes
awry. In short, the men soon find
themselves on a nightmarishly
long
journey
across
South
America, racking up a troubling
body count and falling under the
dangerous spell of greed.
In order to care about an
elaborate plan to finesse the
system and finagle millions of
dollars, we first have to care
about who is doing the finessing
and finagling. While the film is
chalk full of talented actors like
Ben Affleck (“Justice League”),
Charlie Hunnam (“A Million
Little Pieces”) and Pedro Pascal
(“If Beale Street Could Talk”),
through such weak dialogue
and little to no background,
there is no real inclination to
invest in these men or their
operation. The link between
the five men behind the heist is
clear: They are all buddies from
their back-in-the-day military
careers. But the existence of
this link alone isn’t enough to
convince us of the emotions
and friendship between the
characters. Aside from scenes
of them shooting or being shot
at, the only other interactions
between
the
men
revolve
around drinking or having dull
conversations. Though the film’s
use of five central characters has
opportunity for development,
(i.e. establishing one member
of the gang as the funny one,
another as the cynic and so
on) by not taking the time to
thoroughly
distinguish
each
character’s
personality,
they
become
interchangeable
and
awkwardly all morph into one.
Along with its overall lack of
life-blood, the film’s portrayal
of
gender
and
masculinity
is frustrating. The level of
testosterone in “Triple Frontier”
is so high that it practically
radiates through the screen.
Yes, guns and dollar-bills are
quintessential staples in any
heist flick, but that doesn’t mean
either should be treated with
the same importance as the
characters themselves. The very
fact that filmmakers include
entire scenes of money being
burned or dramatically flying
in the wind, but cannot manage
to
create
semi-entertaining
character
conversations
or
connections,
is
undeniably
problematic.
Further, throughout the film
there are quips about Santiago’s
informant
Yovanna
(Adria
Arjona “Pacific Rim: Uprising”),
a beautiful woman in need of
his help rescuing her brother
from police captivity. Without
fail, the other men consistently
bring up Santiago’s “girlfriend,”
boyishly aiming to tease him
(and successfully irritating
us). The film’s reiteration of
Yovanna’s looks and hints
at an underlying chemistry
between her and Santiago,
despite her minimal screen
time and lines, is a tired and
weak attempt to slap a side-
story onto the already poor
main plotline. Quite simply, we
needed more from the film, but
a poorly constructed romance
wasn’t it.
“Triple Frontier” was not
doomed from the start. The
film could have adhered both
to
genre
conventions
like
money, weapons and long-lost
friendships, while still crafting
an
element
of
originality
through fun character personas.
But instead, it relies entirely on
the former and does nothing
to create the latter. By not fully
utilizing its talented cast and
focusing too heavily on the heist
framework, the movie loses itself
and its viewers.
‘Triple Frontier’ is a bad
romp full of testosterone
NETFLIX
FILM REVIEW
BOOK REVIEW
Triple Frontier
Netflix
SAMANTHA NELSON
Daily Arts Writer
Once upon a time, there
was Karen O, frontwoman for
the early 2000s rock band,
the Yeah Yeah Yeahs. There
was also hip-hop artist turned
music producer Danger Mouse.
One day, they decided to unite
their respective powers to gift
humanity the ultimate musical
collaboration of 2019 (thus far):
Lux Prima.
Lux Prima, at its core, is a
story. Together, Karen O and
Danger Mouse weave together
dreams, presenting an album
which is fluid, authentic and
unbound by any limitations.
The
nine-track
album
is
characterized
by
seamless
transitions
and
natural
progressions.
The
title
track
“Lux
Prima”
opens
softly,
slowly warming up like
the
introduction
to
a
good book, or drowsily
climbing from slumber
on a Sunday morning.
The track is long, nearing
eight
minutes,
but
it
never
feels
overdone.
The surreal echoes of the
“Lux
Prima”
envelope
the listener like a warm
breeze — all at once sad,
comforting and hopeful. Vocals
are minimal for the majority of
the song, instead emphasizing
the dreamlike atmosphere of
the track. One feels almost as if
they’re drifting aimlessly along
a lazy river.
Then, Karen O and Danger
Mouse take the audience for an
unexpected but very welcome
spin. As the track nears on
minute three, where most songs
would usually come to an end,
the electronic ambiance fades
out, replaced by steady drum
beat. It’s as if O and Danger
Mouse have shifted gears, or
flipped on a new track. It is a
song hidden within a song — a
plot twist that could rival the
best of ABC’s Thursday night
television lineup. Then, by
the six-minute mark the song
abruptly transitions back to
the same soft sound waves of
the introduction, but rather
than falling to an end the track
ramps up for the rest of this
powerhouse album.
The
following
tracks
“Ministry”
and
“Turn
the
Light” are good, but largely
unremarkable
on
their
own. Rather, they are more
important in the context of the
album, building the momentum
to
the
album’s
climax:
“Woman” and “Redeemer.”
“Woman” is the highlight
of the album — and the song is
everything it should be with
a name like that. Powerful,
strong and dominant, O comes
roaring in with a distinct surge
of energy. The song feels like
an assertion of her identity
and womanhood. It’s the type
of unapologetic, sassy, foot-
tapping song that you can’t
help but rock out to. “Woman”
easily steals the thunder of
the album. And unlike the
beginning of the album, the
song is more grounded, more
human. “Redeemer” continues
the momentum of “Woman,”
still powerful but grittier. It
feels as if Karen O and Danger
Mouse
have
awoken
both
themselves and the listener
from the distant dreams of the
opening “Lux Prima.”
The album slowly winds
down
from
its
climax
of
“Woman”
and
“Redeemer,”
symbolic of how the story
woven together by Karen O and
Danger House is slowly coming
to an end. “Leopard’s Tongue”
is notable for the subtle, exotic
tone of the bass beat (vaguely
reminiscent of Mayssa Karaa’s
“White
Rabbit”).
“Nox
Lumina” rounds out the album
as an appropriate end to this
refreshingly
unusual
story.
Starting soft and then growing
fuller, the ending track is
noticeably more somber, and
just a touch ominous.
Karen O and Danger Mouse’s
album collaboration is fantastic
not because the songs are
engaging (which they are) or for
good lyrics (all together
haunting,
energetic
and
hypnotizing),
but
because
the
album
seemingly
breaks
all
the
rules.
Together,
these two artists found
a way to find some much
desired
originality
without
compromising
their
authenticity.
Together, Karen O and
Danger Mouse created
something
new,
beautiful
and unexpected. The non-
traditional structure of tracks
like “Lux Prima” and “Nox
Lumina” keeps the listener
on their toes, eradicating the
boredom accompanied by the
lackluster effect of drawn-out
albums. Meanwhile the story-
arc design of the album keeps
the music grounded amidst
the rabbit-hole of Karen O’s
enchanting
vocals.
Simply
put, Lux Prima is invigorating
for those weary of all things
cookie-cutter.
Karen O/Danger Mouse
collab is fresh, invigorating
BMO RIGHTS MANAGEMENT
MUSIC REVIEW
Lux Prima
Karen O & Danger Mouse
BMO Rights Management
MADELEINE GANNON
Daily Arts Writer
Three-Way Dance
Michael Chin, Frankie Metro and Brian
Rosenbacher
Gimmick Press
2017
MIRIAM FRANCISCO
Daily Arts Writer