The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Arts
Tuesday, April 2, 2019 — 5
Given my relatively vanilla
cinematic taste to begin with,
both the short film “Landscape
of Absence” and feature film
“<3”
pushed
my
personal
definition of art and proved a bit
challenging to digest. Though
I can’t say that either film left
me wanting more, both exposed
me to an unfamiliar genre and
made for an interesting (to say
the least) hour and a half.
“Landscape of Absence” can
best be described as a thought-
provoking immersion into a
compilation
of
dialogue-less
moments of iconic women in
cinema.
The
film
expertly
utilizes a split screen to parallel
the
facial
expressions
and
movements of a woman in
one screen to the similar
expressions or movements
of
the
woman
in
the
other.
For
instance,
we
watch
Sigourney
Weaver
looking surprised in one
of the “Alien” films, while
simultaneously
observing
Frances McDormand’s face
plastered with an almost
identical
expression
in
“Fargo.”
Despite
these
parallels, for the majority
of the film, most of the clips
are seemingly unrelated and
we find ourselves unsure of
the connections between the
women shown.
The visual component is the
most captivating part of the
film, but sound is emphasized
more
subtly.
Interspersed
snippets
of
simple,
yet
un-contextualized phrases like
“where are we” are thrown in,
but there is no actual dialogue.
In the final moments of the
film, a black title screen finally
reveals the common thread we
have been searching for over
the past 10 minutes, projecting
the
message
that
none
of
the scenes selected “feature
protagonists
communicating
with each other.” This minimal
use of speaking, both in the
overhead audio and in the clips
from within the various movies
shown, leads to the overall,
cleverly
demonstrated
point
that females on screen are not
given enough of a voice.
Though a relevant criticism
of on-screen gender biases, I
couldn’t help but feel bothered
by the lack of actresses of color
depicted. Of the approximate
15 to 20 scenes with a white
actress, there were no more
than
three
with
a
Black
actress. This illuminates the
troubling
reality
that
even
within the noble cause of
female representation, there is
underrepresentation.
A complete change of pace
from “Landscape of Absence,”
if you couldn’t already infer
from
the
title
structure,
“<3,” refuses to adhere to any
form
of
convention.
Boldly
and explicitly exploring the
intersection between the self,
the digital world and drugs,
this is a film that will make your
eyes pop and your ears ring like
you’re listening to a late 2000s
Kesha hit.
Pill-popper,
rapper
and
unfiltered millennial LNZ is
like no other protagonist, if you
can even call her a protagonist
at all. She exists as more of a
persona in a music video than
anything else, swearing left
and right in her electric, anger-
fueled raps and accompanied
by a trio of three practically
incapacitated
and
prop-like
men, who are later revealed to
be her intended assassins (if
this sounds weird and doesn’t
really
make
sense,
that’s
because it was and it really
doesn’t). You could say that
the plot of the film is for LNZ
to confront who is trying to
kill her, but that would give
the misleading impression that
this film follows any sort of
direction at all.
LNZ’s purpose as a character
is not for audiences to connect
to
or
understand.
She
is
messy, debilitated by pills and
completely
unreliable.
But
perhaps that is the point of the
film, to show the psychological
power of hard drugs through
LNZ’s unhinged nature and
inhuman behaviors.
She basically lives in two
different
worlds
(literally,
there are scenes with her
flying around in a recliner in
outer space). Though difficult
to definitely conclude from the
chaotic and drug-infused aura
that hangs over the entirety of
the movie, there are seemingly
two types of scenes in the film.
On the one, there are moments
from LNZ’s perspective, shot
through a first-person, shaky
camera. Then there are scenes
where the audience is watching
LNZ as they would a character
in a video game, noticing the
three <3s in the corner of
the screen that represent her
“lives.” Both portrayals of LNZ
shape her into more of a thing
than a human being and feed
into the overall digitized vibe
that surrounds the film.
It’s a mindbender in itself
to try to distinguish how to
feel after seeing this film. In
the strangest way possible,
the wide range of camera
movements and perspectives,
moody lighting and colors and
interspersed animated elements
somehow come together to
create a final product that is
undeniably artistic. That said,
this film is a lot to take in
one sitting. Ultimately, it’s an
uncomfortable and borderline
psychologically
violating
sensory overload that dumps
a lot of drugs, heavy rap and
obscenity into our laps and
unfairly expects us to have a
clue of what to do with it.
— Samantha Nelson, Daily
Arts Writer
“Phantom
Ride
Phantom,”
an
experimental
Austrian short film
that
preceded
my
feature presentation
at
the
Ann
Arbor
Film Festival, was a
flashing,
pulsating
collage
of
nature.
Completely devoid of
dialogue, characters
or narrative, the short
flipped
endlessly
between an initial image of
railroad tracks and random
woodlands
with
assaulting
editing, a creepy synth score,
and the obscure sound of a train
trundling along its path. The
experience was far more jarring
than enjoyable, but there was
something to be gained from
the visceral interrogation into
how humans control and are
controlled by our environment.
If “Phantom Ride Phantom”
offers any clear takeaway, it’s
that our manipulation of the
natural world is inherently
destructive to the environment,
and ultimately, to ourselves.
After the pointed imagery
of the short film faded, the
documentary
“Caballerango”
began.
The
film,
directed
by
Juan
Pablo
González
(“Las Nubes”) examines the
emotional state and daily life
of a small rural Mexican town
after a beloved horse wrangler,
Nando, tragically takes his
own life. While “Caballerango”
moves slowly, surveying the
man’s parents, siblings and
coworkers, the film’s truth
emerges profoundly toward its
conclusion.
The
simplicity
of
the
camerawork, whether it be a
long take of a farmer driving
his pickup, a shot of two men
eating that perfectly captures
the shadows across their faces,
or an entire scene from the
windowsill of a kitchen, is
an intimate exploration the
nuances of daily life in this
town with striking intimacy.
The director often chooses
to juxtapose people in their
natural state against landscapes
of remarkably golden fields and
hills. Despite not keeping the
camera directly on his subjects,
González expertly telegraphs
their energy, adoration and
grief.
Some of the family members’
testimony
was
genuinely
heartbreaking. The way that
the Nando’s brother described
his mother’s reaction to seeing
her son’s suicide was not only a
painfully detailed account, but
one that made me feel as though
I knew this family. For an
instant, all of that grief seemed
to swell in my mind with the
same intensity as it appeared on
the brother’s visage.
The discussion of the horse
wrangler’s passing broadened
to
an
understanding
that
death is simply a part of life
for
many
members
of
the
town. Death hangs over the
film like a shadow, in images
of chickens being slaughtered
and prepared to eat, and in
bleary, heatwaves that cross
freshly harvested cornfields.
The longer I watched, the more
this insistence of mortality
subsumed the film’s message.
And yet, González turned
this
dark
quality
into
something
beautiful.
Beyond
the tragedy at the
film’s
heart,
the
director ultimately
depicts death not
as an obstacle that
must
swallowed
away, but instead
a
hallowed
event
through
which
one finds a sense
of
peace.
This
particular wisdom is etched
upon
nearly
every
face
in the film, as a common
understanding
of
the
townspeople.
The themes of “Phantom”
and
“Caballerango”
started
to converge. They both speak
powerful
truths
about
the
freedom and limits of human
control, in a physical, survivalist
sense, but in the context of
personal relationships. While
the choice to pair the two
films together was initially
unclear, their thematic and
visual overlap is fascinating to
consider.
— Anish Tamhaney, Daily
Arts Writer
Ann Arbor Film Festival: Some shorts and features
VERENA LOOSER AND MELINA WEISSENBORN
FESTIVAL COVERAGE
Landscape of
Absence & <3
The Michigan Theater
SIX PACK FILMS
Phantom Ride
Phantom &
Caballerango
The Michigan Theater
Let’s get it on: ‘You’re The
Man’ reintroduces Gaye
MOTOWN
In preparation to write this
review and at a loss for how
to tackle the insurmountable
legacy
of
Marvin
Gaye,
I
did what anyone would do: I
called my father. I called my
father and I asked him, “What
do you think about Marvin
Gaye?” In response, he
immediately sent me
a Spotify link to the
classic “Got To Give It
Up (Part 1),” and told
me: “This is the stuff.
Be
careful.
It’s
like
mainlining heroin.”
Well, as much as
it pains any child to
admit it, my father’s
not wrong. In fact, this
may be the one and only
exception where I have
the guts to say, he’s
really, really right.
Marvin Gaye’s music
is a lot of things. He was
(and still is) “The Prince
of Motown,” a master of soul,
R&B, with touches of jazz and
the sing-song of the crooners,
like Gaye’s idol Sam Cooke. His
legacy has been formed by his
battle with his inner demons,
his revolutionary and socially
conscious
music
and
his
confidence to break barriers, to
break rules.
But to try and describe the
depth of Gaye’s music-making
through a list of things, of facts,
would be a dishonor to his
legacy. Words can’t (and won’t)
ever properly capture the magic
that is Marvin Gaye. To listen
to Marvin Gaye’s music is to
have what I can only describe
as a spiritual awakening.
However,
even
though
words may be insufficient to
capture the essence of Marvin
Gaye’s music, this writer feels
obligated to try. If only to
entertain the possibility that
the reader will see, hear and
feel these words somewhere
deep, go home and go listen to
Marvin Gaye.
First and foremost, to listen
to Marvin Gaye sing is the
closest thing to true and pure
happiness one can find on
this Earth. Sure, there are a
lot of good things in life: Cake
is good. Love is good,
too. Yeah, financial or
social success is okay,
I guess. But Marvin
Gaye? Marvin Gaye is
life itself. To listen to
Marvin Gaye’s music
is to be torn between
sinking
into
bone-
deep
relaxation
or
jumping up and dancing
until your feet fall off
and keep on dancing
without you. To listen to
Marvin Gaye is to face
the agony of thinking,
“Wait, there are people
who walk this Earth
who have never listened
to Marvin Gaye?” and know the
answer is yes.
Marvin Gaye’s posthumous
album
You’re
The
Man
is
all this and much more. In
honor of what would’ve been
Marvin Gaye’s 80th birthday,
MOTOWN
has
released
a
compilation
of
what
were
considered to be “lost” songs.
The album, at its inception,
was meant to be a follow up to
Gaye’s beloved album, What’s
Going On, but was ultimately
never released due to clashes
with the label and lackluster
reception
of
a
preliminary
release of the title song. Gaye
was
never
afraid
to
push
boundaries or showcase his
vulnerabilities — the release of
this album after all this time
is a testament to Gaye’s legacy
of deep, honest and emotional
music-making.
The album features a few
remixes by producer Salaam
Remi — songs that are good, but
with little to offer in alternative
to the original versions. Then
again, when it comes to Marvin
Gaye, it’s nearly impossible to
improve upon what is already a
masterwork of musical genius.
And overall, the album itself
isn’t daring or shocking. There
are no pretentious attempts
by the label to pretend that
You’re The Man is anything
but what is it: Marvin Gaye.
One should not sit down to
this album expecting radical
experimentation. Rather, the
album is like warmly greeting
an old friend who’s been gone
far too long. For the long-time
fan, it’s like feeling warm
sunshine after a long, hard
winter. For the newcomers,
it’s a treasure-chest discovery
of
small
proportions,
with
lasting impact. Once one has
been
introduced
to
Gaye’s
brand of chill vibes and soulful
optimism, it’s impossible to go
back.
What is most striking about
the album, however, is not
the discovery of these hidden
songs, nor the enjoyment of
hearing dearly-missed friend,
idol and artist sing once more.
No, what is most striking about
You’re The Man is how different
it is from the music of today.
When sitting outside on the
streets of Ann Arbor, lavishing
in the brief glimpse of spring
and listening to Marvin Gaye,
one word came to mind: happy.
Because no matter how serious,
insightful or vulnerable Gaye’s
music can be, there is always
a light, comforting touch in
accompaniment. It is refreshing
to listen to this timeless music
made by a man who saw the
world for what it was — good
and bad — and sought to capture
the vital truths of life within
his music. In the monotony of
modern music, and the crush
of endless expectation and
obligation, one impression still
lingers: how wonderful it is to
welcome Marvin Gaye home, if
for the last time.
MADELEINE GANNON
Daily Arts Writer
You’re the Man
Marvin Gaye
MOTOWN
ALBUM REVIEW