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October 22, 2019 - Image 5

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The Michigan Daily

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Disney rarely puts out unsuccessful movies; almost
all of their films please fans and maintain box-office
success. Often, the movies do well in the box office
because fans can expect to enjoy a Disney film, but
that doesn’t mean that all the films are necessarily
amazing. Most Disney films fall somewhere in
a neutral middle ground — not bad, not great.
“Maleficent: Mistress of Evil,” directed by Joachim
Rønning (“Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Men Tell
No Tales), fits perfectly in this
category. Overall, the film’s
not a bad watch, especially
with kids who would love the
fairytale aspects and the special
effects, but it’s still a film with a
lot of issues, especially in how
the plot unfolds.
“Mistress of Evil” picks
up five years after its 2014
predecessor,
“Maleficent.”
Aurora, played by Elle Fanning
(“Super 8”), who now rules over the Moors as their
wide-eyed, barefoot, fairy-like queen, accepts a
marriage proposal from Prince Philip (Harris
Dickinson, “Trust”). Their union has the potential
to link their respective kingdoms, the Moors and
Ulstead, but Philip’s mother, Queen Ingrith (Michelle
Pfeiffer, “Batman Returns”), has other plans. The
premise of the plot, though a little derivative with its
fairytale aspects and evil mother-in-law, is tolerable.
Despite the plot not being unique, the film has some
really high points. Where the movie succeeds is in its
stellar understanding and explanation of two major
characters and their bond: Maleficent (Angelina
Jolie, “Mr. and Mrs. Smith”) and Aurora. The two
talented actresses do a fabulous job of making their
relationship seem real; little details like Aurora
being the only one who was able to calm Maleficent
down, Maleficent practicing how to smile to avoid
make a bad impression on Philip’s parents and their
nicknaming of each other (Godmother and Beastie),
all contributed to a believable mother-daughter-like
relationship. Disney’s attention to detail makes for
wonderful world-building.
However, the amount of plot holes in the movie

make it difficult to follow and frustrating to watch.
One of the most confusing parts of the movie is
understanding the motive that Queen Ingrith had
for wanting to hurt Maleficent personally. Ingrith’s
grudge against the fae kingdom in general makes
some sense after hearing her backstory (though told
too late, in the last 45 minutes of the film), but the
feelings of resentment and hatred that she harbors
against Maleficent alone seem unfounded and
unbelievable.
The other plot hole, this one even harder to ignore,
is the reveal of an underground society of Maleficent-
like creatures. We get very little background on them

as a group, just that they were driven into hiding
by humans. We miss out on learning the extent of
their history, and more importantly, why Maleficent
doesn’t know they exist when she seems to play
such an important role in their hierarchy. With the
addition of these creatures in the movie, it feels like
too much was going on at once, with not enough
detail or time spent on anything.
“Mistress of Evil” is a nice escape from
midterm stress and 40-degree October weather
in Michigan, but not a must-see. It’s one of those
trademarked Disney movies that you know you’ll
enjoy and you know will have a ‘happily ever after,’
but not necessarily worth spending ticket money
on. In a world of Disney live-action remakes and
in the era of sequels, “Maleficent: Mistress of
Evil” falls exactly where you would expect it to. It
doesn’t have the nostalgia of the original cartoon
“Sleeping Beauty” nor the novelty of the 2014 film
— the live-action remake that started the trend.
It feels obvious that they dragged out a sequel to
make money, and while it wasn’t an unenjoyable
film, it didn’t feel necessary. I think it’s safe to say
that this probably won’t be a trilogy, and that’s OK.

The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Arts
Tuesday, October 22, 2019 — 5

Colette Fellous’s “This Tilting World” takes place
at the shoreline of a nameless sea. There, its narrator
reflects on the 2015 Sousse mass shootings that had
occurred just a day before, the lives and deaths of
various men in her life and the many places she has
called home. The novel’s slimness tricks readers into
believing they are in for a quick and simple read; I felt
slightly betrayed when I realized (just a few pages in)
that I had been made a fool. “This Tilting World” is
dense. The winding passages are devoid of quotation
marks and steeped in poetics, which effectively has
the effect of making me feel as though my body was
being hit with wave after wave of text, struggling to
stay alive and afloat.
“This Tilting World” is filled with descriptions of
the people, marketplaces, foods and smells of Tunisia,
France and other places the narrator has lived and
loved in. The novel is described as being “a love letter
to (the narrator’s) homeland,” but it is arguably also a
love letter to her father, literature and her life itself,
which she is reflecting on in response to the massacre
that had unfolded the previous day, and the death of
her friend Alain. Once I reached the end of the novel,
I understood how Fellous combines these elements

to paint a portrait of the burden of responsibility and
guilt of being a child of expatriates, one who is also
without a country she can firmly claim as “home.”
The narrator has inherited the trauma of exile from
her parents; it has become “(her) wound now.”
“...I felt like an orphan even when my parents
surrounded me with the best they could provide…
this is what I’ve done all my life: cradle (my father),
cradle them both in their innocence and sweetness,
and even cradle what I call the country … Tunisia or

the long-past memories of my parents? I don’t know. I
held them up so they would not collapse.”
This is one of those books that lack a cohesive
plot structure. This writing style, however, is the
novel’s downfall. Without the aid of the back cover,
it is hard to understand what “This Tilting World” is
even about. Minimal plot structure can be liberating
if done right, but Fellous’s writing is suffocating.
I initially attributed it to the fact that the novel is
translated from French. I attempted to slow down and
savor the prose, thinking that perhaps I was rushing
too much and it would be more comprehensible if I
tiptoed my way through the landmine of poetics. I
soon realized, though, that there was no escaping the
convoluted nature of the text. I discovered that the
most effective way for me to read the novel was to
skim it slightly, or at least not dwell too long on every
sentence. But there were undeniably several gems,
including this image-heavy moment of reflection:
“So many images in a few seconds. With each sip
the throbbing of even more invisible hearts joins
me, moments of a life, reflections of light on a face,
the scars of hours, culled from the past or perhaps
still unknown, thousands of sparks dissolved in my
every breath. Hearts in thrall drawing together.
Geraniums, pink and white carnations, the unfurling
leaves of bougainvillea, odd fragments of broken
pots, pieces of colored glass…”
The way that Fellous writes feels
as though she is a poet attempting
to pummel a very long poem into
submission
through
the
rigid
structure of a fiction novel. Pummel
romantically, of course. Fallous’s
writing style is refined, but too
flowery for my taste. I felt minimal
connection to any of the characters,
even the narrator herself. While there
are several segments of the text that
are undeniably beautiful, they are
too far and few between to fully appreciate, and
wrapped in a complicated snarl of text that made
my eyes glaze over.
“This Tilting World” is certainly not an easy
read. See, the thing about love letters is that they
are meant for one person in particular. The letter
that “This Tilting World” offers is carefully crafted,
laced with beautiful prose, but, unfortunately,
intended for the select few who enjoy murky plot
structures and poetry-prose hybrids.

The confusing beauty of
Fellous’s ‘Tilting World’

SABRIYA IMAMI
For The Daily

BOOK REVIEW

‘Mistress of Evil’ is lacking

JO CHANG
For The Daily

When I first volunteered to write about METAL
GALAXY, I didn’t know what I was getting into. I had
a vague memory of BABYMETAL as a band with some
sort of gimmick. My editor said it was right up my alley,
which upon first listening to “Chocolate,” I understood
that to mean BABYMETAL was in line with my taste
for weird and unique. Later I would remember where
I first heard the band: My JPop-superfan cousins were
showing me videos of them performing on YouTube
back in 2012. BABYMETAL might be kind of a meme,
but their staying power is beyond any gimmick.
Somewhere at the intersection of anime and Death
Grips, BABYMETAL has amassed an enormous
international following for their hardcore-cute JPop-
metal fusion. Its members, Su-Metal and Moa-Metal,
are pulled straight from the Japanese idol industry,
which reflects in the band’s focus on performance
and theatrics. The core members sing and dance
and scream at their shows, while a group of backing
musicians (called Kami Band) provide the heavy metal
instrumentation.
The band’s idol industry roots are crystal clear in their
sound. Something to get comfortable with to properly
enjoy this record is that most of the music sounds
like it was concocted by record company executives
spitballing ideas at a round table meeting. For “Shanti
Shanti Shanti,” the men in suits said, “BABYMETAL,
but make it ‘Aladdin.’” For “OH! Majinai,” they said
the same, but fantasy-renaissance. This is a natural
extension of how the band came to be in the first place
— somebody said “Baby, but make it metal,” and now
here we are.
While BABYMETAL’s existence is itself a left hook,
the tracklist on METAL GALAXY rolls out surprise
punch after surprise punch. The guests are unexpected
and brilliant. Japanese music legend Tak Matsumoto
plays guitar on “DA DA DANCE.” Tim Henson and
Scott LePage of Polyphia fame help compose “Brand
New Day.” Thai rapper F.Hero spits a verse on “PA PA
YA!!” Sweden has multiple footprints on the album:
Joakim Brodén, vocalist of Swedish power metal band
Sabaton, singing and screaming on “OH! Majinai,” and
Alissa White-Gluz, vocalist of Swedish death metal

band Arch Enemy, growling on “Distortion.” Despite
these features, nothing can eclipse the bizarre power of
young women singing over aggressive heavy metal, so
every track remains distinctly BABYMETAL.
Other than the novel JPop-metal mix, it’s hard to
pinpoint what is distinctly BABYMETAL; they skillfully
juggle so many different sounds in their music. “Da Da
Dance” manages to smuggle a bit of electropop into
the album. “Arkadia” oozes with Dragonforce energy.
While “Elevator Girl,” “Shanti Shanti Shanti” and
“OH! Majinai” are clearly contrived to have a certain
aesthetic (just like everything about BABYMETAL), it
all still kinda bangs.
All the global fame that BABYMETAL capitalizes on
with their international sounds, however, complicates
the issue of Western influence on Asian media. The

current media talk about American studios altering their
content to get through Chinese censorship makes me
wonder how much Asian media producers are coloring
their material to be Western-friendly. “Elevator Girl,”
sung entirely in English, is a clear appeal to a Western
audience. I can’t speak to the songwriting on the rest of
METAL GALAXY — I can’t understand it — but based
on the lyrics to “Elevator Girl,” I think I prefer to keep
things a mystery. And yet, the track has been integral to
the band’s international promotion, coinciding with the
announcement of their most recent world tour.
For the purpose of providing tracks to perform
live, METAL GALAXY is a great addition to
BABYMETAL. While the band has an enormously
talented support system — the backing band’s
instrumentation is often skillful and flashy, and
the guests are highly accomplished — the joy of
BABYMETAL is in their music videos and live
performances. More than anything else, listening
to METAL GALAXY has had me on the lookout for
BABYMETAL’s next stop in Detroit.

New BABYMETAL is a trip

DYLAN YONO
Daily Arts Writer

I’ve only been in love once, and it was
with the back of a stranger’s head on the two
train. I was listening to Frankie Cosmos and
had just spilled cold brew on my sundress,
so it was ripe to happen. I looked up from
my New York Times Crossword app and my
eyes met his cervical vertebrae; it was magic.
His head wasn’t perfectly round, like maybe
he was dropped a few times as a baby. I was
intrigued. He had just gotten a haircut, I could
tell because his neck was still slightly red. He
wore a suit that was just a little wrinkled, as if
to say I am employed but I don’t own an iron.
His socks were “Firefly” themed — the show,
not the bug. He listened to his music or podcast
(probably podcast) on wired headphones, not
AirPods, a rare sighting in New York City or
Ann Arbor nowadays.
His posture looked like he had been touched
by scoliosis or hit a growth spurt late in high
school. He wasn’t popular in high school but
he wasn’t unpopular. His friend group was
solid and he still keeps in touch with some of
them, they catch up every time he comes home
for Thanksgiving at the diner they used to
frequent. He probably went to a good college,
maybe one in the Ivy League, but not Harvard
or Yale, one of the underrated ones like Brown
or Cornell. He probably studied English or
history or political science or my favorite,
philosophy. There was a time where I only
dated philosophy majors, not because I love
philosophy but because I love guys who think
they’re smarter than me and then proving
them wrong. But he wasn’t like that, he was
considerate, he calls his mom once a week, he
has a little sister he cares madly about but not
in a weird way.
His family had a golden retriever named
Florence but she died in a tragic car accident
when he was eight years old. His dad ran her
over in the family Jeep but they never told
him that. His parents replaced Florence with
a beagle named Harry but it wasn’t the same.
He played soccer in elementary school and he

was really good. When people asked him what
he wanted to be when he grew up he said a
professional soccer player and people kind of
believed him because he was so confident. He
still has that air of confidence, the certainty
of a child telling someone what they want to
be when they grow up. When all the other
boys on the team hit their growth spurts in
seventh grade, he was still the same size.
He didn’t hit puberty till age 15. His soccer
dreams faded, but he had new hobbies, new
passions. He loved playing street hockey with
his buddies and flying small planes above his
neighborhood. He had a highschool girlfriend.
She was controlling and paranoid. He lost his
virginity to her when he was 17 in the back of
the family Jeep, the one that killed his dog.
He plays golf with his dad on the weekends
and helps his mom in the garden. He has a
collection of thimbles from everywhere he
has traveled. He loved to travel so he studied
abroad in Spain. He fell in love with a girl he
met in Cartagena named Anna. They had a
short-lived courtship and a tearful goodbye at
the end of the semester. She sends him nudes
sometimes. His name was Ethan or Adam or
Josh or Nathan or Peter, definitely not Jason.
His eyes were blue or brown, definitely not
green. I didn’t know anything about him apart
from the back of his head but I felt like I knew
him.
His face was a mystery but I could see it
clearly in my head. He had strong features
with a softness to them. He had braces when
he was young but he doesn’t wear his retainer
so his teeth have shifted a bit, adding some
imperfection to his perfected pearly whites.
His jawline was sharp enough to cut marble.
He was a suburban James Dean, a Jewish
Marlon Brando, the long lost Franco brother.
He was perfect.
It was rush hour, people shuffled in and out
but he stayed right where he was, trying to
figure out the Casper-mattress advertisement
riddles. We got off at the same stop downtown
and I walked behind him for a little while
hoping to catch a glimpse of his face, to see if
he was everything I imagined he was. He left
the station before I could even see it.

Becky Portman: Modern
love is a look on the subway

BECKY PORTMAN
Humor Columnist

HUMOR COLUMN

METAL GALAXY

BABYMETAL

Babymetal Records

This Tilting World

Colette Fellous

Two Lines Press

Sept. 10, 2019

WIKIMEDIA COMMONS

MUSIC REVIEW

FILM REVIEW

WALT DISNEY STUDIOS MOTION PICTURES

Maleficent:

Mistress of Evil

Ann Arbor 20 + IMAX

Walt Disney Pictures

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