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