6A — Wednesday, October 23, 2019
Arts
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com

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By Gary Larson
©2019 Tribune Content Agency, LLC
10/23/19

Los Angeles Times Daily Crossword Puzzle

Edited by Rich Norris and Joyce Nichols Lewis

10/23/19

ANSWER TO PREVIOUS PUZZLE:

Release Date: Wednesday, October 23, 2019

ACROSS
1 Victoria’s Secret 
purchase
4 US Open stadium 
named for a US 
Open winner
8 Calm
14 Couple’s word
15 Ostrich relative
16 Swaps
17 Treats for a 
comedian?
19 Scold harshly
20 Blacken on the 
outside
21 Name in the 
makeup aisle
23 Mars rover org.
24 Young newt
26 Treats for a 
teacher?
28 Headboard pole
32 “I’m down with 
that”
33 More likely to 
cause skidding
34 Santa’s reindeer, 
e.g.
36 Family game 
room
39 Semicircle, e.g.
40 Treats for an oil 
tycoon?
42 Wild way to go
43 Lawyer’s advice
44 Prefix with 
personal
45 Blender maker
47 “True Detective” 
rating
48 Browned in butter
50 Treats for a 
submarine pilot?
54 Pontiac muscle 
car
55 Way out there
56 Bel __: creamy 
cheese
58 Miranda __ of 
“Homeland”
62 Destroyed, as 
documents
64 Treats for a 
fisher?
66 Clothes line
67 Snakelike fish
68 Feel crummy
69 Drove on the trail
70 Some stay at 
home
71 Pooh pal

DOWN
1 Supervisor
2 Old character
3 Bizet’s 
“Habanera,” e.g.
4 Genesis vessel
5 Units in a ream
6 “His,” to Bierce
7 Bridge seats
8 Runner in the 
raw
9 Victorian __
10 Like porcelain 
teacups
11 Estes’ ticket-
mate
12 Give body to, as 
hair
13 “¿Cómo __?”
18 __ de chine: light 
fabric
22 Actors, often
25 Let bygones be 
bygones
27 Informs on
28 Media critic’s 
concern
29 Linen hue
30 They’re spotted 
in casinos
31 Taqueria order
35 Michael of “SNL”
36 “It’s a __!”

37 Weapon with two 
accents
38 Unlikely 
candidate for 
prom king
41 Not charted
46 Brownstone 
porch
47 Fine line
49 Antediluvian
50 Item on a wrist
51 Earlier than, to 
poets

52 Not as common
53 Put in stitches
57 Miracle Mets’ 
stadium
59 Drop from an 
eye
60 Jazz __
61 Sonja Henie’s 
birthplace
63 Play for a sap
65 Message 
afterthoughts: 
Abbr.

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Human hair is not often found in stockings. 
Neither are rings, cotton balls, jewelry, 
glitter or nail polish. But hanging ominously 
in the Irving Stenn Jr. Family Gallery of the 
University of Michigan Museum of Art, several 
pairs of stockings are stuffed with these items 
and synch the waists of white pillows cradled 
in a twine hammock. The sculpture hangs 
across most of the room, eerily displaying 
fractured parts of body-image culture. 
To the left of this sculpture are three large 
photographs of a hunched woman, whose 
naked back is to the camera. The viewer 
can’t tell if over the course of the images she 
is turning toward the viewer or away from 
them. The woman appears again on hauntingly 
beautiful photographs on the back wall. She 
poses in various settings, draped in a peculiar 
sculpture 
that 
strings 
together 
multiple 
fabricated limbs into one garment for her to 
wear. She looks at the viewer with a complex 
certainty, a striking invitation for the viewer 
to look closer. 
Mari Katayama, an up-and-coming Japanese 
artist, is both model and artist in much of her 
work. Born in 1987 with tibial hemimelia (a 
rare developmental condition), she has two 
fingers on one hand and had to have her legs 
amputated at nine years old. She has worn 
prosthetics ever since. The young artist’s 
work feels incredibly intimate. She showcases 
her disabled body along with hand-sewn 
sculptures (usually of limbs or body parts she 
is missing), which makes her body seem like a 
material she is also sculpting. 

As an artist, she has taken complete 
ownership of her medium: herself. Nothing 
feels candid, but every piece feels deeply 
honest. It’s as if by crafting intricate, staged 
scenes, the artist reveals a direct line to 
herself. By leaning into the fantastical and 
strange elements of her art, she tells her 
truth more honestly than a candid photo ever 
could. Her gaze, in particular, is what caught 
me in each photo. Everything else — from her 
posture to her props to the color palette — feels 
otherworldly and staged. But her gaze cuts 
through the artifice, allowing you to view the 
captured moment through her eyes; you are 
immersed in a fabricated world that is true to 
her, however seemingly absurd or strange it 
seems.
The effect of this is an inward one; her work 
forces the viewer to reconsider how their own 
bodies fit into this strange, body-obsessed 
culture we’ve found ourselves in. Katayama 
owns her body, but it never feels trivial or 
glamorous or superficially celebratory. Rather, 
her work presents herself as one entity, as one 
spirit that fits perfectly into her own body. 
It’s blunt and asks important questions: How 
do we live honestly when we are cajoled into 
cramming our bodies into the latest fashion? 
What happens when your body and your spirit 
are the same entity? 
There are no clear answers for society at 
large, but Katayama presents an answer in 
every secretive glance she gives the camera: 
she lives with power. Despite years of body 
image culture and typical notions of femininity 
attempting to exert power over her, she lives 
well. She lives as herself, as her art, as her 
materials and her spirit, and she invites her 
viewers to do the same.

STEPHANIE GURALNICK
For The Daily

Katayama at the UMMA

COMMUNITY CULTURE REVIEW

Mari Katayama

The UMMA

Oct. 12, 2019-Jan. 26, 2020

The first two episodes of “Limetown” want you 
to know one thing: This show is weird. In fact, it’s 
so weird, it can make producing a podcast seem 
interesting. 
“Limetown” follows unstable journalist Lia 
Haddock (Jessica Biel, “The Illusionist”) as she 
documents her search for a secluded town’s 
population that mysteriously disappeared. Once a 
research facility and private community of expert 
neuroscientists, Limetown has stood vacant for 
fifteen years following a lengthy investigation into 
how and why the three hundred residents vanished 
without a trace.
Lia, motivated to find her uncle, (Stanley Tucci, 
“Spotlight”) a former resident of Limetown, produces 
a podcast documenting her own search for the truth. 
Although she faces resistance from her boss on why 
a fifteen-year-old story is relevant today, Lia persists 
and is ultimately contacted by a former resident who 
is ready to share her experience. 
Upon meeting this woman, Lia discovers the 
research conducted in Limetown may be connected 
to the mass disappearance. The woman recounts 
her life in the town and her eventual realization 
that her new home was not as idyllic as it seemed. 
Now armed with more information from the source, 
including the location of another survivor, Lia sets 
off to uncover the conspiracy. Despite a violent 
attempt to intimidate her into dropping the story, Lia 
commits to following her leads and finding the rest of 

Limetown’s citizens.
Throughout the first episodes of the series, the 
plot focuses mainly on setting up Lia as a damaged 
and slightly unhinged antihero who has become 
obsessed with the town and its residents. In doing so, 
the show becomes less about the search for truth and 
more about unnerving the viewer through constant 
plot reveals and overly dramatic character building.
“Limetown” is begging the audience to be scared. 
In fact, it throws every trope it needs to at the wall just 
to see what will stick. A cult-like gated community? 
Sure. A public execution of a town leader? Okay. A 
secret tunnel system of caves underneath the whole 
city? Alright. Possible mind control? Sounds good. 
“Limetown” has got it all. Despite the twists and 
turns, the show is still mostly scenes of Lia holding a 
microphone or having an emotional breakdown. 
While “Limetown” has radical elements that 
would make any story eye-catching, the show doesn’t 
need to try so hard. When the main plot involves a 
mass conspiracy, no one needs multiple scenes of 
Jessica Biel being creepy to really hammer home 
the show’s spooky atmosphere. While “Limetown” 
wants to make the point that this mystery would 
“drive anyone insane,” it all seems a bit excessive. 
“Limetown” has a lot of ingredients to be a 
pop culture sensation. The star power of Biel and 
Tucci, source material from a popular podcast and 
captivating story could easily carry the show into 
mass popularity. However, if “Limetown” continues 
to divert its focus from the beauty of a convoluted, 
slightly campy plot, it’s unlikely to reach its potential 
as a truly wild, trippy look into a mind-altering 
thriller.

‘Limetown’ tries too hard

ANYA SOLLER
For The Daily

Limetown

Series Premiere

Facebook Watch

Now Streaming

FACEBOOK WATCH

TV REVIEW

Issa Lopez (“Todo Mal”) opens “Tigers 
Are Not Afraid” with statistics on the adult 
death toll of drug trade-related violence in 
her native Mexico, then follows these with an 
anti-statistic of sorts: the unknown number 
of child casualties. Calling attention to these 
unrecorded numbers and the unwritten stories 
of ruined lives behind them, then writing one 
herself, is the chief accomplishment of Lopez’s 
film. Released in 2017 in Mexico and stateside 
in 2019, “Tigers Are Not Afraid” imaginatively 
narrates and underlines the toll that the drug 
trade in Mexico takes on children. 
In Lopez’s depiction, death literally follows 
children around. She transitions from the 
opening statistics to the middle school 
classroom of the film’s female protagonist 
Estrella (Paola Lara), who just barely survives 
an outbreak of gun violence on her campus, 
only to walk home and bypass a dead body on 
the sidewalk and arrive to an empty home. 
We later learn Estrella’s mother has been 
abducted by the Huascas, a gang that runs 
the local and seems to have all other local 
institutions at their beck and call. On her 
walk, though, something abnormal happens: 
A stream of blood coming from the corpse 
Estrella passed follows her around, and will 
for the rest of the film. I’m hesitant to call 
this moment in the film simply fantastical or 
magical or horrifying — instead, it’s a brilliant, 
appropriate merger of genres that represents 
the intersection of childhood freedom with 
adult terror.
In that way, “Tigers Are Not Afraid” 
reminds me of 2018’s “Capernaum” in its 
devastating saga and its close attention to and 
respect for its child protagonists. Unlike the 
latter, however, “Tigers” capitalizes on every 
opportunity to celebrate the unique gifts 
children have to care extraordinarily for one 
another, to express themselves, to cope with 

inexplicable evil and boundless loss. Scenes 
like an energetic soccer match between the 
children in an abandoned mansion where they 
hide from the Huasacas, or an umbrella dance 
under the water channeled through a gutter, 
stand out amid the darkness of the film that 
is overwhelming at times. Instead of walking 
away disconsolate, as many viewers surely 
did after watching the story of young Zain in 
“Capernaum,” Lopez includes scenes that let 
light in, recoloring the characters’ lives as 
well as viewers’ perceptions of them.
As much as “Tigers” is a feat of narrating 
childhood traumas, it is also a feat of visual 
storytelling. One of the most innovative 
manipulations of visuals in the film, and 
also the source of critics’ descriptions of 
the film as using “magical realism,” takes 
the form of the film’s animated graffiti art. 
Both Estrella and the male protagonist of the 
film, El Shine (Juan Ramón López), take to 
the alleys with cans of black spray paint and 
render their sorrows and fantasies on the 
walls. The English title of the film is drawn 
from the illustration Estrella makes of a tiger, 
invoked thereafter as a motif of courage and 
survival despite impossible conditions. Shine, 
leader of the band of orphaned children that 
take Estrella in after she loses her mother, 
rendered portraits of himself as well as the 
other boys in his pack of orphans. And like 
the portrait of Dorian Gray, the likenesses 
of the young children, as well as the various 
tiger illustrations, grow more menacing as 
they turn increasingly to violence in order to 
survive. I would argue Lopez does more with 
this plot device than Oscar Wilde originally 
did, using it to depict moral erosion as a result 
of young people’s social circumstances and 
not the other way around. 
“Tigers Are Not Afraid” is horrifying and 
magical, mystical and deeply troubling. Lopez 
deftly cross-pollinates these genres and in 
their product, discovers a new way to tell the 
story of young children impacted by grownups’ 
crimes and self-concern.

JULIANNA MORANO
Daily Arts Writer

‘Tigers’ is deeply magical

FILM REVIEW

Tigers Are Not Afraid

Filmadora Nacional, Peligrosa

Michigan Theater

