Amid the revival of the
movie musical, NBC’s new pilot
“Zoey’s Extraordinary Playlist”
seeks to capture the camp of
Broadway classics along with
modern millennial cynicism.
A slightly magical premise and
some genuinely funny moments
make this show stand out from
more formulaic sitcoms.
Zoey
(Jane
Levy,
“Don’t
Breathe”), owner of the titular
“Extraordinary Playlist,” works
as a coder at a San Francisco
start-up
and
struggles
to
connect with other people.
After receiving an MRI during
a small earthquake, she finds
herself able to hear the inner
thoughts of those around her
in the form of pop songs and
choreographed dances. With
this ability, she discovers her
male coworkers are targeting
her for her gender, her crush
Simon (John Clarence Stewart,
“Luke Cage”) is coping with
a death in the family and her
near-comatose
father
(Peter
Gallagher, “American Beauty”)
is trying to reach out in his
catatonic state.
At
first
confused
and
terrified
by
her
musical
semi-hallucinations,
Zoey
gradually
comes
to
accept
that her telepathy can work to
her advantage. By the end of
the pilot, Zoey has secured a
promotion at her start-up and
has helped repair her family
relationships.
Unfortunately,
Zoey’s
powers begin to reveal things
that she did not want to know:
Zoey’s love interest is actually
engaged to another woman and
her best friend and coworker
Max
(Skylar
Astin,
“Pitch
Perfect”) is secretly in love
with her. Employing the help
of her eccentric neighbor Mo
(Alex Newell, “Glee”) Zoey
sets out to hone her newfound
powers and avoid completely
losing her mind to the music.
“Zoey’s
Extraordinary
Playlist” has an undoubtedly
ridiculous premise. It makes
almost no sense. An MRI
giving someone superpowers
is too unrealistic for even the
most absurd comic book. But
it’s not a complete bust. At
their best, musicals are campy
and fun, so why not make TV
the same way? After years of
somber movie musicals like
“Les Misérables” and box office
disasters like “Cats,” there’s
a distinct lack of truly joyous,
respectably nonsensical music-
based media.
The
musical
numbers
of
“Zoey’s Extraordinary Playlist”
are entertaining, the humor is
self-aware and the characters
are original and compelling.
Overall, the silliness of the
musical magic is balanced out
by the genuine fun of the guilty
pleasure sitcom format. The
pilot sets up multiple storylines,
establishing quick pacing. It
does a good job of keeping the
mood up when working against
the
idyllic
San
Francisco
scenery. Still, the main issue
with the pilot is its attempt to
force tragedy into the mix.
By
introducing
Zoey’s
father as having a debilitating
neurological
condition
that
renders
him
unresponsive
to
most
stimuli,
“Zoey’s
Extraordinary
Playlist”
sets
up
tearjerker
moments
in
his musical sequences that
feel more exploitative than
heartfelt. In equating Zoey’s
quirky
relationship
drama
with a family tragedy, the show
doesn’t leave room to confront
the more difficult themes of
loss and grief that don’t mesh
well with the pop soundtrack.
Whether
“Zoey’s
Extraordinary
Playlist”
can
balance the wildly differing
issues in the main character’s
life with proper sensitivity
remains to be seen. Regardless
of this potential blindspot, the
show had a promising start
and has given itself ample
room to grow and improve.
If
“Zoey’s
Extraordinary
Playlist” can identify its weaker
components, this show could
fully capture the best aspects of
the musical genre in a creative
and innovative way.
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Arts
Tuesday, January 14, 2020 — 5
‘Extraordinary Playlist’
just might have the range
NBC
ANYA SOLLER
Daily Arts Writer
Selena Gomez has seen it
all. Lupus, a kidney transplant,
publicized battles with anxiety
and depression, an on-again,
off-again
ex-boyfriend
who,
you know, just happens to be
Justin Bieber. With her latest
album, Rare, she puts it all out
on the table.
“Oh, why don’t you recognize
I’m so rare?” Gomez asks on the
title track and album opener.
This question and recognition
of
self-worth
permeate
through every song on Rare.
Accompanied by soft, often
midtempo, bubbly production
and
Gomez’s
tendency
to
whisper and shout as much as
she sings, this album crafts an
atmosphere that feels prismatic.
It’s pink and green and nice to
float around in for an hour. It’s
a celebration: both for Gomez’s
hard-fought self love and for
everyone else to realize their
worth alongside her.
On
“Ring,”
Gomez
plays
the bored and adored subject
of many admirers’ attention.
“Wrapped ‘round my finger
like a ring, ring, ring,” she
sighs. The ring in the song later
becomes the sound of the phone
calls suitors keep making, but
she doesn’t feel like bothering
with. The production is playful,
and it’s nice
to see Gomez
own
her
power
after
she’s claimed
it for herself.
However,
Gomez jumps
back into self-
defense
on
the addictive
track
“Vulnerable.”
She
declares
her openness
to
the
vulnerability
of
love,
considering
that “the only
other option’s
letting
go”
of
the
relationship.
Gomez
interrogates
her potential
lover
at
a rapid pace before diving
into the chorus. “If I give
the opportunity to you then
would you blow it? / If I was
the greatest thing to happen
to you would you know it?”
she demands. Gomez makes
the choice to fall for someone,
feeling like they’re about to run
away
together
on
a
secret
mission.
“People You
Know” is simple
and
almost
painfully
repetitive,
yet
Gomez
gets
away with it.
“We
used
to
be
close,
but
people can go /
from people you
know to people
you don’t” she
sings
with
indifference.
The
topic
matter
is
so
relatable
that
little else needs
to be said for
the
message
to resonate. It
feels
a
little
lazy to outline
the arc of a
relationship so succinctly, but
it’s also fitting and upsettingly
truthful.
In “Cut You Off” the listener
hears the end of the Bieber-
Gomez saga once and for all
as if it’s going down in real
time. “Gotta chop-chop all
the extra weight / I’ve been
carrying for fourteen-hundred-
sixty days,” she admits to the
mirror. The way Gomez slinks
into this gradual realization is
pleasantly reminiscent of her
friend and singer-songwriter
Julia Michaels’ style.
On the closing track, “A
Sweeter Place,” Gomez yearns
for an escape. The song ascends
above the already gooey, clap
track, bubblegum tone of the
album’s creation into a more
sugar-coated heaven. Kid Cudi’s
feature feels a bit out of place
in Gomez’s daydream, but not
enough to distract from what
she’s getting at. Lyrics like, “Is
there a place where I can hide
away? / Red lips, french kiss
my worries all away,” show
that despite all of her previous
growth, she’s still
growing.
Perhaps
the
best
evidence
of this need for
further
growth
is
in
Rare’s
missteps. “Kinda
Crazy” kicks off
to an intriguing
start
with
juicy,
imagery-
filled lyrics, but
falls flat into a
clunky
chorus.
“Crowded Room”
gives
Gomez’s
vocals space to
breathe and even shine, but
does little else despite a feature
from 6lack.
Rare is a building block
for Gomez. It’s sticky sweet.
Sometimes so much so that
it
can
feel
stuck in self-
empowerment,
no matter how
important that
theme is. And
yet,
Rare
is
necessary
to
the arc of both
Gomez’s career
and
personal
journey.
An
artist
equally
gentle
and
empowering,
a person who
has endured a
lot but remains
well-intentioned, Selena Gomez
is truly rare, and we should
appreciate her for it.
And yet, Rare
is necessary to
the arc of both
Gomex’s career
and personal
journey.
Selena Gomez and self-
empowerment on ‘Rare’
ALBUM REVIEW
ALBUM REVIEW
KATIE BEEKMAN
Daily Arts Writer
INTERSCOPE RECORDS
Among coming-of-age stories,
“Where the World Ends” by
Geraldine McCaughrean is a
bleak example. Nine boys and
three men are stranded on what
is essentially a large outcropping
of rocks called the Warrior Stac,
off the coast of their remote
home in the British Isles.
This part is true — there
was a group of people stranded
on a birding trip in the mid-
eighteenth century — but the
history is more an inspiration
for
McCaughrean
than
a
factual
base.
Quilliam,
the
fictional main character, is a
young teenage boy who, at the
outset of the novel, is excited to
gather birds from the Stac. His
excitement quickly sours as the
group is mysteriously stranded
with no boat from the mainland
to come pick them up at the end
of their journey.
The
premise
is
clearly
depressing, and the plot makes
it seem like the book would be
a chore to consume, leaving
the reader with a vague sense
of existential doom. Strangely,
even after brutal depictions of
violence,
death,
banishment
and hunger, an enduring hope
prevails at the novel’s conclusion.
The boys themselves, as well as
the birds that they hunt and rely
on for survival, are symbols of
perseverance.
McCaughrean
circumvents
the possible problem of a tiringly
masculine book as Quill learns
early on in their ordeal that one
of the other boys, John, is not
a boy at all. What follows is a
conflicted handling of gender
pronouns as Quill tries to keep
John’s secret for her own safety,
while
still
acknowledging
the gender identification she
revealed to him. Meanwhile,
John herself struggles with a
complicated identity. She was
pretending to be a boy at the
behest of her mother, because
she had never borne the son
her husband wanted, so John
“had always felt guilty since
birth, after all, for not being a
boy.” She knows she does not
want to change her name or her
personality, however — when one
of the boys says he could never
marry a John, she replies, “You
can and you shall! ... I canna be
doing with a new name.” John’s
identity adds a layer of gender
politics to the new society that
formed on the Stac. When the
other boys try to exclude her
from meetings on the basis of
sex, she reminds them that she
was included for many months
when they thought she was a
boy. Her very existence forces
the boys to reconsider their
traditional views of gender amid
a survival situation.
McCaughrean
also
deftly
balances nature imagery and
character
description.
She
describes the Stac and its birds as
beautiful, while still capturing
the
stark
and
unforgiving
nature of the rocks on which the
boys survive for nine months.
In the beginning, when hope
is abundant on the Stac, the
imagery is softer and more
colorful — “The sunsets were
feathery and pink. The brief
nights were spark-filled with
stars.” By the end of the book,
when the Stac is no longer just
an exciting symbol of manhood
but also a bleak reminder of
mortality,
the
descriptions
become much darker: Quill is
“impaled on the tip of a giant
claw and held up close to the sky
for cloud-beasts to squint at.”
McCaughrean’s writing style
transparently
follows
Quill’s
feelings
throughout,
which
not only strengthens the plot,
but also helps her prose serve
the overall emotional purpose
of the novel. Even at the most
desperate times, Quill retains
a sense of wonder at the beauty
of the Stac and an appreciation
for the birds on it that give him
life. Alongside Quill’s changing
perceptions of his situation, the
novel’s descriptions of nature
shift from an innocent portrait
of beauty to a more nuanced
acknowledgement of the danger
and brutality that comes with
that beauty.
Several parts of the boys’
experience on the Stac makes it
bearable. Quill almost obsesses
over a girl named Murdina
whom he met briefly on his
home island. She came to his
island from the mainland to
teach the boys more about
reading and writing, which is
part of the reason why Quill felt
so connected to her — to him,
she represented education and
storytelling. Quill is deemed
“Keeper of Stories” because
of his penchant for creating
fantastical tales about the world
around him that keep the other
boys optimistic. Even on the
Stac, the most desolate of places,
he takes comfort in “collect[ing]
words.” When Cane’s Bible is
torn apart and the pieces go
flying into the wind, Quill turns
his literary eye on the situation
and says the pages are “seeding
the ledges and crags with words”
that could give the boys “signs,
warnings,
encouragement.”
In the darkest hours on the
Stac, when everything seems
hopeless, Quill’s eternal faith in
the power of words is heartening
to the other boys and to the
reader.
Quill’s
storytelling
streak
gets him in trouble sometimes,
like when it comes to one of the
adults stranded with the boys,
Col Cane. Cane represents the
oppressive force of religion gone
wrong, as he appoints himself
minister of the group despite
having no authority to do so.
When Quill tells a story Cane
thinks is too “pagan,” Cane
accuses him of being a witch
and he is banished, though not
before being literally stoned by
the other boys at the direction
of the “minister.” Gradually, the
boys begin to disregard Cane,
and by extension adults and
organized religion, in favor of
their own freedom and ideas.
Despite the despair of being
separated from everything they
know, the boys experience a
remarkable degree of freedom
on the Stac away from structured
authority and society. This is
perhaps the most important part
of their coming-of-age story —
they have an unprecedented
amount of freedom that allows
them to find themselves. On a
lonely rock outcropping, “every
boy is some manner of a king.”
Hope amid desolation in
‘Where the World Ends’
EMILIA FERRANTE
Daily Arts Writer
Zoey’s
Extraordinary
Playlist
Series Premiere
NBC
Sundays at 9 p.m. EST
TV REVIEW
TV REVIEW
Rare
Selena Gomez
Interscope Records
Strangely, even
after brutal
depictions of
violence, death,
banishment
and hunger,
an enduring
hope prevails
at the novel’s
conclusion.
BOOK REVIEW