I think the phrase “lightning
in a bottle” is overused. So, know
that when I call Greta Gerwig’s
“Little Women” lightning in a
bottle, understand that I mean
it in the most life-altering, soul-
affirming way. “Little Women”
is a rush of wonder and youth,
containing a kind of emotional
depth that I search for in every
movie. To boil its infectious and
unforgettable zeal down to a
single moment would do injustice
do its living, breathing charm. So
instead, we wrote about several
moments. Ones that made us
cry, or laugh or simply stare
in wonder at the screen. Our
favorite moments. Caution: this
list includes important spoilers
from “Little Women.”
—Anish Tamhaney, Daily Film
Beat Editor
Jo and Laurie dance
Greta
Gerwig
is
a
time
traveler.
Gerwig’s
“Little
Women”
is
disarmingly,
refreshingly
modern. The potent themes of
Alcott’s novel aren’t diluted by
the period dresses and period
slang, instead they become
timeless.
As for the moment: Two
wallflowers find themselves
together in a side room at a
local party. Not dancing doesn’t
seem right. Dancing in there
seems even worse. They waltz,
spin and shake their hearts
out on the wrap-around porch
of the colonial New England
home. It’s Gerwig’s first nod
to the little worlds we find
with the people we love. Jo and
Laurie move like they’re at a
punk show in the 1970s — like
they’re two kids who’ve found
who they want to dance with
for the first time.
—Stephen
Satarino,
Daily
Arts Writer
Amy burns Jo’s book
Eleven
months
before
I
started college, I began writing
a novel, and by the beginning
of my freshman year, I had
generated some 50,000 words.
It’s no wonder that I find the
most affecting scene in “Little
Women” to be Amy’s burning
of Jo’s book. The pointed ease
with which Amy decides to
burn the pages is as upsetting
as Jo’s reaction to the absence
of her work when she arrives
after the party. Her realization
that those pages are gone made
me feel a rageful, incapacitating
grief. It was the first of many
times I shed tears during “Little
Women,” because sometimes,
losing your work can feel
like losing a person, a part of
yourself that you will never see
again.
—Anish Tamhaney, Daily Film
Beat Editor
Mr. Lawrence listens to Beth
play the piano
Every Sunday, I trek to my
friend’s apartment, and we
drive to the grocery store.
He and his roommates have
a piano, and often, when I
approach the door, I can hear
him playing. Usually, instead of
entering, I just lean against the
door, close my eyes and listen
until he stops. It’s beautiful and
I can’t bring myself to interrupt
it.
In “Little Women,” the March
sisters’ next-door neighbor, Mr.
Lawrence, decides to show the
same restraint. Having given
Beth March an open invitation
to use the piano that his late
daughter used to play, she
performs in solitude with a
dexterity and certainty that
her shyness often obscures. In
one scene, Mr. Lawrence hears
her, descends the stairs, then,
instead of sauntering in and
disrupting her serenity, he — an
elderly man — crouches down
on the steps, content just to
listen. Some beauty asks us to
participate. Some we can only
witness.
—Julianna Morano, Managing
Arts Editor
The
March
sisters
admit
Laurie
into
their
theatre
troupe
Greta
Gerwig
intimately
understands the love language
of youth — it’s active, usally
made complete with screaming
and laughing. The sisters and
Laurie
consistently
overlap
each
other,
physically
and
audibly. When Laurie leaps out
of the costume rack, screaming
out in a rugged British accent,
the frenzy of the March sisters
erupts in immaculate goofiness.
The hysteria of this scene
lingers in my mind not only
for its encapsulation of the
overlapping nature of youth,
but also for the scene’s ability to
act as the residue of Marmee’s
teachings:
“Do it for someone else, just
like Marmee taught us.”
The March sisters and Laurie
perform for each other before
they perform for anyone else,
inventing roles and providing
their
watchful,
attentive
gaze to each other’s art. The
audience is organic — it comes
from the love of art and the love
of each other. At the end of the
scene, Laurie provides each
sister with a key; In the same
way the key allows Jo to open a
portal back to the selfless art of
her youth, Greta uses this scene
to open a portal into a world
where you first came to art for
the love of it, acting without
thought
of
consequences,
sidegigs, or career ambitions.
The dainty flowers hanging
delicately overhead remind us
that one can be just Jo, not Ms.
March. One can be just Laurie,
not Mr. Laurence.
—Samantha
Cantie,
Daily
Music Beat Editor
Jo and Beth at the beach
“It’s like the tide going out. It
goes out slowly, but it can’t be
stopped.”
“I’ll stop it.”
This scene, to me, embodies
the very best of Jo March: her
determination, her devotion,
her naive, romantic belief in the
notion that love conquers all,
even death. Of course, anyone
who has read the book or seen
the film knows that Beth’s
death could not be stopped, not
even by Jo’s fierce, undying love
for her. When Jo tells her sister
she will stop her death, her
voice quivers, yet there is still
an undeniable, unexplainable
strength
in
her
speech,
a
strength that seems to comfort
Beth, regardless of whether or
not she actually believes in Jo’s
words. And though they both
secretly understand that Beth’s
time on earth is limited, in this
one brief and precious moment
on the beach, braced against
the Atlantic ocean’s harsh and
unforgiving wind, Beth is safe,
held in her sister’s arms.
—Elise Godfryd, Senior Arts
Editor
Amy and Laurie in the art
studio
I read “Little Women” for the
first time when I was eight, and
I hated Amy. I read it again a few
weeks ago, and I still didn’t love
her. It wasn’t until I watched
Florence Pugh onscreen as Amy
March that I truly appreciated
her. The one scene in particular
that changed my mind about
her was when she stands up
to Laurie in her art studio,
refusing to be looked down
upon for her decision to marry
rich. She tells him point blank
that marriage is “an economic
proposition” for women and
makes him understand just
how difficult life is for women
of the time. In this moment, she
proves that she has no regrets
in doing what she has to do to
minimize that difficulty in her
own life. That moment, that
scene, is where we finally see
bratty Amy March, who wears
fairy wings and burns books,
morph into a confident, grown
woman.
—Sabriya Imami, Daily Arts
Writer
Mr. Lawrence can’t bring
himself to enter the March
house without Beth in it
“Little Women” has always
been a story about vitality and
youth, not just as an abstraction
or an era in people’s lives, but
as a physically occupied space.
In the girls’ teenage years,
the
March
house
crackles
with signs of life and youth
everywhere: The soft yellow
light, the little cut-out stars
dangling from the ceiling, the
strewn-about
blankets
and
jackets. When Beth has her
whole life ahead of her, her
music and her potential and
the kind things she says fill the
March house. When she dies,
it’s like a vortex takes over,
sucking all the light in the world
with it. The movie goes from
being lit in pinks and yellows
to greys and blues. When we
talk about death we talk about
it as a “loss,” and it’s true that
something fundamental about
the space these characters live
in is lost when Beth dies. Her
life and her presence didn’t just
belong to her. It filled her world,
and the world of everyone who
knew her. Mr. Lawrence is
right — a March house without
Beth is impossible to fathom.
Their home is a foreign country
now.
—Asif
Becher,
Daily
Arts
Writer
The
costumes.
That’s
it.
That’s the blurb.
Period films always have
good costumes. Some are better
than others, obviously, but the
starting point is the same. After
listening to Greta Gerwig talk
about the thought and detail
that went into the costumes, it’s
unsurprising that the wardrobe
in “Little Women” is one of the
best to hit theaters.
Each
character’s
style
is
distinctly theirs — Jo runs
around
in
pants
and
an
inspiring green writing jacket
that make you yearn to write
alongside her. Amy, Meg and
Beth are seen in a variety of
dresses, scarves and overcoats
that reflect each girl’s desire to
fit in with her classmates, keep
up with her richer counterparts
or endlessly play piano. Not
only that, their styles evolve
as Gerwig takes her audience
between the rosy memories of
childhood to the sophisticated
air that is the present.
—Emma Chang, Daily Arts
Writer
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Arts
Wednesday, January 15, 2020 — 5A
The best moments from
‘Little Women’: A tribute
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Daily Arts Writers
“Music Talks” is a series where
Daily Music Writers give their
takes on the biggest releases in
new music. From picking best
and worst tracks to asking what
makes a record tick, the Music
beat is here to give praise and
give shit to music worth talking
about.
On Oct. 11, when Harry Styles
dropped “Lights Up,” his first
single in almost two years, the
pop music sphere exploded in
anticipation of Fine Line. Styles
told Rolling Stone the album
was about “having sex and
feeling sad.” Well, all the 12–14
year-old One Direction fans
that were stanning Harry Styles
in 2012 are all grown up. That
demographic is all about having
sex and feeling sad now — or at
least joking about those things
on Twitter — so the subject
matter couldn’t be more perfect.
Tack that on to all Styles’
talk
of
taking
psychedelics
during the recording process,
and this record is a recipe for
late-Millennial/early-Gen-Z
euphoria. But does it live up to
the hype? The Music beat broke
it down.
This transcript has been edited
and condensed for clarity.
Dylan Yono, Daily Arts
Writer: OK, let’s start with
the basics. What did you think
of the album? Is it better than
his debut?
Clara
Scott,
Daily
Arts
Writer: I was a big fan of the
album. A lot of people have very
lackluster sophomore albums
— you spend your entire life
working on your first album and
you come up with the second
in three years — but this one is
really amazing. I would argue
that it’s better than his debut,
the variety in this album is
impressive. He did so much
more than the sad-boy rock
thing he did on his first album.
Sam Cantie, Daily Music
Editor: I’m gonna have to
disagree with Clara Scott over
here. I thought that this was
not even close to as good as his
first. His lyrics got cheesy and
simplified, it felt a little bit like
I was reading some Hallmark
cards. And he can do that
because he’s Harry Styles and
he’s creating more of a persona
on this album than focusing on
the music itself.
Jim
Wilson,
Daily
Arts
Writer: Yeah, I think it was
kinda like a 46-minute car
commercial
soundtrack.
I
thought I was gonna like it but it
didn’t quite come through.
Katie Beekman, Daily Arts
Writer: Wow, I’m more on
Clara’s side here. I liked the first
half a lot, but the second half fell
kinda flat for me. In his Zane
Lowe interview, he talked about
taking more risks on this album
and that really came through
in terms of genre blending and
having big moments, so I was
impressed.
Jonah Mendelson, Senior
Arts Editor: I agree with Katie
that the first half was better
than the second half. I thought
it was really enjoyable, and I
liked the singles, and “Golden”
was really successful. But I
think the whole thing was kinda
inconsequential. A lot of the
risks he took — I’m borrowing
a phrase from John Lennon
here — it’s like fancy wrapping
around an empty box.
Best and worst track?
Scott: My favorite is hands
down “Lights Up.” It’s so good.
It was the best first single he
could’ve released. I agree with
Katie and Jonah that the singles
on the first half of the album are
the best here. Especially “Lights
Up” because it’s so atmospheric
and beautiful and it doesn’t have
a traditional song structure
which I really appreciate.
Cantie: I’m gonna say worst
track is “Treat People With
Kindness,” and I know it’s kind
of villainy of me to say —
(all laughing)
Wilson: I didn’t even get that
far, I got to track 10 and was like,
skip.
Cantie: — what I was saying
earlier about the Hallmark-card
writing was most apparent on
“Treat People With Kindness.”
I’d say my favorite track is
“Adore You,” because to bounce
off what Jonah was saying, it
feels like the fanciest wrapping
paper. The singles are the best,
but Harry put out this kind of
sugary,
pink-and-blue
candy
vibe with them and then kinda
left those colors there with
the singles and didn’t follow
through on the aesthetic for the
whole album.
Wilson: Least favorite track
is
definitely
“Watermelon
Sugar.” That song was dumb. My
favorite was “To Be So Lonely,”
the only song I listened to twice.
Beekman: I get what Sam
was saying about the colorful
singles and then it kind of
fading in the second half. In
terms of tracks, I feel like others
might disagree with me but I
really liked “Cherry,” and least
favorite is definitely “Canyon
Moon.” There was just nothing
there for me.
Mendelson: My favorite is
probably “Golden.” He’s most
successful with what he’s aiming
for on that track. And “She” is
his most successful foray into
a different style. I didn’t really
like that stretch from “Cherry”
to “To Be So Lonely.”
In
terms
of
themes,
inspirations and styles (no
pun intended), this album is
all over the place. Other than
Harry Styles, what strings
this album together?
(silence)
Nothing is an acceptable
answer.
Wilson: That’s what I was
gonna say. There’s no cohesion.
Scott: I agree with Sam that
he’s trying to put together an
image that doesn’t necessarily
translate into solid music. I like
the music, but the more I think
about it, it doesn’t connect with
Harry Styles’s image in the way
that he wants to build it. Where
it’s very cinematic, but there
might not be anything behind
the curtain.
As a follow-up to the last
question: Styles dabbles in
folk, soul, funk, psychedelic
rock and of course, pop.
Which of those genres does he
do worst?
Mendelson:
I
think
his
soul attempts are the worst.
Especially when he’s just like,
gospel choir. It’s just not good.
Scott: It’s just kinda like,
“play that funky music white
boy.”
Cantie: Yeah, and there are
lyrics that express how bad that
is too, I wrote this down: When
he says in “Cherry,” “I miss your
accent / I miss your friends,”
that was just like —
Wilson: Might be the wackest
thing ever.
Cantie: — yeah, that was
wack to me.
Scott: I kind of disagree, I
think his folk attempts are the
worst —
Mendelson: Yeah, his folk
attempts are bad.
Scott: — I feel like in his
attempts at soul he’s clearly
putting in effort to pull it off,
but he seems to think folk is just
like, a guy and a guitar. That’s
part of it, but you also have to
have a certain amount of grit
and understanding of the genre.
Especially on “Canyon Moon”
where it’s just like, dude, you’re
not Neil Young, can you chill
out?
Beekman:
Whatever
he’s
doing on “Canyon Moon” and
“Treat People With Kindness,”
that’s where I say “no, please
stop doing that, we’re good.”
Mendelson: Bad lyrics really
shine through on folk songs too.
Scott: I agree, you don’t have
anything to hide it like you do on
heavily produced songs.
Which genre does he do
best? Which would you want
to see him lean into on the
next record?
Scott: It’s no secret that his
pop songs are his best songs.
Cantie: That’s why I like
“Adore You” so much, that’s
what he’s best at.
Mendelson:
In
terms
of
exploring his influences, he’s
best when he’s building off that
’70s-soft-rock-Fleetwood-Mac
sound. There’s a lot of potential
for future growth there.
Cantie: On Twitter when you
see pictures of him with Stevie
Nicks, that grabs people a lot, it
plays into his persona. I think
he wants that image to come
through most.
Wilson: He’s no Stevie Nicks.
Scott: It’s in the blending of pop
and rock that a lot of ’70s outfits did
that he’s best at. You can call it soft
rock, pop rock, whatever, I think
he brings a greater sensibility to
pop music and that makes him so
alluring. But when he strays too far
into bubblegum pop or too gritty
hard rock, it gets kind of weird. He
has a happy medium with a sound
that bands like Fleetwood Mac did
successfully.
‘Music Talks’: A round
table on Styles’ ‘Fine Line’
MUSIC ROUND TABLE
MUSIC ROUND TABLE
DAILY MUSIC WRITERS
Daily Arts Writers
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