The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Arts
Thursday, January 23, 2020 — 5
The lasting odyssey of ‘Uncut Gems’
FILM NOTEBOOK
ANDREW WARRICK
Daily Arts Writer
“Everything will be OK” is the kind
of thing we tell someone when one of
two situations has occurred: Someone is
irrationally caught up in a minute problem,
or everything will absolutely not be OK. Yet,
the new comedy from Australian comedian
Josh Thomas (“Please Like Me”) walks a
thin line between these two situations —
between being completely helpless and
being just self aware enough to make it out
alive — and comes out deftly chock-full of
heart.
So, their dad is going to die. “Their” is
three siblings: Nicholas (played by Thomas),
a slightly hysteric gay kid from Australia
visiting his father in America, his sister
Genevieve (Maeve Press, “Evil Lives Here”)
and their sister Matilda (Kayla Cromer,
“Blood Orange”), who has autism and
struggles with social cues. They don’t know
their dad is going to die at first. But on the
day that Nicholas is preparing to leave for
Australia again, his dad (Christopher May,
“The Hero”) tells him he might not want
to get on the plane — who is going to take
care of his sisters? Well, Dad has a list, but
Nicholas is the obvious choice. Nicholas has
a lot of issues, clearly; he shared all his issues
on a date with Alex (Adam Faison, “Grace
and Frankie”) in one breathless motion.
Over banana pudding, they all decide that
Nicholas will take care of the girls even
though he is, admittedly, not the best choice.
And then Dad dies, halfway through the
episode.
One of the things that’s so neat about
“Everything’s Gonna Be Okay” is how
candid it is. From the way the father explains
his situation, to the kids’ reservations about
Nicholas’s parenting abilities, everything
is straightforward. In the mode of improv
comedy, the characters accept events at face-
value, as if none of it is out of the ordinary,
as if their father isn’t actually dying from
pancreatic cancer. Even character traits —
from Nicholas’s sexuality to their father’s
gross oversight in waiting to tell his children
for so long that he was going to die — aren’t
dwelled on. Every character is independent,
with his or her own self-assured identity.
Perhaps this is helped most by Cromer’s
stellar performance as Matilda. Cromer
herself is on the spectrum. The sincere and
honest treatment of autism on the show is
a breath of fresh air. It isn’t something that
gets in the way of the plot, and it doesn’t drag
characters down. It is simply a component
of the show, something characters are
just aware of. Nicholas’s sexuality is
treated with the same respect. Nothing is
dwelled on.
They don’t even dwell on their father’s
death. The funeral is a jovial, slightly
awkward event, where Nicholas attempts
to dodge condolences and Matilda delivers
an unconventional eulogy. When they come
back to the house, they’re all sad, but not
because their dad’s dead. Instead they move
forward, tackling their issues in the moment.
The episode ends with the siblings dancing
— Nicholas wants a hug, but Matilda doesn’t
like hugs. Nicholas and his sisters stuff their
hands in the condolences bouquets and toss
the petals into the air, dancing as they fall
around. And, honestly, everything seems
‘Everything’s Gonna be OK’ is OK
TV REVIEW
My mom is an art teacher,
so I’ve had no choice but to be
surrounded by art my whole
life. Every family vacation, my
mom made a point of scoping
out the nearest art museum and
marching me and my brother
through the exhibits. She spent
hours quizzing us on the likes of
Claude Monet and Edgar Degas,
explaining
the
differences
between realism and surrealism
and putting museum tour guides
to shame. She skipped the whole
Disney princess nonsense and
instead taught me to idolize Frida
Kahlo and Georgia O’Keeffe.
When I was in the fifth grade, my
mom opened her own art studio
and started a small business
teaching art classes and hosting
workshops. The majority of my
weekends during middle school
were spent shuffling in and out
of her studio, watching her teach
other little girls about Kahlo
and O’Keeffe. I felt proud to tell
my friends that my mom owned
her own business; having that
space to entertain my creative
spirit while spending time with
my mom was a true blessing.
I quickly grew to love the way
her studio always smelled of
turpentine
and
constantly
hosted a gaggle of high-pitched,
tiny artists-to-be.
A
year
passed,
and
as
the
aches
and
agonies
of
adolescence
commenced,
my
mom’s charming little art studio
didn’t seem so charming to me
anymore. It was at this same time
that Instagram was created and
every middle schooler became a
content creator overnight. Like
every other brace-faced girl in
my sixth grade class, I was quick
to subscribe to this new age of
digital art. I began to discover
the difference between what
signifies “art” versus what can
be deemed as “artsy.” It’s those
two little letters that draw the
distinction between da Vinci
and the dreaded VSCO girl.
Suddenly, art shifted from being
a central pillar of my relationship
with my mom to being a vehicle
for what every adolescent strives
to do during those hellish years:
relate to her friends. Overnight,
there was this new thing on our
phones that would allow us to
fabricate and broadcast the lives
we wished we had. We finally
had a way of escaping our sad,
middle-schooler existence. We
could be popular, we could be
artsy, as long as our Instagrams
made us look that way.
Once my friends and I made our
respective Instagram accounts,
we began our honorable pursuit
of artsy excellence measured in
likes and followers. We would
make an event out of “getting
cute,”
which
usually
meant
sporting something neon from
Target and going out to exploit
what little our suburb in central
Indiana had to offer resembling
an arts and culture scene. We
would spend hours weaving in
and out of our downtown’s brick
streets, exploring a boutique,
then an antique store and then
another
boutique,
searching
for anything that sparked our
inner artsy. Once that got old,
we
would
venture
beyond
the suburb’s Main Street to
museums in Indianapolis. We
made a habit out of going to the
Indianapolis Museum of Art,
not to actually look at the art,
but to pose in front of it. We
would stand in front of countless
paintings
and
sculptures,
hand on hip, maybe make a
kissy face and take Instagram
pictures. This was all in the
name of converting enduring,
exceptional pieces of fine art
into
something
we
deemed
insta-worthy — of making art
artsy. The same pieces I saw in
my mom’s textbooks and heard
about over and over again in the
lessons she taught at her studio
became nothing but background
visuals to me.
Over winter break, my two
best high school friends and
I returned to the same art
museum and, luckily, we didn’t
totally revert to our old habits.
No kissy-faces were made. We
saw all the art that we could
in the 45 minutes before the
museum
closed,
taking
the
occasional picture of new pieces
we saw. We came across the same
Georgia O’Keeffe exhibit we
had been going to since middle
school. We only then realized
that maybe there’s something
more to all those flowers and
pelvis-shaped “animal bones”
she painted. We let out some
embarrassed giggles as an old
couple nearby glared at us. The
vulvic imagery was suddenly
screaming at us from the walls
of the museum. We were seeing
her art in a whole new way. We
were seeing it beyond the limits
of the Instagram filters that had
once dominated our perspective
in middle school.
I’d like to think that moving
away to college and gaining some
more life experience allowed me
to ditch the idea that artistic merit
and life’s value were measured
on scales of insta-worthiness.
But if I know anything for sure,
it is that while art and artsy-ness
may carry completely different
connotations in society, both
ideas have been steadfast in their
ability to connect me with the
people in my life whom I love
most— my mom, my friends and
Georgia O’Keeffe included, of
course.
The line between
‘art’ and ‘artsy’
COMMUNITY CULTURE COLUMN
GRACE TUCKER
For The Daily
About ten minutes into “Uncut Gems,”
I wondered if I was on drugs. I wasn’t, but
the symptoms were all there. I couldn’t
understand much of what was going on,
but what I did comprehend was completely,
almost exhaustingly insane.
The movie began normally enough, with
a team of Ethiopian miners digging out a
stone encrusted with colorful opals. The
camera zoomed in on one of the rock’s
gems, and it became a cosmic field of
brilliant, shining colors. Then, somehow,
the interdimensional lights morphed into
Adam Sandler’s (“Grown Ups”) colon. As
the movie continued, its diamond encrusted
Furbies, swirling synth soundtrack, rapid
fire dialogue and appearance of The
Weeknd did nothing to help.
Maybe, I thought, someone had spiked
my drink.
“Uncut Gems” is a wild ride, perhaps the
craziest of the year. On paper, it’s a simple
premise: a man wants to make it big by
auctioning a rare diamond and in doing
so pay the debtors that threaten him. Yet
there’s something more to the movie that
both clouds and colors this simple story,
giving it a bizarre, cosmic sense of import.
While it was hard to pin down while I was
in the theatre, I later realized that I’d seen
this sort of thing before.
What other stories take real world events
and imbue them with crazy, mythological
twists and turns? Epics, like Dante’s
Inferno or The Odyssey, do. You’re probably
thinking something like, “Doesn’t a story
have to be ancient and fantastical to be an
epic?” or even “How could you put Adam
Sandler and epic in the same sentence?”
However, even with these valid concerns,
“Uncut Gems” has unquestionably epic
traits. According to Penlighten, an epic’s
hero is “a figure of heroic stature or
national significance” and someone who
“faces opponents and performs courageous
deeds that are valued by the nation.” Adam
Sandler’s Howard Ratner performs this role,
but instead of winning wars or travelling
through the underworld like Odysseus or
Aeneas, he fights in the high-stakes jewel
market and basketball-gambling circuit.
While Ratner’s sheer greed may come
off as heinous, it’s distinctly American.
American cultural heroes are almost always
defined by their materialistic desires —
from Jay Gatsby to Kim Kardashian. Ratner
represents this tenacious drive for cash,
deemed heroic by mainstream America.
Like the epic heroes before him, Ratner
never gives up on his quest, even when
threatened with torture and death.
An
epic
hero’s
travels
encounters
“supernatural or other worldly forces”
who “play an active part in the actions of
the heroic character.” While there are no
gods, angels or demons in “Uncut Gems,”
there are plenty of celebrities. I’ve already
mentioned The Weeknd, but there’s also
Kevin Garnett playing a version of himself.
These famous faces are not just camoes.
In “Uncut Gems,” celebrities are major
characters that influence the narrative like
the Greek gods in “The Odyssey” or the
demons in Dante’s “Inferno.”
If “Uncut Gems” is an epic, one must
wonder why. What are writer/director duo
the Safdie brothers doing by using this
convention? After the film, I realized that
our culture has swapped epic battlefields
fought by soldiers in golden armor with
casinos populated by people in gold chains.
Gods too have been replaced by their
modern equivalents — sports and movie
stars.
As much as we like to pretend we’re
more civilized in 2020, that the cell phone
has replaced the scroll, certain things will
always be the same. Money changes hands,
battles are fought and people die. Yet
there’s still love, comedy and victory. A day
in the life of humanity is a spectrum that
runs from heinous to holy. Most stories take
a stance, portraying the world as black and
white, or one of the two, and choose genres
with neat, clear borders that make the world
simpler. Epics, however, embrace life’s
moral chaos and its endless contradictions.
They take what is most beautiful, ugly,
exciting and boring and paint a cosmic yet
simultaneously down-to-earth portrait of
the human race unlike any other narrative.
While the form is centuries old, “Uncut
Gems” proves that it still has centuries left.
All I can do is hope that the next one has just
a little more diamond-encrusted Furbies.
MAXWELL SCHWARZ
Daily Arts Writer
The blurb on the back of Tarryn
Fisher’s “The Wives” describes the book
as “shocking” and “twisted.” I can’t help
but agree. I was so “shocked” by the
ending that I must’ve read the last two
pages several times just to understand
how “The Wives” went from a delicious
thriller to something resembling a low-
budget Lifetime movie.
“The Wives” is written from the
perspective of Thursday, a young nurse
living in Seattle. Early on, we learn that
Seth, Thursday’s husband, visits her
every Thursday (a point of confusion for
me because I assumed her nickname was
Thursday). On Monday and Tuesday, he
visits his other wives. Legally, Seth is not
married to these other women, but he’s
their husband in every other sense of the
word. Thursday is initially compliant
with this strange relationship. You see,
she’s aware that Seth has other wives,
recognizing that Seth must get his other
needs (i.e. a baby) fulfilled by another
woman. In fact, she willingly competes
against Monday and Tuesday, as if their
polygamy were merely a bizarre episode
of “The Bachelor.” She dubs Tuesday as
Seth’s first “selfish” wife, jabbing at her
inability to cook and even jokingly asking
Seth one night if it was “Pizza for dinner
again?” Thursday, in contrast, revels in
her mastery of the kitchen, a skill that
she views as making her a better wife.
In the first chapter, we get a glimpse
into the “picturesque” side of Thursday
and Seth’s marriage — Thursday’s lavish
dinner (a juicy rack of lamb served with
oranges and cream), a back-and-forth
of flirty banter and a night of hot sex.
I was hooked. I wanted to see their
precariously-held relationship crumble.
I wanted the cat-fights between Monday,
Tuesday and Thursday. I wanted the
dark secrets to resurface. Because
while Thursday is aware of Seth’s other
wives, she doesn’t know who they are.
Thursday’s happenstance finding of
a carefully folded piece of paper in
Seth’s jacket with an appointment for
“Hannah” takes the readers on a journey
that circumvents everything we thought
we knew.
Devoid of flowery prose, the blunt
writing style made it easy for readers
to get reeled into the mind of Thursday.
There were no lengthy paragraphs, no
heavy themes to dissect. Reading “The
Wives” was like listening to the ravings
of that one eccentric friend. I found
myself questioning time and again,
who’s telling the truth? Thursday… or
Seth? “The Wives”’ restriction to just
the perspective of Thursday intensifies
mystery and thrill at the expense of a
carefully plotted novel.
On
paper,
“The
Wives”
had
everything that I would normally find
enticing: a dark, sexy relationship, long
(almost pornographic) descriptions of
food, a mound of buried secrets and
a jaw-dropping twist. Except for the
relationship (and maybe the food, but
I’m picky!), the rest of the cliches weren’t
quite as well executed. The climax comes
a little too early and it’s a dumpster fire
of twist after twist revelations as if we’re
watching a parody of a dramatic unmask.
Wait… it was actually ME this whole
time! The latter half of “The Wives”
does a disservice to the slow-burning
thrill of the first. I kept reading with
morbid curiosity, hoping my terrible
predictions didn’t come true. It was
worse than I could’ve imagined. My
brain was a scrambled mess when I
reached the final “twist” and “shocking”
conclusion. Above all, I was confused
and disappointed. “The Wives” had set
the stage for an expert psychological
thriller. A novel that could’ve explored
the innermost darkness of the human
psyche. Instead, “The Wives” relied on
cheap thrills to get to the finish line.
While I wasn’t satisfied with the
ending of “The Wives,” I still enjoyed the
book. After a month-long reading hiatus
(yes, I know. I’m disappointed with
myself too), “The Wives” succeeded in its
promise as “a thriller you won’t be able
to put down!” I finished this book in one
sitting, dying to know the ending.
‘The Wives’ is a standard thriller but hard to finish
SARAH SALMAN
Daily Arts Writer
I couldn’t understand
much of what was
going on, but what I
did comprehend was
completely, almost
exhaustingly insane.
From the way the
father explains his
situation, to the
kids’ reservations
about Nicholas’s
parenting abilities,
everything is
straightforward.
BOOK REVIEW
A24
WIKIMEDIA COMMONS