This review contains spoilers.
Over the course of its four
seasons, “The Good Place”
kept its audience on the edge
of their seats with one big plot
twist after the next. While this
unusual
sitcom
beautifully
balanced high-stakes conflict
with
individual
character
growth, the finale began with
the show’s biggest questions
already
answered.
From
redesigning the fundamentally
flawed afterlife to reorganizing
The Good Place, all plot points
had been resolved. All that was
left was to spend a supersized
episode
with
the
people,
demons and Janets we have
grown to adore.
Showrunner
and
creator,
Michael
Schur,
has
only
concluded one other show,
“Parks and Recreation,” and
the
similarities
between
these two shows’ finales are
undeniable. If you can recall,
the “Parks and Recreation”
finale served as an epilogue of
sorts, giving viewers a preview
into the future of each of the
ensemble
characters’
lives
and careers. “The Good Place”
replicates this formula, but on
a more timeless scale. Rather
than
leaping
ahead
years,
“The Good Place” reveals the
countless “Bearamys” — how
the show quantifies units of
time in the afterlife — possible
for the main characters. Still,
the message remains the same:
follow each character’s path to
their specific happy endings.
The
penultimate
episode
solved the final problem of The
Good Place: Eternal happiness
has no ending. Eventually, that
happiness becomes mindless.
So, our favorite saviors of the
afterlife created a way out
— once you have completed
everything you ever wished
you could possibly do, you can
peacefully end your existence
— making an infinite afterlife
feel
slightly
less
endless.
Naturally, this episode titled
“Whenever
You’re
Ready”
follows
our
characters’
voluntary, peaceful and chosen
ends of their existences.
While the show’s premise
was
originally
centered
around
protagonist
Eleanor
(Kristen Bell, “Frozen 2”) and
her
inadvertent
placement
into the Good Place, the show
eventually evolved, following
the main characters’ attempts
to
repair
the
inequalities
present in the afterlife. Instead
of one big final plot twist, “The
Good Place” returned to how
it began, before the larger
issues of humanity outweighed
smaller
developments
like
the romance of Jason and
Janet. Endings reveal the true
priorities of television shows.
“The Good Place” resolved
the big questions first so
it could return to where it
has always belonged — with
Eleanor, Chidi, Tahani, Jason,
Michael and Janet. Through its
discussion of moral philosophy
and exploration of ethics in a
just society, “The Good Place”
took an optimistic outlook on
humanity: People can be self-
centered, indecisive, impulsive
and arrogant, but given the
chance they can also learn and
grow. I’ll raise a margarita to
that any day.
The final scene suggests
the greatest reward for living
on earth is the ability to
continuously touch the lives
of those we left behind. As
individuals, we can only hope
our actions will contribute
to making the world a better
place
for
those
who
still
live in it. Yes, it may be as
simple as deciding to take the
garbage out or emptying the
dishwasher when you know it’s
not your turn. But maybe, just
maybe, you were unconsciously
inspired by some random spark
of goodness by someone from
your past. It makes sense that
the character that underwent
the most change gets to say the
final words of the show. In the
words of the demon-turned-
human Michael, “with all the
love in my heart and all the
wisdom of the universe — take
it sleazy.”
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Arts
Wednesday, February 5, 2020 — 5A
‘The Good Place’ moves us
past the afterlife in finale
NBC
JUSTIN POLLACK
Daily Arts Writer
My fingertips were first rolled in
what felt like an ink stamp pad. The
artist then pressed a cold drawing
utensil to the skin of my left arm.
I sat there, sterile, removed from
my own body and experience. My
left arm stuck through the wall,
vulnerable to the gallery’s cool air.
Basel Zaraa’s “As Far As My
Fingertips Take” is an artistic
performance curated by UMS, a
multi-disciplinary arts presenter
affiliated with the University, in
partnership with the University’s
Institute for the Humanities.
“Fingertips”
is
one
of
four
performance titles that comprises
UMS’s “No Safety Net” festival. All
of the performances in “No Safety
Net” deal with socially or politically
relevant issues. “Fingertips” runs
from Jan. 23 to Feb. 9 at the U-M
Institute for Humanities and the
Arab American National Museum
in Dearborn, MI.
The motif of fingertips is
inspired by the Dublin Regulation,
an
EU
database
that
tracks
refugees’
fingerprints.
Quite
often, these refugees would be
sent back to the last country their
fingerprints were recorded in.
Zaraa is an artist and musician,
and a Palestinian refugee born
in Syria. He currently resides
in Birmingham, UK. Tania El
Khoury, a prolific contemporary
experimental
performer
based
in Beirut, commissioned Zaraa
to
create
this
intimate
and
empathy-building
installation.
This performance is based on his
sister’s refugee journey.
UMS programming director
Mary
Roeder
described
the
performance as emotionally hefty
as it is physical, allowing audience
members
to
understand
the
personal refugee journey.
Senior programming director
at UMS, Marc Jacobson described
the performance as an “intimate,
one-on-one,
performance
experience that’s approximately
10 to 15 minutes” for “anyone who
wants to become closer to the
understanding of the refugee crisis
globally.”
“Many of us in the West, me
included, have a sympathetic
response to the global crisis,
but speaking for myself, I’m not
readily in touch with members of
this displaced global community.
After experiencing ‘Fingertips’,
it
becomes
very
personal,
empathetic,” Jacobson said.
When
my
fifteen
minutes
arrived last Thursday night, the
artist’s cold hands adjusted my
arm and fingers for each part of
the drawing. It felt like one of
those childhood games or secret
codes where you try to guess what
word someone was writing on your
thigh or back. The elongated lines
and focused splotches of ink made
me think it was a vine adorned
with flowers and leaves.
As the artist drew on my exposed
arm, old-fashioned headphones
covered the entirety of my ears. I
heard the waves first. The crashing
waters of the Mediterreanian
harmonized with the cawing of
seagulls. Zaara’s voice crooned
through my headphones, narrating
the journey he and his sisters took
through Europe.
He said he was going to play
a song, the English translation
written on the wall above my seat.
The song began with a traditional
wail and instrumentation, then the
artist transitioned into rapping the
second half of the song.
The cold utensil sailing across
my skin felt otherworldly, distant
and sacred. We were offered to
wash our arms and hands in a
basin right after the experience. To
rinse away the experience begged
the question of how the rest of the
world, not personally impacted
by the refugee struggle, decides
to respond to this suffering. It felt
almost disrespectful to erase an
experience like this. I felt that it
deserved to linger and be on the
forefront of my mind for at least
the time the ink remained on my
skin.
After the performance, I told
Zaraa that it felt like going to
confession.
Something
about
the separation with the white
walls and the shadows of the
room recalled a kind of spiritual
cleansing, an acknowledgement
of the vastness of the world and
human experience.
In
the
days
following
“Fingertips,” I looked up how the
refugee crisis has evolved in the
past few years. I also lamented the
drawing’s slow fade on my skin,
saddened every time a shower
or sweater rubbed a certain part
away.
One of the most vulnerable
parts of the experience was the
drawing of a boat attached to a
string drawn from the center of
my palm to the tip of my middle
finger. My arm featured people
all walking in a single direction
carrying backpacks and suitcases,
even the children. They all moved
towards the crook of my elbow
where a line was drawn around
the circumference of my upper
forearm. They seemed to be
walking to the harshly drawn
black line of discrimination and
apathy they faced on their journey.
Roeder
remarked
on
what
lingers in the consciousnesses
of those who participated in
“Fingertips.”
“I think you can intellectualize
things all day long and post on
Facebook that ‘I feel so bad these
things are happening,’ but what
action are you taking? What
impact is that ‘feeling bad’ having?
Does it take having this physical
encounter with someone to find
change in yourself?”
‘As Far As My Fingertips
Take Me’: A performance
COMMUNITY CULTURE REVIEW
COMMUNITY CULTURE REVIEW
NINA MOLINA
Daily Arts Writer
COURTESY OF NINA MOLINA
Needles littering the floor,
desperate
addicts
searching
for a score, shuttered windows
and
crumbling
homes;
the
opening picture author Liz
Moore paints of Kensington
conveys a relentlessly bleak and
hopeless world. Moore’s new
mystery thriller novel, “Long
Bright River,” takes us into
the underbelly of Philadelphia,
into
a
once-respectable
neighborhood now plagued by
the opioid crisis. The sad reality
of opioid addiction is a subject
many authors shy away from in
popular literature, but Moore
digs deep without hesitation. In
her new novel, Moore explores
the harsh truth of addiction and
weaves a gut-wrenching tale of
familial devotion, poverty and
crime.
Told in urgent and concise
prose, “Long Bright River”
follows the story of two sisters
separated
by
circumstance.
The older of the two, Mickey
Fitzpatrick, is a police officer
charged with the impossible
task
of
curbing
crime
in
Kensington. Her sister, Kacey,
surrendered to the temptation
of narcotics at a young age like
her mother before her and now
lives out her days on the streets,
doing just about anything for
a score. Though inseparable
growing up, the two sisters
are estranged because Kacey
is unable to get clean. When
a
string
of
murders
racks
Kensington just as Kacey goes
missing, Mickey, motivated by
sisterly devotion and love, goes
looking for her.
One
of
Moore’s
clearest
strengths is the deliberate and
carefully
measured
manner
in which she constructs the
narrative.
Moore
expertly
divulges
just
enough
information
in
calculated
increments to keep the reader
hungry for more. The story is
told from Mickey’s perspective
on two alternating timelines,
the girls’ childhood (“then”)
and
the
present
(“now”),
where Mickey spends her days
patrolling the streets with her
irritating new partner Eddie
Laffery. The beauty of this
structure is the insight it offers
into why Kacey is the way she
is. We get to see young Kacey,
a bubbly, fierce and passionate
girl who “made friends every
place she went” and who rose
“ardently and often violently to
the defense of those in her class
who were lowest in the pecking
order.” Comparing the bright
teenage Kacey to the lifeless
shell of a person that she
becomes under the influence
of drugs makes the emotional
impact of her downfall all the
more searing.
The
novel
starts
off
slowly, and at first it is hard
to
acclimate
to
Mickey’s
reserved and often pessimistic
personality. However, as events
unfold and the story picks
up, the book becomes almost
impossible to put down. Each
chapter brings new suspects
and a surprising turn of events,
leaving us grasping at straws
until
the
very
last
pages.
Mickey also blossoms into a
three-dimensional
character
as the sacrifices she makes for
her sister and son reveal the
depth of her love for them. The
reader is swept up in a gripping
mystery, speculating alongside
Mickey on who is responsible
for the murders and why Kacey
disappeared.
All of the elements of a good
novel are there: suspense, love,
tragedy and intrigue. But the
most powerful characteristic
of “Long Bright River” is its
depiction of the endless cycle
of addiction. It both humanizes
the victims and provides a raw,
unembellished perspective into
horror and hopelessness of
narcotic dependence. As Moore
beautifully puts is, addicts are
trapped “in a river, no fount
and no outlet, a long bright
river of departed souls.” At
times, fighting addiction seems
futile.
Nevertheless,
small
rays of hope shine through as
Mickey tirelessly fights for her
sister. The lengths she goes to
find Kacey are heartening and
inspiring.
A lot of buzz surrounded the
release of “Long Bright River”
in the literary community, and,
without a doubt, the addictive
tale lives up to the hype. The
novel could ensnare the heart
of any reader in its roller
coaster of emotions. The story
is real, raw and heartfelt, and
Mickey unfolds into a three-
dimensional heroine before
our eyes. It leaves the reader
with a new perspective on
addiction, the inevitability of it
and the seemingly predestined
fate of the addict. The novel
also inspires sympathy for
the victims, who, more often
than not, turn to drugs as
a
result
of
environmental
factors out of their control. We
realize: It could be us, in other
circumstances, in a parallel
life. We avoided this wretched
life through luck, because we
didn’t have family members
who pressured us into narcotic
use or lived in an environment
like Kensington where drugs
are the norm. “Long Bright
River”
reminds
us
of
the
fragility of good fortune and to
cherish what we have, because
for some, even the simple act
of experiencing life sober is a
daily struggle.
‘Long Bright River,’ a gut-
wrenching addiction story
EMMA DOETTLING
For The Daily
But the most
powerful
characteristic
of “Long Bright
River” is its
depiction of the
endless cycle
of addiction. It
both humanizes
the victims and
provides a raw,
unembellished
perspective
into horror and
hopelessness
of narcotic
dependence.
The Good Place
Series Finale
NBC
Now Streaming
TV REVIEW
TV REVIEW
BOOK REVIEW
Long Bright River
Liz Moore
Riverhead Books
Jan. 7, 2020
My fingertips
were first rolled
in what felt like
an ink stamp pad.
The artist then
pressed a cold
drawing utensil to
the skin of my left
arm.