The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Arts
Tuesday, March 10, 2020 — 5
Surrounded
by
Michigan
paraphernalia
in
the
Three
Cats Cafe, Dan Scanlon looks
comfortable and at home because
he is. As someone born and raised
in Clawson, MI, it’s no wonder
Scanlon is eager to talk about
“Onward,”
Scanlon’s
highly
anticipated film based on his
own childhood, in his real-life
hometown.
Scanlon has worked with Pixar
for many years, taking part in many
films such as “Cars,” “Brave” and
“Monsters University.” “Onward,”
however, is the first original Pixar
film that he is directing, and what
makes it even more special is that its
storyline was derived from his own
life. Scanlon, similar to the film’s
protagonist Ian Lightfoot, voiced
by Tom Holland (“Spider-Man:
Homecoming”), lost his father at a
young age and had to learn how to
live his life without him.
When
it
came
to
making
“Onward,” Scanlon said he set out
to address the nagging questions
you have to sit with in the face of
loss. “What would you do if you
could meet someone you lost? What
would you say to them that you
didn’t say before?”
At the same time, Scanlon added,
“You don’t get that opportunity,
sadly … ” What you do get, though,
is the chance to call up the people
“who did more than they had to to
help you become the adult you are
today… if they’re still around and
thank them for what they did.”
Luckily for Scanlon, he had a
supportive older brother, just like
Barley Lightfoot (voiced by Chris
Pratt, “Guardians of the Galaxy”),
and a devoted mother, just like
Laurel Lightfoot (voiced by Julia
Louis-Dreyfus, “Veep”), that he
could rely on. And, by calling on the
experiences and memories that he
had with those valuable people in
his own life, he created a stunning,
realistic and moving film meant for
everyone, not just children.
The beauty of “Onward” lies
in its two central characters, Ian
and Barley. These two brothers
are what Scanlon refers to as “a
different type of brother and a
different type of man.” They are
shamelessly unafraid of being
genuine and heartfelt towards one
another, while still maintaining an
easy, teasing banter. They disregard
any and all expectations and
stereotypes of toxic masculinity.
Ian and Barley have a “sincere,
sensitive relationship” and have no
problem being “vulnerable” with
each other, Scanlon said. Ian’s shy
qualities are well-matched with his
brother Barley’s wildness, and they
have to work together to succeed
in their quest to spend one final
day with the father they barely
remember. Barley’s endless support
of Ian is based on the support
Scanlon received, and continues
to receive, from his own brother
Bill, who “has been such a fan...and
supporter of the movie,” since he
first saw it at the Pixar wrap party.
While the whole film is full
of love and sincerity, there is one
part in particular that will be
remembered as the most touching
scene. In fact, when I asked Scanlon
what he believes is the most iconic,
“where’s my supersuit?” scene
of the film, he didn’t hesitate in
answering “the end.” He purposely
styled it so that the visual aspects
would stand out “even if you have
the sound down.” And he’s right.
Every image, every motion in that
climactic scene has you holding
your breath, even with little to no
sound being heard. That scene
sums up the whole movie for me.
It makes you hug your siblings a
little tighter and look your parents
in the eyes when you thank them
for everything they’ve done. It’s a
reminder of those you have with
you and a tribute to those you no
longer do.
Dan Scanlon talks about
love, family and ‘Onward’
PIXAR
SABRIYA IMAMI
Daily Arts Writer
FILM INTERVIEW
FILM INTERVIEW
You probably haven’t heard of
Brandy Clark before, but you’ve
definitely heard one of her songs.
Between “Follow Your Arrow” by
Kacey Musgraves and Miranda
Lambert’s
“Mama’s
Broken
Heart,” she’s penned hits for
some of the best in the business.
On her third album, Your Life is a
Record, Clark proves she saves her
strongest songwriting for herself.
Often, Clark’s prowess with
words interrupts the song itself.
The listener is forced to take
pause, not because a verse is
particularly weighty, but because
it takes time to unravel a clever
joke. Clark’s nuggets of humor are
everywhere. In “Bad Car” Clark
plays with a common saying to
sing about her car’s dysfunction.
“Yeah, there’s death and taxes,
and the check engine light
blinkin’ on,” she sighs.
Some
lines
are
snicker-
inducing: “Can’t eat this, you can’t
eat that / Is there anything that
ain’t giving cancer to rats?” she
deadpans on “Bigger Boat.” While
she excels at one liners, Clark also
knows how to set a scene. The
chorus of “Long Walk,” a Kacey
Musgraves-reminiscent
kiss-
off to a mudslinging neighbor,
sketches
out
a
progression
of images that run through
your mind like a comic strip.
Simultaneously sharp and campy,
Clark provides her nemesis with
a detailed set of instructions on
how to “take a long walk off a real
short pier.”
Zooming out, it’s clear that
Clark takes the title of her album
seriously. Each song dips into a
pocket of everyday life — and the
way Clark makes normalcy shine
is like spinning hay into gold. In
“Pawn Shop,” she traces the end
of two broken dreams — a woman
pawns off her wedding ring
and a struggling singer pawns
his guitar. But, Clark promises,
when the shop opens again, the
items “will start a new dream
secondhand.”
“Who You Thought I Was”
is the record’s heartbeat. Clark
recounts all of the things she
used to want to do until she met
her significant other — but there’s
a twist. In the bridge the listener
finds out that Clark’s relationship
is over, so what sounds like a love
song at first is suddenly flipped
on its head. This bait and switch
is emblematic of Clark’s artistry
in general. The everyday is
extraordinary and the expected
isn’t what you think — you just
have to pay attention.
The track that expands these
snapshots into a nation-spanning
statement
is
“Bigger
Boat.”
While recognizing the country’s
political polarization, this song
seems to situate Clark on the
sidelines.
Its
instrumentation
is both timeless and playful,
resembling the Disney songs that
Randy Newman, who is featured
on the track, is known for. This
makes his presence on the song a
bit eerie. It’s discomforting to hear
a voice of childhood’s past giving
up on America getting along. But
not so fast. Understanding Clark’s
approach to songwriting suggests
that her call for “a bigger boat”
is sarcastic. What she’s really
calling for is unity.
Despite writing for country
stars, Your Life is a Record is
categorized as singer/songwriter.
This classification makes sense
as most of the songs could easily
fit into any coffee shop playlist.
Instead of featuring banjo licks,
the songs are stripped in a way
that shows off Clark’s voice and
lyrics.
What
does
this
mean
for country music, a genre
experiencing an endless identity
crisis? Most likely it means that
one of its best songwriters knew
that she wasn’t going to get any
airplay with a country record
anyway, so she decided to take the
opportunity to sonically expand.
Clark’s
lyrics
speak
for
themselves. Your Life is a Record
puts a magnifying glass on the
small moments and makes it all
feel big. If your life really is a
record, you would be lucky if it
was half as good as Clark’s is.
Your Life Is a
Record
Brandy Clark
Warner Records
KATIE BEEKMAN
Daily Arts Writer
Brandy Clark magnifies
life’s small, vital moments
WARNER
In her collection of short
stories, “Look How Happy I’m
Making You,” Polly Rosenwaike
captures
the
experience
of
motherhood from all angles.
Rosenwaike
cultivates
her
book’s appeal in the very first
page,
instantly
dismissing
any preconceptions a reader
might have about a book on
motherhood. It would be easy
to write off this book as one for
mothers — or at least for women
—
but
Rosenwaike
clarifies
that this book is for anyone
and everyone by starting her
collection with the line, “We
are all in love with the baby.”
The book draws the reader
in immediately, regardless of
whether or not they have any
special interest in motherhood.
The
narration
defamiliarizes
the experience of interacting
with a baby, saying, “he tracks
our shopworn, overly articulated
faces,” effectively describing the
silly faces we all make at babies
in a way that is beautiful. This
beginning, something we can
all relate to, makes motherhood
accessible and sets the stage
for the arduous journey the
book charts through the lives
of many different versions of
motherhood.
In
a
collection
of
short
stories with different narrators,
maintaining
a
continuity
of
theme from one segment to the
next can be difficult. Not only
does Rosenwaike make it seem
easy, she exploits the different
perspectives in order to force
the
reader
to
reckon
with
the decisions that come with
motherhood. Every character
is understandable to the reader,
from the woman grappling with
her aunt’s death at the same time
as her baby’s birth, to the woman
having an affair with a younger
man right after becoming a
mother.
The
most
poignant
comparison
by
proximity,
however,
was
between
the
stories “Grow Your Eyelashes”
and “Field Notes.” In the first
story, the woman at the center
tries desperately to conceive and
keep a baby, and her failure to do
so is rendered in precise prose.
In the story that directly follows
it, the woman gets pregnant and
decides to have an abortion.
“Decides” is a strong word — it
is already a foregone conclusion.
She is sad about it, as anyone
would be, but she never truly
considers keeping the baby.
Even as a staunch supporter
of a woman’s right to choose,
it is almost impossible not to
feel
accusatory
toward
the
woman in the second story.
The first story puts the reader
in the headspace of someone
for whom having a baby would
be a blessing, so when it is a
curse for the second narrator,
we still are angry with her for
squandering
an
opportunity
the first woman would have
cherished. It produces a strange
feeling in the heart and mind of
someone who has always been
pro-choice, one that is certainly
illuminating. For people of all
political persuasions, however,
it finally depoliticizes the issue
of abortion. Choosing whether
or not to terminate a pregnancy
once again becomes a human
issue, one based on the minutiae
of each woman’s experience,
unable to be explained away by a
single story.
Rosenwaike
tactfully
deals
with
another
topic
that is inextricably linked to
motherhood,
despite
often
going undiscussed: postpartum
depression.
Society
likes
to
paint early motherhood as a
rosy blossoming of the mother-
child relationship fueled by the
joy of watching a tiny person
experience the world for the
first time. This is the case for
some women — but for women
with
postpartum
depression,
that picture can feel like a slap
in the face. Rosenwaike slips
in a short story that deals with
postpartum depression head-on,
right in-between other stories
about
various
tribulations
of motherhood. This is the
first, and perhaps most subtle,
success in dealing with this
topic: she does not separate
it
from
the
others,
which
would make it seem shameful.
Instead, it is just another story
among
stories,
effectively
normalizing
a
stigmatized
subject. Her structure is also
notable — she formats the piece
as a list of sorts, titled “Ten
Warning Signs of Postpartum
Depression,” like a WikiHow
help piece. Her prose pinpoints
the disgust she feels with the
entire
situation,
describing
her baby as “a disappointed
old woman,” her birth as an
experience that hurt so much
“you thought something must be
wrong,” and thoughts of hurting
her baby that occur “within
the realm of the horrifically
possible.” Rosenwaike describes
in
excruciating
detail
the
way support can sometimes
feel inadequate, that all the
expectations
placed
onto
mothers can make one feel like
“a manufacturing fluke.”
On a happier note, the book
manages to capture some of the
rosiness of pregnancy without
sounding
trite
or
clichéd.
Rosenwaike
reflects
on
the
many wonders of witnessing a
tiny being come into existence.
Her
characters
say
things
like “Sometimes I thought my
ballooning body was beautiful”
and “I liked the way my skin
stretched so tightly over my
belly.” They ponder over things
like “a brand-new face” and
“the dawning of all kinds of
consciousnesses.” They convince
us so thoroughly of their reality
and demonstrate so much resolve
and pure awe in the face of
struggles that have existed since
the very beginning of humanity,
that when Rosenwaike casually
says that “the meaning of life”
is “to continue it,” we do not
even question it. Instead, it
seems obvious, undeniable, like a
foregone conclusion.
Polly Rosenwaike depicts
motherhood in many forms
BOOK REVIEW
BOOK REVIEW
EMILIA FERRANTE
Daily Arts Writer
TALKS AT GOOGLE
ALBUM REVIEW
Look How
Happy I’m
Making You
Polly Rosenwaike
Doubleday Books
Mar. 16, 2019
Rosenwaike
reflects on the
many wonders of
witnessing a tiny
being come into
existence.
Scanlon, similar
to the film’s
protagonist Ian
Lightfoot, lost his
father at a young
age and had to
learn to live his
life without him.