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.

