Tuesday, April 21, 2020 — 5
Arts
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com

The funny thing is, oranges aren’t really 

even in season right now. Yet lately I can’t 

seem to get enough of them. My family has 

been buying sacks and sacks of oranges; I 

grab one every time I head out on a walk, the 

juice making my fingers freeze in the brisk 

Northeastern April air. Or I have one at 2 a.m., 

the orange residue working its way under my 

fingertips as I wonder why I’m still up. Or my 

sister drops one off for me when I wake up, 

the citrus bursting on my tongue, forming 

my first impression 

of the morning as I 

lie still neatly tucked 

beneath my sheets.

Oranges 
have 

always seemed like 

such a normal fruit 

to me. Orange juice 

is a staple in any 

diner and numerous 

households, 

and 
every 
shitty 

continental breakfast 

at a Marriott near 

the 
airport 
has 

some 
hardened 

oranges 
that 
you 

would need a knife 

to take apart. But 

really good oranges, 

truly 
sweet 
and 

never too soft, those 

seem 
new 
every 

time. Somehow, every orange I’ve eaten 

in quarantine seems like the perfect one. 

Reading a book of poetry in the sun, or 

listening to the midnight rain on my porch by 

candlelight, they are a taste that I can anchor 

these moments to.

Tastes have an ability to carry moments 

with them. Sometimes I ask myself, is this 

quarantine a time worth remembering? But 

these oranges allow me to contain the best 

memories of quarantine, the ones where I 

dropped whatever piles of online homework 

I was working on to pursue exactly what I 

felt like doing, accompanied by an orange. 

Oranges have the ability to save a moment. 

Their sweet citrus contains such sunniness 

within them that it’s almost impossible to 

feel sad while eating them; from the first 

fresh waft of their smell, spurting from the 

peel as it comes apart beneath my fingernails, 

the corners of my mouth start to lift. They 

uniquely recall the Floridian sun beneath 

which they emerge.

All my life, I’ve been someone who has 

taken pleasure in the little details of life, the 

extra strokes that seem especially added on. 

Admittedly, obsessing over the little things 

is not always good, sometimes making me 

overanxious. It has also been my saving grace 

in these times. I notice how the pulpy extracts 

of the orange make the sides of my fingers stick 

together with sweetness. An orange often 

doesn’t break into neat pieces; the papery skin 

splits easily, and you have to quickly shove it 

in your mouth to keep the juice from dripping 

onto your T-shirt. And yet, the slices they 

are created in make them the perfect fruit 

to share. So often, at the end of the night, my 

mother and I 

will split one 

as we lie back 

on the couch, 

pondering 

what 

quarantine 

still holds for 

us. What new 

challenges 

will make us 

weep 
from 

frustration? 

What 
new 

flower 
or 

sunny 
day 

or text from 

a friend will 

make 
us 

huff 
with 

unexpected 

laughter?

While 
I 

know this whole piece might read as some 

weird late night infomercial praising the 

virtues of The Orange (now just $1.25 a 

pound!), it’s really just a small thing that 

brings me flickers of contentment in these 

times. Quarantine leaves room for the small 

things. In place of the wild ecstasy of dancing 

at concerts, I fling myself around my room 

to angry music I listened to at 16 (and laugh 

in nervous embarrassment when a family 

member walks in on me). Instead of treating 

myself to Kosmos or Chela’s, I try my own 

hand at cooking (and bite back tears and long 

strings of expletives when the olive oil jumps 

out of the pan, burning my inattentive hand). 

Instead of spending these increasingly warm 

and sunny afternoons on long hikes with 

friends, I eat oranges and lie on the grass (and 

simply smile when I stain my sleeves with a 

clumsy peeling of the fruit). Yes, every day I 

continue to dream about what will be when 

quarantine ends. But in these instances I am 

peaceful, acknowledging that, regardless of 

quarantine, this is a good moment.

The simplicity of citrus

ROSE SOFIA KAMINSKI

Daily Arts Writer

PIXABAY

A driver’s ed. instructor, a hair stylist, a 

magpie and a rock star meet in a haunted 

mansion during a Satanic ritual. This 

sounds like a bad joke, right? Wrong. It’s 

“Extra Ordinary.”

In “Extra Ordinary,” everyday people 

encounter the spirit world. There is no 

professional exorcist, no medium with a 

tortured psyche, no photon blaster-touting 

Ghostbusters. There’s just Rose. She’s a 

driver’s ed. instructor by day, spiritual 

advisor by night. Maeve Higgins’ (“The 

Rainbow Bridge Motel”) performance 

as Rose is astounding. She can fill a 

single scene with more laughs than most 

A-list stars and you’re bound to love her 

character 
from 

the start.

Rose is a bit 

out of practice 

exorcism-wise, 

though, because 

of a disastrous 

accident 
with 

her father, her 

old partner on 

the ghost beat. 

She’s pulled out 

of retirement by 

Martin, 
played 

by Barry Ward 

(“The 
Fall”), 

whose daughter 

may 
or 
may 

not have been 

selected 
for 
a 

Satanic sacrifice. 

This 
sounds 

like 
typical 

horror 
fare, 

but the story’s 

supernatural 

tropes 
are 

wrapped 
in 

deadpan comedy. 

During a Satanic prayer, Will Forte’s 

(“Booksmart”) 
Christian 
Winter, 
the 

aforementioned rock star, keeps getting 

interrupted by his wife talking about her 

Chinese food. 

The spirits are ordinary, too. They 

haunt recycling bins, potholes: even a 

toaster. Unlike most hauntings, though, 

these shades aren’t out to get anybody. 

They’re just souls who have lost their way. 

“Extra Ordinary” is more realistic than 

most horror movies, in a way. What’s a 

dead person more likely to do: spend years 

coming up with sinister ways to frighten 

people, or try their best to right wrongs, 

look after loved ones or just be plain petty?

“Extra Ordinary” is horror combined 

with realistic, utterly dry humor — 

“The 
Conjuring” 
meets 
“Curb 
Your 

Enthusiasm.” It shouldn’t work, but it 

does. The writing is stupendous, and 

always has a punchline or a plot twist up 

its sleeve, right up until the last line. When 

all is said and done, though, what will be 

remembered are these characters. It’s a 

shame when the credits roll, because you’ll 

wants to keep watching these people and 

their hilarious, ghost-filled lives. Higgens 

and Forte are scene stealers, and their 

absurd characters sing with authenticity, 

which makes their hijinks all the funnier. 

Usually, horror movies are only funny 

when they’re quite bad: think 2006’s “The 

Wicker 
Man,” 

the 
recent 

“Color 
Out 
of 

Space” or pretty 

much any time, 

come to think of 

it, that Nicholas 

Cage is involved. 

Not 
in 
this 

case, 
though. 

In 
“Extra 

Ordinary,” 
the 

two 
genres 

complement 

one 
another. 

The comedy is 

funnier 
when 

juxtaposed 

with terror, and 

the 
horror 
is 

scarier 
when 

it interrupts a 

comedic moment 

that 
lets 
your 

guard down. The 

movie 
is 
also 

unafraid to get 

brutal, 
which 

keeps 
things 

edgy and adds some insane, gore-filled 

slapstick.

“Extra Ordinary” seamlessly blends 

two of the best genres for escaping reality. 

Watching this movie is a great way to 

distract oneself from the terrifying, 

comedy-starved real world. If you don’t 

like horror movies, or thumb your nose 

at comedies, you should give this a try. 

There’s something in it for everyone. 

 There’s even a scene where Will Forte 

sings “Satan … Satannnnn,” while twirling 

around in a kimono and playing an organ. 

It’s fantastic.

The escapism of comedy 
and horror in ‘Ordinary’

ANDREW WARRICK

Daily Arts Writer

ALAMO RECORDS

FILM REVIEW
FILM REVIEW

COMMUNITY CULTURE NOTEBOOK

Extra Ordinary

Cranked Up Films

Virtual State Theatre

While I know this 

whole piece might read 
as some weird late night 
infomercial praising the 
virtues of The Orange 

(now just $1.25 a pound!), 

it’s really just a small 
thing that brings me 
contentment in these 

times.

