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.