A relationship’s “spark” is an abstract con-
cept that we love to talk about. Whether it’s 
the reason someone might want to break up 
or it’s why we aren’t going on that second Tin-
der date, the world seems to have collectively 
agreed that it’s the key to a good relationship. 
But what happens when the spark starts to 
fizzle? Or disappears altogether? Some couples 
go to marriage counseling while others might 
turn to less traditional methods of rekindling 
the relationship. In Netflix’s newest film, “The 
Lovebirds,” the answer to this question is mur-
der, of course. 
In “The Lovebirds,” Jibran 
(Kumail Nanjiani, “The Big 
Sick”) and Leilani (Issa Rae, 
“Little”) are recent exes who 
somehow 
find 
themselves 
looking like prime suspects for 
a murder — Jibran had blood 
on his coat (for reasons other than murder), and 
they both fled the scene of the crime. The two 
spend the majority of the film believing that 
their lives are over, despite their innocence. 
Though, logically, or if you watch any crime 
show, the two wouldn’t be suspects, but then 
there would be no movie. As the film progress-
es, the audience watches as Jibran and Leilani 
work to solve the murder while also unraveling 
what went wrong in their relationship. 
As one of Netflix’s more original ideas, “The 
Lovebirds” is full of the hijinks expected of a 
buddy cop film — the two go through a tense 
interrogation, obviously have to change into 
disguises and have a strange interaction with 
some fraternity boys. All the while, Jibran and 
Leilani have to contend with their breakup and 
what that actually means. Given the unique 
circumstances, they’re forced to communi-
cate their issues both with the relationship 
and with the way they each want to go about 

solving the murder. This dynamic provides an 
intriguing path of development for the char-
acters and their relationship. The audience 
watches as the two resynchronize and, though 
they still argue, it’s obvious that the trauma of 
fleeing the cops is a fantastic way to discover a 
communication style. 
The actual murder itself is presented as a 
convoluted conspiracy that really only serves to 
extend the story from a 29-minute sitcom epi-
sode to a feature length film. The murder vic-
tim, casually referred to as “Bicycle” (Nicholas 
X. Parsons, “The Domestics”) throughout the 
film, is wrapped up with some secret, cult-like 
society populated by none other than society’s 
elite. It’s far-fetched and the perfect experience 
to bring a couple back together. 
We all know the senators and 
rich billionaires of the world 
come together in weird ways 
and it’s fun to hypothesize 
that it probably happens with 
everyone in strange masks and 
odd sexual rituals. 
And, despite the complicated nature of cre-
ating a plausible conspiracy, “The Lovebirds” 
still realizes the importance of remembering 
reality. Jibran and Leilani, after a few hours 
in their new life on the run, finally make a pit 
stop at the dinner party they were supposed 
to attend that night. Here, they’re forced into 
their “normal” lives. Lives with issues that, 
after considering their night as criminals, seem 
suddenly trivial. It’s a moment of understand-
ing for both Leilani, Jibran and their relation-
ship as a whole. What’s more entertaining, 
however, is the fact that the leading couple isn’t 
another pair of white people. Instead, we sim-
ply have two actors of color playing prominent 
roles that have little focus on the color of their 
skin. They’re simply two people that might be 
arrested for murder. And while this may seem 
like an unimportant detail, it shows Holly-
wood’s progressive steps towards more inclu-
sive casting decisions. 

After I was born, my mother bought me 
timeless editions of her favorite books for me 
to read. A book lover and librarian, she hoped 
that I would be a reader like her and love the 
books she cherished throughout her life. On the 
inside cover each book, she inscribed my name 
on Winnie the Pooh book plates, and waited 
for the day when I would read them books my 
mother left me. I promised myself when I read 
them I would read them all at once, and the 
opportune moment arrived when quarantine 
began.
On the bottom right shelf of the chipping 
bookcase in my bedroom is a row of books my 
mother bought for me after I was born. The 
books, spanning from Jane Austen’s “Mans-
field Park” to Margery Williams’s “The Vel-
veteen Rabbit,” are books that stuck with her 
throughout her life, books she hoped her kids 
would love as much as she did. Some of the col-
lection I have read before, but they weren’t the 
timeless editions my mom bought me. These 
intimidated me — their thick, glossy pages and 
sturdy covers juxtaposed the selection of flimsy 
paperbacks stuffed into the other shelves. They 
looked and felt too real, too capable of swallow-
ing me whole. So for 19 years I danced around 
them, each of us conscious of the other, but at a 
safe distance away. Whenever I had the courage 
to open them up, I decided I must read them all 
at once. 
I returned home from school, and opened 
my bedroom door. My bookcase is the first 
thing I saw. The second were the books from 
my mother, and it seemed unlikely that I would 
have another opportune moment like this.
I started with Louisa May Alcott’s “Little 
Women” — a book whose 1994 movie adapta-
tion I had watched about a year ago with my 
mother, and whose 2019 version I watched 
alone last winter. I already knew the basic 
story, which is what drew me to it. I knew I 
would love Jo and cry for Beth, but the emo-
tions and realizations those movies sparked did 
not match the magic the book pulled me into. I 
was completely right to be afraid of being swal-
lowed whole. “Little Women” captured me 
completely. 
I think it was the overwhelming sense of 
familiarity — a sort of déjà vu I felt nearly every 
chapter, like I had read these crisp pages before. 
I felt inexplicably connected to the characters, 
as if I were a fifth sister reveling in Jo’s antics 
and Meg’s first love. But the more I read, the 
more I saw that the reflection I found was not 
of myself, but rather my mother and the wis-
dom and counsel she shared with me through-
out my life. I started to wonder if the ideas of 
Marmie were what inspired her in her mother-
hood, but came to conclude that it wasn’t that 

at all. The innate generosity and unwavering 
love of Marmie cannot be replicated, it must be 
rooted in oneself. The same goodness is in my 
mother. She blossoms with unselfishness and 
unconditional love. 
My mother and I have always been oddly 
close. While first my mother, she has always 
been my closest friend, too, and although I 
believe her to share the virtue of Marmie, 
the relationship I thought to most reveal my 
own with her was not that of a daughter and 
Marmie, but instead that of Jo and Beth. 
The relationships between the four sisters 
are all varied and complex. Jo is closest to Beth, 
though they have rather opposite personalities 
and values. Jo is hardheaded and vigorously 
ambitious, while sweet Beth is known for her 
shyness and quiet nature. Jo was my mother’s 
favorite character. Beth is mine. 
I saw my mother so plainly in Beth. Like 
Beth, she is “shy and quiet, sitting in corners 
till needed, and living for others so cheerfully 
that no one sees the sacrifices.” She lives for 
her children, for her family, for her friends and 
for strangers. She is the connection between 
us, watering us all with her support and warm 
embraces.
Sometimes I am afraid she doesn’t see that, 
as Beth failed to. It’s frustrating to love someone 
who is blinded to their own brilliance. How do 
you convince someone they deserve the world 
when they find themselves unworthy of it? Or 
worse, what can you give someone who wants 
for nothing? I heard my frustrations echoed in 
Jo’s overbearing efforts to fulfil the happiness 
of her closest friend. When Beth was sick again, 
Jo fell sick too with vain hopes. Jo couldn’t save 
her, but she could love her. And Beth wanted 
nothing more than to be loved.
Seeing past herself was never one of Jo’s 
strong points, and I fear it is neither one of 
mine. She learned countless lessons from Beth 
in just the nature of her, as I do my mother. The 
two were incredibly different, yet these dif-
ferences never hindered their understanding. 
Being around each other made both stronger. 
And maybe that’s why my heart broke so 
dearly when Beth passed — the sorrow of a loss 
of someone who is a part of you. Yet, it wasn’t 
her death specifically that ruined me. It was the 
moment she shared with Jo some weeks before 
her death that did it. Beth, sick on the couch, 
worries that she hasn’t done enough with her 
life when she spots one of Jo’s poems. It asks 
Beth to leave behind her patience, her courage 
and her unselfish nature when she goes. I see 
my mom worry as well about the legacy she will 
leave when her time comes, and I only hope she 
can be comforted by how much I love her as Jo 
loved Beth; that as Beth is Jo’s “conscience,” she 
is mine, and I spend every day trying to resem-
ble her. 

7

Thursday, May 28, 2020
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com ARTS

‘The Lovebirds’ made 
me want to be framed 

SUMMER SERIES
SUMMER SERIES

Reading my mother’s 
copy of ‘Little Women’

LILLIAN PIERCE
Daily Arts Writer

Read more at michigandaily.com

EMMA CHANG
Daily Arts Writer

PARAMOUNT PICTURES CORPORATION

FILM REVIEW
FILM REVIEW

The Lovebirds

Netflix

