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