 Wednesday, September 2, 2020 — 11
Arts
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com

Animated classic ‘Mare’ 
now streaming in the U.S.

In 
a 
parallel 
world, 

moviegoers, 
blissfully 

unaware of the COVIDs and 
the Faucis and the curves — 
flattened or otherwise — are 
settling down in front of the 
silver screen at their favorite 
theater for a rare Hungarian 
treat.

Their throats and noses 

gloriously 
exposed, 
these 

parallel-people 
are 
being 

dazzled by a tale of mythic 
proportions: 
haloed 
heroes 

travel across realms to save 
fairy royalty from the clutches 
of dragons with a strange 

fixation on securing mates 
of a decidedly non-draconic 
nature (isn’t there any love 
amongst the dragons?). But 
these 
inter-species 
affairs 

shouldn’t come as a surprise 
— this is the 1981 animated 
odyssey “Son of the White 
Mare,” from the Hungarian 
filmmaker Marcell Jankovics 
(“Johnny Corncob”), and the 
title is not exactly figurative.

The rest of us have to settle 

for being dazzled on our 
laptops. 
“Mare” 
premiered 

almost 40 years ago, but 
August 
marked 
its 
first-

ever premiere in the United 
States. 
Originally 
intended 

for theaters, the switch was 
made to local theaters’ virtual 

platforms 
(hosted 
through 

Vimeo) once the pandemic 
hit. “Mare” is something of 
a classic among animation 
aficionados, the psychedelia 
it 
provides 
showcasing 

the 
unique 
and 
limitless 

possibilities of the animated 
medium. Its U.S. premiere, 
Vimeo or not, is long overdue.

Based on a 19th century 

Hungarian epic poem and the 
folktales of the nomadic Avar, 
Scythian and Hunnic peoples, 
“Mare” presents a simple story 
with simple fairy-tale logic. 
Once upon a time there was a 
horse who gave birth to three 
superhuman 
boys 
named 

Treeshaker, 
Stonecrumbler 

and Irontemperer, so named 

JACOB LUSK
Daily Arts Writer

ARBELOS FILMS

‘You’re basic!’ and its 
gendered implications

The viral ballet video 

we misunderstood

There are few eras more difficult 

in a woman’s life than adolescence. 
Within these years, every action 
she takes is analyzed and critiqued, 
not just by friends, parents and 
teachers, but by society as a whole. 
In the past few years, one common 
critique has been directed at 
young women: You’re basic. From 
Snapchat filters to song lyrics, 
“basic” has become a foundational 
slang term for young people of 
the 2010s. So what 
does 
the 
term 

mean? 
For 
many, 

calling 
someone 

basic 
recalls 
the 

Ugg boots-wearing, 
pumpkin 
spice 

latte-drinking 
girls 

of 2015. Over time, 
these “basic bitches” 
have evolved beyond 
their original form, 
becoming the image 
of anyone deemed a 
follower. Or, for the 
most part, any young 
woman that dares to 
have interests. 

I want to take a 

look back at history 
— the year 1964, 
to be exact. In the 
music 
industry, 

this year would be 
the catalyst to the 
British Invasion, as The Beatles 
performed on The Ed Sullivan 
Show and threw America into a 
frenzy. When you look at images 
from this iconic moment, they do 
not show the cliché Beatles fan 
we might picture today. There 
are no 54-year-old white men 
in faded ringer tees lamenting 
over the death of “real music.” 
In fact, it’s quite the opposite. 
“Beatlemania” was characterized 
by screaming, crying, obsessing 
teenage girls. Yet this did nothing 
to discredit the band, and they 
are still remembered today as 
one of the greatest groups of all 
time. Ironically, today a teen 
girl wearing a Beatles shirt is 
usually scoffed at by exactly 
that cliché fan. And if they can’t 
name the title of the first demo 
off of a scrapped album that John 
Lennon wrote in 1963 well, then, 
they can’t even call themself a 
fan.

This 
disdain 
for 
alleged 

imposters 
stretches 
beyond 

popular 
music. 
Teen 
girls 

listening to Led Zeppelin are try-
hards. Electronic fans are festival 
hoes. Rap fans are bandwagoners. 
Name any genre and it conjures 
the 
face 
of 
someone 
who 

represents 
something 
wrong 

with the fans of that style, and 
all too often, that face is young 
and feminine. And all too often, 
it is the men of a particular 
fanbase who scoff at their female 
counterparts as if they are of less 
worth and credibility than them.

You may be thinking, “Hey, 

it’s really not that deep.” And 
in some ways, you would be 
correct. Calling someone basic 
has become so common the word 
barely has meaning anymore, and 
there are much more harmful 
words and actions thrust at 
women — so many, that talking 
about them could become an 
entire anthology. But ridiculing 
any interests of a young growing 
girl can be impactful in ways 
beyond just forcing them to spend 
summers listening to sad indie 
white boys instead of Megan 
Thee Stallion. Everybody has an 
individuality complex: the desire 
to be special, to be one-of-a-kind. 
To be able to say “I liked that 
show years ago” or “I wore that 
shirt first” and somehow derive 
superiority 
from 
their taste. 

This superiority often manifests 
itself as internalized misogyny, 
actively rejecting femininity or 
what are traditionally considered 
feminine interests because they 

inherently see womanhood and 
everything associated with it as 
less than. 

At least in my life, dealing 

with internal misogyny can be 
an everyday battle, especially 
when many older generations 
of women base their worldview 
in it. I buried my nose in books 
and barely brushed my hair as a 
child because I thought caring 
about looks would mean I was 
superficial and stupid. And these 
mantras 
never 
end. 
Women 

should cover up to make a man’s 
life easier. Women shouldn’t have 

ambition 
because 

that 
hurts 
their 

family. Women need 
to wear dresses and 
makeup and keep 
their hair long to 
be pretty. Women 
are 
forced 
into 

little 
boxes 
that 

others 
construct 

for them in order to 
be accepted, and in 
order to preserve 
such a system, they 
must 
constantly 

have their worth 
attacked. 

I 
have 
a 

radical 
request: 

Just 
let 
women 

live. 
Someone’s 

intelligence 
and 

worth as a person 
is not determined 
by the culture they 

consume 
or 
produce. 
Being 

“basic” does not exist. Whether 
one views themself as alternative 
or mainstream or somewhere 
in between, there are a million 
other people in the same position 
as them. There are enough forces 
acting against the interests of 
women, we don’t need to drag 
each other down as well. Watch 
“Love Island” with your friend 
in the Slipknot shirt or throw 
on your Air Force 1’s to go see 
that new foreign film with the 
girl from class. Individuality is 
a waste of time when there is a 
world of interests to be tried out 
and different people with whom 
to engage. If all else fails, get a 
group together and stand in your 
local record store comparing 
One Direction to The Beatles; 
sometimes it’s nice to just have a 
laugh.

Daily Arts Columnist Samantha 

Della Fera can be reached at 
samdf@umich.edu.

SAMANTHA DELLA FERRA

Daily Arts Columnist

because they can shake trees, 
crumble stones and temper 
iron with their bare hands, 
et cetera, et cetera. At one 
point an adolescent 
Treeshaker says to 
his 
equine 
mom, 

“An old man told me 
to ask you to nurse 
me for seven more 
years and then I 
will be strong!” and 
she just goes with 
it. And in classic 
mythological 
fashion, 
every 

narrative 
obstacle 

occurs three times 
(the 
third 
time 

usually being the 
charm).

But 
these 

unsophisticated 
story beats are easy 
to forgive — myths 
are usually fluid, 
often 
simple 
and 

almost always silly 
at their core (even 
when 
plumbing 

grimdark 
depths). 

“Mare” is a story 
of 
mythic 
logic 

but 
psilocybin 

proportions. 
From 

beginning 
to 
end, 
color, 

sound and shape crash in 
a 
phantasmagoric 
display, 

sampling the very best of 
French 
classic 
“Fantastic 

Planet,” 
the 
Beatles-driven 

“Yellow 
Submarine” 
and 

that 
weird 
alcohol-induced 

trip in “Dumbo.” The art 
style 
is 
simple 
— 
largely 

solid colors and flat shapes 
— but in motion the setting 
and 
characters 
twist 
and 

shimmer and transmogrify. In 
one particularly remarkable 
segment, colors pulsate as a 
horse’s womb enlarges into 
a great cosmic tree only to 
morph back into that same 

horse’s vulva as a little baby 
boy pops out and shifts into 
a panorama of the night sky 
whose stars transform into 

the sweat and tears of the 
proud mare as she licks her 
newborn colt.

The miracle of childbirth!
Jankovics 
matches 
the 

psychedelic 
display 
with 

expert choices in art direction 
that marry myth to modernity 
— the sinister dragons that 
Treeshaker and his brothers 
must vanquish are not the 
scaly reptiles of yore but are 
fashioned 
after 
machines 

of war and cyclopean cities. 
These flourishes make the 
age-old 
story 
fresh 
and 

interesting, but unfortunately 
these modern touches don’t 
extend too deep, as “Mare” 

peddles 
in 
the 
geriatric 

gender politics required of 
almost any mythos story, with 
damsels simultaneously being 

in 
distress 
and 

screwing 
over 

the whole world 
in 
Eve-fashion. 

Treeshaker 
fashioning 
a 

sword 
from 

another 
man’s 

beard 
and 

swooshing 
it 

around 
between 

his legs isn’t too 
subtle 
either, 

but 
can 
one 

really 
expect 

an 
adaptation 

of myth to not 
feature 
heavy 

phallic imagery?

Animation 

is 
often 
at 
its 

best 
when 
it 

accomplishes 
something 
live 

action 
cannot. 

“Mare” is a firm 
example of such 
a film, a visual 
journey 
that 

should 
satisfy 

mythology 
nuts, 

cartoon geeks and anyone 
looking for a brief sojourn in a 
parallel world.

ZOE PHILLIPS

Daily Arts Columnist

The rest of us have 
to settle for being 

dazzled on our 
laptops. “Mare” 
premiered almost 
40 years ago, but 
August marked its 
first-ever premiere 

in the United 

States.

The world first saw Anthony 

Mmesoma Madu dance back in 
June — his teacher and studio-
founder Daniel Owoseni Ajala 
posted a video of the 11-year-old 
student turning and leaping in 
the rainy outdoors of his native 
Nigeria. The boy’s bare feet 
propelled him off the muddy 
ground through an impressive 
combination of classical ballet, 
and the clip soon went viral. In 
the United States and Europe, 
professional dancers with large 
followings 
on 
social 
media 

reposted the video and offered 
words of admiration for Madu’s 
tenacity. New York City Ballet 
superstar Tiler Peck invited him 
to join her as a guest on her daily 
IGTV ballet classes. Viola Davis 
posted the video to her Instagram, 
and Nigerian journalist Fade 
Ogunuro announced over Twitter 
that she planned to pay for the 
rest of Madu’s academic expenses 
through the end of college. Earlier 
this month, the American Ballet 
Theatre 
Jacqueline 
Kennedy 

Onassis School offered him a 
full scholarship to their virtual 
summer 
program, 
including 

additional funding for his internet. 

The news coverage started 

quickly. BBC, NPR, Washington 
Post, Good Morning America, 
Reuters, People Magazine and 
TIME make up only a partial list 
of publications that covered the 
story. This attention makes sense; 
Madu’s is a tale of opportunity in 
a world currently stricken by loss. 
The dance industry in particular 
has 
already 
hemorrhaged 

millions, if not billions, of dollars 
in the wake of waves of COVID-
19 and there continues to be no 

clear date for the safe reopening of 
theaters and performance spaces. 

When the ABT JKO School’s 

director 
Cynthia 
Harvey 

announced Madu’s scholarship, 
she touched on this context. 

“Here, 
we’re 
complaining 

about not being able to open 
our buildings,” she told the The 
Cincinnati Enquirer. “But in that 
video, I saw a boy who was a 
perfect example of the tenacity 
someone can have when they 
have love and a dream. It was 
immediately obvious how much 
determination he had.” 

Madu’s work ethic can indeed 

feel humbling in an environment 
stricken 
with 
complaints 

surrounding 
the 
discomfort 

of dancing in one’s own air-
conditioned living room. The 
imagery of his dancing in the 
rain seems to have rekindled 
the 
dwindling 
motivation 

of 
many 
dancers 
currently 

training at home while living 
on tiny unemployment checks. 
Nevertheless, all of this attention 
feels narrow: If this student 
is truly the world’s paragon of 
tenacity, why did he have to 
become a viral sensation to even 
be noticed? 

Socioeconomic 
accessibility 

in ballet became a revitalized 
conversation topic this summer. 
In the wake of a global reckoning 
with systemic racism, activists 
continue 
to 
push 
ballet’s 

leadership to acknowledge and 
rectify the deep roots of elitism 
and white supremacy upon which 
this art form was built. Even 
today, FiveThirtyEight predicts 
that a ballerina in training may 
spend up to $100,000 before 
landing a professional contract 
(minus the female-only pointe 
shoe category, the number is 
still close to $70,000). As the 

pressure mounts for rich, white 
dance institutions to increase 
their support for communities 
cut off by such insurmountable 
price tags, Madu’s story offers 
a dangerously easy narrative of 
change — a young prodigy finally 
given the opportunity his talent 
deserves. But this narrative only 
includes the story of one student; 
the story would be exponentially 
more powerful if we sought to 
include the empowerment of 
Madu’s classmates as well as other 
underserved communities across 
the globe. 

Madu’s studio, the Leap of 

Dance Academy, is a prime 
example 
of 
organizations 

deserving 
of 
such 
financial 

support 
and 
community 

validation. The founder, Daniel 
Owoseni Ajala, is a self-taught 
dancer with a dream of expanding 
dance education for his own 
community. 
He 
teaches 
his 

students from his own apartment 
and doesn’t charge for lessons. 
In addition to dance, he provides 
academic tutoring and a weekly 
meal. As Madu’s video made the 
rounds on social media, Ajala 
received an influx of donations 
and an invitation to ABT’s two-
week teacher training program, 
but these parts of the story were 
left out of the vast majority of 
coverage. Instead, the articles and 
video featurettes focused solely on 
Madu’s talented turns and jumps 
— almost all of them mentioned 
the boy’s talent as a motivational 
symbol for a world crushed by an 
ongoing pandemic. Apparently, 
students and communities like 
Madu’s only become relevant 
with a global health crisis as the 
backdrop. 

I have a radical 
request: Just 
let women live. 

Someone’s 

intelligence and 

worth as a person is 
not determined by the 
culture they consume 

or produce.

Son of the White 

Mare

Cinema Lamont/

Vimeo

Arbelos Films

Read more online at 

michigandaily.com

GOOD MORNING AMERICA

