2-News
Wednesday, September 23, 2020 — 11
Arts
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
FILM REVIEW
‘The Babysitter’ is gory, mindless fun
In need of a laugh and looking
for a Tarantino knockoff with
a B-list cast? Look no further
than
“The
Babysitter:
Killer
Queen,” released last Thursday
on Netflix. This film is a sequel
to
Netflix’s
2017
film
“The
Babysitter.”
At
the
time
of
writing this, “Killer Queen” is
#3 in the US on Netflix, but it
peaked at #1.
I
pressed
play
with
no
intention of liking this movie. In
fact, I was fairly certain that I’d
have nothing but criticism for a
cheesy, gory horror-comedy. And
oh, is it cheesy. But I find myself
eager to overlook the film’s many
faults, and to appreciate the
puerile one-liners for what they
are: simple entertainment.
In 2017’s “The Babysitter,”
Cole’s
(Judah
Lewis,
“Demolition”) parents go out
for the night, leaving him with
Bee (Samara Weaving, “Guns
Akimbo”), his babysitter and the
apple of his eye. After Bee thinks
Cole has gone to sleep, she invites
some friends over for good old-
fashioned fun. One thing leads
to another and (spoiler) Bee’s
friends turn out to be members
of a cult, having all made various
deals with
the devil. There is a ritual to
be performed, and the young
satanists
need
Cole’s
blood!
But Cole doesn’t plan to go
down without a fight. With the
help of his best friend and love
interest Melanie (Emily Alyn
Lind,
“Doctor
Sleep”),
Cole
emerges victorious and has his
first kiss (thanks, Melanie!).
The unfortunate part? Satan’s
intercession
involves
an
obstruction of justice and the
destruction of evidence. In short,
Cole’s parents don’t buy the
“Satanic cult” story, and instead
think their kid is delusional.
This brings us to 2020’s “Killer
Queen.” Two years later, Cole is
afflicted by flashbacks and an
overactive imagination. There’s
a new girl at school, enigmatic
Phoebe (Jenna Ortenga, “Saving
Flora”), destined to wind up
involved in Cole’s predicament.
Cole’s parents make him take
pills, which don’t seem to help,
and have resolved to send him
off to a psychiatric high school.
But once again, Cole lives by his
own rules. Ditching school to
party at “the Lake” with Melanie
and her crew is certainly out of
character for the shy and sharply
dressed Cole, but his feelings
for Melanie have him convinced
that what he needs is to let loose.
Needless to say, the party boat
quickly becomes a crime scene,
and Cole must fight his demons
once again, now with Phoebe’s
help.
This
movie
is
fun.
Yes,
the
characters
are
awfully
shallow, and bodily fluids are
sprayed with excessive force
and
frequency.
And
yet,
I
found myself engrossed. The
incorporation of text, flashbacks
and martial-arts battle between
the two leading women all have
a distinctly Tarantino flair. That
is, if Tarantino was a 14-year-old
boy. Astonishingly, the film is not
without social critique, either;
it seems these hellions are all
seeking internet fame (which is
ironic, given Alexander Bachelor,
aka King Bach’s, leading role and
Amanda Cerny’s cameo). The
viewer is left with several clichéd
aphorisms, the most relevant
of which being “shortcuts don’t
pay off.” In other words, earn
your fame, don’t buy it from
Satan. Perhaps the most off-
putting and unnecessary element
of this film is the euphemistic
montage, meant to represent
Cole and Phoebe’s tryst, set to
The Sugarhill Gang’s “Apache.”
Between pithy criticisms of
influencer culture and seismic
spurts of blood, this flick is
funny. Bad acting and moderate
ableism aside, director McG gets
a lot right. If only because it does
not take itself seriously, it’s best
if the viewer doesn’t take this
film seriously either. Perfectly
mindless,
funny
enough
and
engaging — “The Babysitter:
Killer Queen” entertains. When
you next find yourself with a
free evening, turn your brain
off for a while and watch “Killer
Queen.” I can’t say you won’t be
disappointed, but I’m pretty sure
it’ll make you grin.
ROSS LONDON
Daily Arts Writer
Mainstream:
Don’t be so
tough on TV
‘DROWNING IN THE MAINSTREAM’ COLUMN
In 2013, Tina Fey opened her Golden Globes
monologue with the line, “Tonight we honor the
television shows that have entertained us all year, as
well as the films that have only been in theaters for two
days.” It was a sly quip at awards season releases, how
the December month becomes saturated with the next
best film. But as a matriarch of television, Fey was also
poking fun at a phenomenon she probably knows all too
well: People don’t view television as “art.”
Think about it — when you picture that bleach-haired
boy in your film class playing devil’s advocate, what
media does he project onto? He unplugs his Sufjan
Stevens and tucks the Ayn Rand book into his backpack
to begin an unprompted and unwanted discussion about
the latest Tarantino movie (it’s not that HE doesn’t
respect women, it’s that his CHARACTERS don’t). He’s
not sweeping aside self-cut bangs to watch you as you
talk about “Atlanta” or making side comments to his
friend about how no one truly understands “Stranger
Things,” because to the high society artist, television is
not worth a critical eye.
Whenever I coyly throw a television reference
into conversation or get giddy over my favorite show
restarting, too often the response I get is “Oh, I don’t
watch TV.” Rarely do people say “I don’t really care for
books,” or “I don’t listen to music much,” and when I
mention that I am not really a movie person, every head
turns with shock. But for some reason, television is a
medium that is acceptable to ignore.
In a lot of ways, I get it. Television — with its excessive
advertisements and time-sucking nature — can be the
medium most associated with indulgent consumerism.
“The Irishman” didn’t have three separate Poptart
commercials peppered throughout and no one is
binging “The Lord of the Rings” franchise in a two-day
bender. There are drawbacks when it comes to watching
television, but that’s true with every art form. Not every
movie you paid to see is going to be worth it, and not
every album you anticipated is going to be great. But
nobody stops watching movies or listening to music
because of these realities, so why be so tough on TV?
One of the things that draws people to art so much is
the opportunity to live through stories they themselves
are not a part of and be moved to feel a range of emotions
from something they could not create. I would argue
that television is the medium that excels in this the most.
There are very few movies in which the viewer can grow
with characters over years, sometimes decades, and
those that do feature such a thing get critical acclaim.
Television exists beyond the constraints of 90 minutes,
having multiple episodes and seasons to add depth to
characters and create multiple story arcs.
Those that abuse this opportunity to change and shift
their shows fail loudly and miserably — “Community”
refers to its own Season 4 as “the gas leak year” and
many “Arrested Development” fans choose to ignore the
existence of the last two seasons. But so many television
shows run their course gracefully, ending in ways that
are both artfully sound and fan-friendly. Two recent hit
shows — “The Good Place” and “Schitt’s Creek” — both
ended their run on the writer’s own terms, recognizing
that the shows had run their course and therefore
giving themselves the time and opportunity to flesh out
proper endings. The results from both were particularly
poignant for two network comedies, touching on topics
ranging from a family’s love to the legacies we leave
after we die.
Denying yourself television is denying yourself the
chance to truly fall in love with stories and characters,
and to follow them beyond the confines of a two hour
film. How can you worship “The Godfather” but never
bother to watch “The Sopranos”? How can you watch
every war movie ever released without recognizing the
impact of “M*A*S*H”? How can you throw “Star Wars”
posters up on your bedroom walls without even trying
out “Battlestar Galactica?” Television comes in every
genre we know and love, elongating the stories and
offering us new characters that don’t disappear once the
theater lights flick on.
Watching television has been painted as the lazy
man’s vice, the activity we partake in when there’s
just nothing else to do. Yet I say to watch television is
to observe art, to understand different people and be
moved by different stories. Don’t be ashamed if your
favorite form of media is television — whether it’s
“Cutthroat Kitchen” or “Killing Eve.” Television is
suspenseful, it’s disturbing, it’s clever and sometimes
it’s downright dumb. No matter what it is, television is
what you and your family or friends are always going to
gather around for something to do, something to enjoy
together.
Daily Arts Columnist Samantha Della Fera can be
reached at samdf@umich.edu.
SAMANTHA DELLA FERA
Daily Arts Columnist
NETFLIX
TV REVIEW
‘Ratched’ dismisses its iconic origin
On a list of iconic movie villains,
Nurse Ratched from the 1975
Academy Award-winning “One
Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest”
usually ranks near the top. Based
on the 1962 novel by the same
name, the film quickly became
a beloved part of American
pop culture, mostly because of
Jack
Nicholson’s
charismatic
portrayal of Randle McMurphy
as he struggles against Nurse
Ratched’s oppressive practices
on her psychiatric ward.
“Ratched”
is
uninterested
in
acknowledging
that
legacy. Instead, it opts to be
indistinguishable
from
any
season
of
“American
Horror
Story” or otherwise generic Ryan
Murphy
production.
Focusing
on the titular nurse, this new
Netflix
series
explores
the
origins of a Mildred Ratched
(Sarah Paulson, “Mrs. America”)
as she transitions from caring,
compassionate caregiver to cold-
hearted
sadist.
Like most Ryan Murphy shows,
“Ratched” opens on a brutal and
bloody massacre. This massacre
is of an entire Catholic clergy
house of priests in 1947. A few
months later, the killer, Edmond
Tolleson
(Finn
Wittrock,
“American Horror Story”), is
headed to a psychiatric facility
in scenic Lucia, California so
that doctors can determine if he’s
clinically insane or if he’s fit to
stand trial and possibly recieve
the death penalty.
Like Tolleson, Nurse Ratched
is also headed to secure a job at
the Lucia hospital. When the
head of the facility, Dr. Hanover
(Jon Jon Briones, “American
Crime Story”), is hesitant to hire
her, Mildred begins manipulating
the staff, patients and even the
governor of California in order
to rise through the ranks and
get close to the mysterious new
admission, Tolleson. Before long,
she’s befriended the governor’s
wife Gwendolyn (Cynthia Nixon,
“Sex and the City”) and secured
her place as a the woman behind
the curtain.
“Ratched” fails to stand out
from the crowd of other Ryan
Murphy shows on TV right now.
Nearly every scene feels cut and
pasted from “American Horror
Story: Asylum” or the fellow
Netflix
series
“Hollywood.”
While the monochromatic color
palette, sharp-tongued dialogue
and graphic moments of sex
and violence may have been
groundbreaking a few years ago,
this formula does “Ratched” little
favors. This campy, slasher TV
genre of the 2010s desensitized
audiences long ago — there is
nothing truly shocking left.
Perhaps the most infuriating
thing about this new series,
however,
is
that
it
doesn’t
feel remotely adjacent to its
source material. The only thing
connecting the titular character
of “Ratched” to the villain of
“One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s
Nest” is a name. What makes
Nurse Ratched such an iconic
character is the savagery of her
mundanity, the weaponization
of bureaucracy to suppress the
vulnerable. With a show as
in-your-face and over the top
as “Ratched,” there’s no room
for subtlety, reality or even just
compelling commentary.
“Ratched” may find inspiration
in its title, but the similarities
end there. If viewers watch this
series expecting something that
honors the 1975 film, they’ll be
disappointed. If viewers watch
this
series
without
knowing
who Nurse Ratched is, they
might enjoy the frivolity of the
excessive gore and the 1940’s
glamour.
Without
properly
grounding itself, this Netflix
series will waste its potential to
revisit a classic character and
remain indistinguishable from
every other unnecessarily gritty
franchise reboot on television.
Daily Arts Writer Anya Soller
can be reached at anyasol@umich.
edu.
ANYA SOLLER
Daily Arts Writer
NETFLIX
Perhaps the most
infuriating thing
about this new
series, however,
is that it doesn’t
feel remotely
Watching television has
been painted as the lazy
man’s vice, the activity we
partake in when there’s
just nothing else to do. Yet
I say to watch television is
to observe art.
And oh, is it
cheesy. But I
find myself
eager to
overlook the
film’s many
faults, and to
appreciate the
puerile one-
If only because
it doesn’t take
itself seriously,
it’s best if the
viewer doesn’t
take this film
seriously either