Arts
Wednesday, September 30, 2020 — 13
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com

“extremely online” to my friends,
they usually agree — they too
love memes and spend hours on
Twitter.

gets messy. It usually turns into
some form of me reciting my own
version of Bane’s quote from “The
Dark Knight Rises”: “You merely
adopted the internet; I was born in
it, molded by it.”

Like all great horror movies,

“Antebellum” is barely fiction.

In modern classics like “Get

Out,”
“The
Babadook”
and

“Antebellum,” the fantasy comes
not when the monsters show their
ugly faces, but when they are
vanquished.

Even at its most outlandish, the

terror in “Antebellum” is not only
plausible, but already happening.
More than that — it is woven into
the fabric of American society
itself. “Antebellum” dives headfirst
into the roiling open wound of
American slavery and shows how,
while its horrors may never be
defeated, they still must be fought,
tooth and nail.

The film follows two characters

played
by
Janelle
Monáe

(“Moonlight”), modern-day author
and activist Veronica Henley, as
well as Eden, a woman enslaved on
a pre-Civil War plantation. In the
film’s searing narrative, these two
lives are revealed to be shockingly
intertwined.

With
a
powerhouse

performance by Monáe, a visual
brilliance that comes along once
in a blood-red moon and twists to
make you leap from their seat and
clutch your hair, “Antebellum” is
the best horror film of 2020. It’s
also one of its most important
movies, period.

Without spoiling one of the most

bone-shattering twists in horror
since “The Sixth Sense,” the film
draws colorful, shuddering cords
between the hell of antebellum
slavery and the modern era. It

does so with a realistic, inquisitive
and unflinching eye to befit
the topics that it grapples with.
Simultaneously,
it’s
absolutely

chilling. Who knew that a movie
which utters “intersectionality”
could take your breath away?

Why, though, has “Antebellum”

been so panned? Wouldn’t a
“great” horror movie have more
than a 29% on the Tomatometer?
It deserves far better, but the
cinematic
establishment
never

takes horror easily.

One critic called it too pedantic,

more interested in making a “Big
Point” than trying for any artistic
merit. Another lamented that the
film “is not subtle about what it is
saying and what it is doing.” These
have been common talking points
for
horror-bashers
throughout

cinematic history.

When “The Exorcist” shows a

girl sexually assaulting her own
mother, it is being too “indelicate”
for the cinematic establishment,
too obvious in its symbolism and
too embarrassingly proletariat in
its smarmy subject matter. When
“Antebellum” has Janelle Monáe,
one of the most iconic and lauded
Black icons of the modern era, face
off against a Confederate general,
it is deemed too “simple ... lazily
reminding us of the cruelty of
America’s past.”

Is “Alien”’s invocation of violent

misogyny “pedantic”? Are the
brutal treatises of mental illness in
“Hereditary” and “Midsommar”
“pedantic”?
What
about
the

exploration of hysteria in “Invasion
of The Body Snatchers” and “Night
of The Living Dead”? “Gojira” isn’t
shy about symbolizing nuclear
trauma. Look into that giant

lizard’s ravaged face and call him
“pedantic.” I dare you.

Maybe horror has always been

“pedantic.” Maybe it has always
made stomach-churning, blood-
soaked “big points.” Maybe it has
always depicted the inexplicable
with little qualms to expose the
real social wounds that lurk behind
the rubber suits and plastic teeth.

Yet by doing so, horror forces

viewers to grapple with the
ungrappleable
in
a
medium

without limits. The sheer creativity
of great horror can unpack taboo
topics before the mainstream
even deigns to turn its head. No
other movie could pierce the
cyclonic political climate of 2020
like “Antebellum” and offer such a
sweeping, necessary catharsis.

“Antebellum”
drips
with

cinematic
talent.
Its
use
of

color is incredible, contrasting
oversaturated reds, yellows and
greens with the grime and sulfuric
gaslight of the antebellum era to
show how an ancient, systemic
horror lurks behind the saccharine
flash of modern life. It also builds
to a revenge-fueled climax that
rivals the genre’s best. Sigoruney
Weaver’s (“Alien”) Ellen Ripley
has a modern sister in Monáe’s
Veronica Henley.

It’s past time horror was taken

seriously,
because,
in
recent

memory, has the world ever been so
horrible? Racist terror haunts the
headlines every single day. Movies
must hit it head on, and why should
horror movies be excluded? Genre
shouldn’t determine a film’s value
— quality should.

Daily
Arts
Writer
Andrew

Warrick
can
be
reached
at

warricka@umich.edu.

Ann Arbor comedians find
creative ways to perform

Movie theaters: Closed.
Music festivals: Canceled.
Broadway: Dark.
Comedy clubs: Still figuring it

out. Well, at least the comedians
are.

Over the past few months, live

performance venues across the
world have taken a back seat in
the interest of public health. In
the state of Michigan, there have
been virtually no changes in hopes
of reopening local entertainment
hotspots.
Since
Governor

Whitmer’s first executive order of
the pandemic, Ann Arbor Comedy
Showcase, Ann Arbor’s premier
comedy establishment, has had
its doors locked. Its website,
practically untouched since mid-
March, serves as an eerie reminder
of how abruptly American life
changed. Atop the site’s masthead,
an ironically cruel business slogan:
“Laughter is the best medicine …
come get the cure!”

With the largest source for

stand-up in Ann Arbor closed
for
live
shows,
many
local

comedians have found themselves
in a bewildering months-long
limbo. Andrew Yang, a master of
ceremonies for the showcase, lives
in Milford, and has been doing
stand-up in Ann Arbor for close to
five years.

“[The
showcase]
is
doing

Facebook live shows,” Yang said in

an interview with The Michigan
Daily. “There’s no audience. It’s
just the comics that are there on
stage and then they broadcast it on
Facebook.”

Typically, the showcase hosts

a traditional open mic every
Wednesday
night,
but
now,

comedians like Yang are searching
for creative ways to pivot their
comedy in the COVID-19 era.

“I know the comics are trying to

adapt. A lot of us are trying to put
on outdoor shows. There’s some
venues that are open, where comics
have to wear masks — there’s
others that are unregulated, but
those are shows I wouldn’t have
done in the first place,” Yang said.
“Basically with being indoors and
performing, I’d feel unsafe.”

Yang’s concerns regarding the

overall safety of live performances
appear
to
be
a
common

sentiment
shared
throughout

Ann Arbor’s comedy collective.
As a community, the Ann Arbor
comedy scene reflects some of the
best that the Midwest has to offer.
As a hub, Ann Arbor comedians
come from all over — with large
shares from Detroit, Toledo and
Chicago.

However,
comedy
venues

around
the
country
are

traditionally dark, claustrophobic
and makeshift. Comedian Demetri
Martin once joked that “the best
rooms for comedy are the rooms
that would be the worst in a fire.”
A mixture of traveling comedians
sharing
cramped
spaces
and

unsanitized microphones would
easily signal some COVID red
flags. So understandably, some
comics have backed off from the
spotlight.

“Some
people
have
been

quitting,” said Jacob Barr, a senior
at Eastern Michigan and regular
performer for the showcase. “For
people at my level, it’s like an
internship where I make some
money doing it, but not enough to
only do comedy. But the real issue
is for the people right above me
who are on the cusp on being able
to do comedy as a career. I’ve had
multiple who just started getting
their bodies into the water, and
then the pandemic hits and they
have to go back to their day job.”

Typically, a comedy club will

split a fraction of the money
from tickets sold at the door with
performers, and other income is
supplemented by selling food and
beverage. With no live crowds, or
even significantly reduced crowds,
that income dramatically lessens.
Barr confesses, “It’s been really
discouraging for a lot of comedians
I know to not be able to do what
they love.”

The
Ann
Arbor
comedy

showcase has made no public
statements
about
when
they

plan to fully reopen, or to reopen
in a limited capacity. However,
ongoing
conversations
suggest

that Ann Arbor Comedy Showcase
plans to reopen their doors as soon
as possible.

“The showcase can sit three-

hundred
people,”
Barr
says,

“They’re remodeling the front
lobby, so they clearly have plans
to stay open.” The showcase
relocated to its present location
at 212 S. Fourth Ave in 2014, and
had already been under significant
exterior renovations for the past
year.

Brady Keene, a junior at Wayne

State University and recurring
comic for the showcase, told
The
Daily
he
had
thoughts

about the possibility for outdoor
performances
before
winter

weather sets in. “I also thought
about doing a Zoom show, and
donating the proceeds to charity.”
The challenge of outdoor and
Zoom-related
performances,

many comedians admit, is the
degree to which intimacy and
volume
can
translate
jokes

effectively
to
their
audience.

In particular, TV critics have

highlighted
late-night
comedy

shows’ challenges to fully resonate
their jokes with the absence of a
live audience. But in an era when
health rightfully takes precedence
over humor, Keene is hopeful this
will only be a bump in the road.

“Especially
in
comedy,”

Keene said, “any tragic thing
that happens, over time, turns
funny. I have a stand-up bit about
the Salem witch trials. Was it
funny back then? Absolutely not.
But now? You can turn it into
something hilarious. So I’m very
excited to hear all the takes about
the ignorant people once we get
back to regular work.”

As comics from all ranges of

experience clamor to return to
clubs, comedians like Andrew
Yang and Jacob Barr are already
working to put on an outdoor
show at Bløm Meadworks while
maintaining Washtenaw County

safety guidelines.

“We’re already sold out for this

Friday, and we’re expecting about
25 people outside,” Yang said. “All
the comics will be really rusty, and
it will take a while for people to
feel comfortable.”

While
the
pandemic
will

have certainly made it harder
to workshop jokes and create a
solid stand-up routine, the love
for the craft still exists for many
Michigan comics. “I would love
to do terrible open mics and bomb
constantly if it meant I could do
comedy the same as before,” Barr
said. For many Ann Arbor comics,
they can’t wait to return to “the
best club in Michigan.”

Andrew Yang and Logan Barr

currently perform at the Bløm
Comedy Night in Ann Arbor.

Daily Arts Writer Maxwell

Barnes
can
be
reached
at

mxwell@umich.edu.

MAXWELL BARNES

Daily Arts Columnist

PIXABAY

I found my own answer
to John Cusack’s question

In the opening scene of the

2000 film “High Fidelity,” John
Cusack’s Rob Gordon says in
a close-up shot to the camera,
“What came first, the music or
the misery?” He elaborates on
this rhetorical: “Nobody worries
about kids listening to thousands,
literally
thousands
of
songs

about heartbreak, rejection, pain,
misery and loss. Did I listen to pop
music because I was miserable?
Or was I miserable because I
listened to pop music?”

I watched “High Fidelity”

in the front row of a darkened
basement
classroom
at
my

previous college, allowing myself
to be swept away by the movie’s
wit and charm. I witnessed
hilarious music snobs and friends
of Rob, Barry and Dick capture
the
experience
of
browsing

record stores on Saturdays.

While the movie sat stored in

my filing cabinet of art inspiration,
the movie’s opening lines recently
jumped back to the front of my
consciousness. Studying in my
childhood bedroom brought me
back to who I used to be and how
depression became a part of my
daily routine, an extra baggage
to haul along, something I was
unprepared to carry with me.
I reentered a middle and high
school frame of mind. I made
a Spotify playlist of Paramore,
Fall Out Boy, My Chemical
Romance and Weezer. I began
reading “Wuthering Heights,” an
infamously polarizing Victorian
novel of two people driven apart
by passion and misunderstanding
that results in tragedy and loss.

The classic had been glaring at
me from its lofty perch on my
bookshelf since high school. And,
as any English major knows,
there’s an acute guilt when it
comes to not having read a classic.
So, with Rob Gordon’s question in
mind, I gave in to my misery and
embraced the emo.

As someone with depression,

I’ve been told to listen to uplifting
music and read inspiring self-help
books or memoirs. I’ve been told
to watch movies with hopeful
endings. I’ve been told to drink
chamomile tea before bed. I’ve
been told to conjure happier
thoughts. And yet, none of these
antidotes have cured me.

Heading to Goodwill this

weekend, my friends and I
listened to music and I brought up
the question of which came first:
the music or the misery? The
consensus from this collection
of
pandemic-weary,
(some)

mentally ill Gen Z students was
that misery arrived first. Then,
came the tendency to consume
more morose art. I found my
experiences
matched
this

conclusion: We acquire art that
understands, or even matches,
our current emotional turmoil.

Sometimes these supposedly

uplifting books or movies do
help. While I read Brené Brown’s
“Daring Greatly” and can attest
to its powerful mindshift changes
and advice, I can’t quote Brené
Brown. But, I know the lyrics
to The Smiths and Car Seat
Headrest songs that made me
feel less alone. Maybe Brown’s
words helped for a few weeks
after reading the book, but those
lyrics seized my soul and shook
me into a realization that others
have felt this way and still found a

way to forge something beautiful
out of it.

In another scene from “High

Fidelity,” Rob tells his friend that
he’s arranging his records not
chronologically or alphabetically,
but autobiographically. I’ve found
similar experiences with my own
misery period of music and books.

Emily Dickinson’s collected

poems whispered aloud in my
childhood bedroom, a gift from
my brother for my eighteenth
birthday.
Her
sweeping

existential queries in light of
observing a frog croak cradled me
during a particularly debilitating
bout of depression — a general
inability to find reason to brush
my teeth, clean the dishes or feel
the sun on my skin again.

Car Seat Headrest’s 2016 Teens

of Denial was my soundtrack
for riding the bus on a weary
afternoon after class, watching
the light filter in through the
fingerprint-smudged
windows

freshman year of college. In 2018,
“Catcher in the Rye’s” Holden
Caulfield accompanied me on
a break from school during a
challenging winter. I walked
with Catherine and Heathcliff
through the rainy moors and
muddy paths when the pandemic
brought me home from Michigan.
However typical, it’s no wonder
young adults gravitate towards
the somber. Especially during a
pandemic where particular life
events or experiences have been
snatched away, we wallow. Even
before this unprecedented global
health crisis, Gen Z has wrestled
with declining rates of mental
health.

NINA MOLINA
Daily Arts Writer

BUENA VISTA PICTURES

LIONSGATE

‘Antebellum’ is searing,
gutsy American horror

ANDREW WARRICK

Daily Arts Writer

Read more online at

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