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 michigandaily.com