In the United States there has 

long been a strange fascination 
with stories of the American 
backwoods — gritty tales of 
brazen crime, graphic murder, 
religious 
fanaticism 
and 

twisted mentalities. They fixate 
on the post-war rural South and 
glorify the violence that erupts 
among the backwoods folk. And 
there’s never a person of color 
in sight.

This is the vein of “The Devil 

All the Time,” a stark tale of 
rural Ohio and West Virginia 
in the 1950s and ‘60s. It’s a 
big story, with lots of people 
to keep track of — characters 
who connect in unexpected 
ways and storylines that swing 
around to fill in gaps. There 
are enough familiar faces in 
its vast ensemble cast to keep 
it relevant, but in the end, the 
biggest detriment to “Devil” is 
that it didn’t need to be made.

“Devil” is built around an 

amalgamation of caricatures. 
The disturbed veteran, the 
pious virgin, the self-important 
priest, the psycho killer, the 
corrupt sheriff — they’re all 
built on simple characteristics 
that drive home exactly what 
kind of story it is, and where 
you’ve seen it before. All of the 
characters are forced toward 
extremes — murderer or victim, 
religious fanatic or indifferent 
bystander. The timeline jumps 
around haphazardly to keep up 
with the individual plots (which 
are too complicated to explain 
in a few sentences, so I won’t 
try), and the opening exposition 
is long and complex because 

every backtrack incorporates 
seemingly 
peripheral 

characters into the body of the 
story.

The 
film’s 
standout 

performances are its biggest 
names: Robert Pattinson (“The 
Lighthouse”) 
as 
Preacher 

Preston 
Teagardin, 
Bill 

Skarsgård (“It”) as Willard 
Russell 
and 
Tom 
Holland 

(“Spider-Man: 
Far 
From 

Home”) 
as 
Arvin 
Russell. 

Pattinson’s 
performance 
is 

fascinatingly exaggerated, but 
effective: Every word out of 
his mouth sounds almost like a 
comedic impression of a slimy 
Southern preacher rather than 
a realization of one, resulting 
in a character who is easy 
to despise. And Skarsgård’s 
compelling 
portrayal 
of 
a 

troubled war veteran gives 
us the beginnings of Arvin’s 
relationship 
with 
violence 

— a tradition of thoughtful, 
aggressive vengeance that is 
passed on from father to son.

Though it takes 45 minutes 

of time jumps and exposition 
before our first glimpse of 
Holland, the wait is worth 
it — not only because of how 
Holland pulls off a denim jacket, 
but also due to the skill he uses 
to approach the character. He 
is perfectly expressionless; you 
can tell exactly how much he 
cares for his step-sister Lenora 
(Eliza Scanlen, “Little Women”) 
or hates the bullies that torment 
her without much change in 
his facial expression. His quiet 
pain is present after every 
tragedy, perfectly balanced in a 
film where almost every other 
character feels out of control. A 
scene in which Arvin confronts 
Preacher 
Teagardin 
is 
a 

reminder of what happens when 
talented actors work together: 
The 
quiet 
intensity 
from 

Holland and selfish ignorance 
from Pattinson combine to 
create a masterful tension.

“The Devil All the Time” has 

all of the traits of a backwoods 
story. 
The 
women 
are 

essentially disposable beyond 
emotional significance, killed 
off one by one. Every character’s 
moral compass is a shade of 
grey, where the ethics of point-
blank murder depend on the 
character. 
Because 
actions 

don’t actually speak louder than 
words, scenes are overlaid with 
omniscient narration in a strong 
Southern drawl — done by 
Donald Ray Pollack, the author 
of the book on which the film 
is based — to give you a small 
amount of insight. And there’s 
a disturbing on-screen killing 
about every five minutes.

This film is a marathon. 

It’s nearly 140 minutes long, 
deeply captivating at times but 
brutally slow at others. The film 
is classified as a psychological 
thriller, but it’s not too thrilling, 
and the only thing psychological 
about it is the twisted psyches of 
the killers. Though it’s visually 
captivating, the plot doesn’t 
feel much like a plot, and so the 
ending doesn’t feel much like 
an ending. All throughout “The 
Devil All the Time,” violence 
begets violence; yet even as the 
layers of dark and disturbing 
fuse 
towards 
something 

towards 
a 
conclusion, 
it’s 

difficult to figure out what you 
were supposed to learn that you 
didn’t already know.

Daily 
Arts 
Writer 
Kari 

Anderson can be reached at 
kariand@umich.edu.

The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Arts
Wednesday, September 30, 2020 — 11

FILM REVIEW

‘The Devil All the Time’ 
feels behind the times

Live-streamed solo recitals 

are nothing new in the era 
of COVID-19, but most have 
typically taken place in living 
rooms 
and 
smaller 
venues. 

Last Sunday night on Sept. 
20, however, Music, Theatre 
& Dance professor Matthew 
Bengtson’s 
live-streamed 

concert 
was 
an 
unusual 

exception. 
The 
assistant 

professor of music and piano 
literature 
performed 
“Great 

Solo 
Piano 
Works 
from 

my Lifetime” to an empty 
Stamps Auditorium — an 
appropriately grand space for 
the programmed music.

Bengtson started off the 

recital with a few opening 
remarks, the most salient point 
being that all the programmed 
music was written after World 
War II, with the most recent 
piece written in 2003. However, 
he said, the concert was not a 
“new music” concert. In many 
classical conservatory settings, 
any music written after World 
War II usually counts as “new 
music,” from degree auditions to 
jury requirements. Bengtson, a 
fervent early and contemporary 
music 
enthusiast, 
disagrees 

with this concept — “new 
music,” he argued, is music that 
is happening now. Music that 
was written as far back as fifty 
years ago is no longer new. The 

concert highlighted some well-
known and some more obscure 
solo piano pieces by George 
Walker, Henri Dutilleux and 

Lukas Foss and Music, Theatre 
& Dance composition professor 
Paul Schoenfeld. 

The 
first 
piece 
was 

Schoenfeld’s 
1997 

“Peccadilloes,” which consisted 
of six movements, many of 
which were greatly influenced 
by J.S. Bach. The contrapuntal 
harmonies in the first, third 
and fifth movements especially 
suggested characteristics from 
Bach’s fugues and toccatas. 
The piece as a whole was 
one highly representative of 
Schoenfeld’s music, which is 
known to incorporate sound 
blends of classical, folk and 
popular 
genres. 
While 
the 

sound quality over the live-
stream was less than ideal, 
Bengtson’s intelligent attention 
to melodic subject lines and 
color 
interpretation 
shone 

through. 

The second piece, George 

Walker’s 2003 “Fifth Piano 
Sonata,” 
was 
a 
highly 

substantive one that Bengtson 
played with great power and 
control. 
Before 
beginning, 

Bengtson described the piece 
as a sonata that should be 
recognized among the greats as 
one with profound “rhythmic 
muscle and nothing for special 
effect.” 
He 
compared 
the 

piece to the sonatas of Brahms 

and Beethoven. The sonata 
was chordally dense and rife 
with 
dissonances, 
yet 
very 

lyrical with an unforgettably 
haunting opening and main 
theme. The whole piece was 
surprisingly very short – a total 
of only five and a half minutes, 
which effectively added to its 
tempestuous drama.

The 
final 
two 
pieces, 

Dutilleux’s 
Three 
Preludes 

for Piano (1973-88) and Lukas 
Foss’s 1981 “Solo” were the most 
tonally distinct, utilizing atonal 
and 
12-tone 
compositional 

techniques. 
The 
Dutilleux 

was 
transcendent 
— 
the 

piece emphasized the piano’s 
resonance to create formal 
continuity within the second 
prelude and used the full range 
of the keys. The Foss was, as 

Bengtson 
described, 
“very 

humorous,” with an intriguing 
style 
hybrid 
of 
minimalist 

and 12-tone approaches. The 
piece very clearly had several 
voices that seemed to “talk” 
all at once. The very beginning 
began with a single voice that 

came across as possibly telling 
a joke to the audience but was 
abruptly 
interrupted, 
which 

happened 
successively 
until 

more and more voices were 
introduced, breaking into a 
final wild frenzy. 

The concert was a refreshing 

start to the new academic year 
for the music school, especially 
the piano department, given 
Bengtson’s creative repertoire 
choices 
and 
meticulous 

execution. The presentation, 
too, was a welcome concert 
vision that will hopefully be 
carried out further in the 
months to come.

Daily 
Arts 
Writer 
Ellen 

Sirower 
can 
be 
reached 
at 

esirower@umich.edu

Pianist Matthew Bengston 
in (livestreamed) concert

Ah, to be Asian and second-

generation American. What a 
wonderful and vexing experience. 
This 
week 
on 
Hyphenated, 

we take a closer look at three 
movies on Netflix and how they 
normalize “second generation” 
APIA experiences.

To clarify, second generation or 

“second gen” refers to Americans 
born within the bounds of these 
United States to immigrant, “first 
gen” parents.

But what does it mean to be 

“second generation”? What does 
that experience look and sound 
like? Many try to distill the 
elusive second-gen experience 
but fall short in their imagination. 
Some media hyperfixate and 
problematize being APIA without 
recognizing 
that 
APIA 
lives 

sprawl luxuriously beyond the 
constructed confines of race and 
culture. While there is some truth 
to these popularized narratives 
 
— 
children 
chafing 
against 

strict immigrant parents — that 
experience does not exist in a 
race-culture-causal vacuum.

Second gen APIA individuals 

are APIA every moment of their 
lives, not just when they fit a 
stereotype. 

To escape narrow second 

generation narratives, grab some 
popcorn and enjoy one (or more!) 
of the films listed below. Because 
it is nearing Korean Thanksgiving 
(Chuseok), 
Hyphenated 
will 

dole out Chuseok food recs to 
accompany each movie.

“Seoul 
Searching” 
by 

director-producer Benson Lee 
(2016)

Accompanying 
this 
movie 

is a traditional food eaten on 
Chuseok: jeon, basically pan-
fried anything. A popular jeon, 
relatively easy to make, is dae-
gu jeun (cod, battered and pan-
fried!). You can also add my 
personal favorite hobak jeun (pan 
fried battered squash) to your 
plate.

“Seoul 
Searching” 
builds 

off of John Huges’ 1985 “The 
Breakfast 
Club,” 
creating 
a 

similar, aggressively ’80s movie 
about the teenage struggle. In one 
epic summer, a disparate group 
of teenagers from all reaches of 
the globe come together under 
one roof for a culture program 
run by the Korean Government. 
What results is a breathtakingly 
hilarious 
summer 
camp 

experience. I was not expecting to 

laugh during this aggressively ’80s 
movie but “Seoul Searching” had 
me wheezing towards the middle. 
Very few things are funnier than 
watching 
an 
overly 
militant 

Korean American teenager try to 
pick a fight with North Korean 
soldiers at the DMZ. 

But 
like 
the 
Breakfast 

Club, 
“Seoul 
Searching” 
is 

fundamentally about the second 
gen experience overlayed with 
the stress of being a teenager. 
Each student desperately wants 
to present themselves in a certain 
way. They use clothes and big 
hair to explore their boundaries 
and their conception of who they 
are, papermache-ing outer shells 
informed by their home country 
trends and lived experiences. In 
visually differentiating characters 
by 
cultural 
trends, 
“Seoul 

Searching” pokes fun at culture 
shock, dramatizing the ways 
assimilation 
and 
immigration 

have individually transformed 
the teenagers’ lives.

With 
a 
consciousness 
for 

anti-Japanese racism, childhood 
abuse 
and 
adoption, 
“Seoul 

Searching” 
explores 
more 

complex issues. The fumbling, 
uncertain 
teenagers 
reach 
a 

mature understanding by the 
end of the movie. Yes, the actions 
and opinions of all people are 
influenced by their upbringing, 
but that lived experience does 
not make them and their actions 
justified.

“Seoul Searching” succeeded 

brilliantly in documenting how 
much of a confusing wilderness 
identity, sexuality and globalism 
can be. 

“To All the Boys I’ve Loved 

Before” directed by Susan 
Johnson (2018)

Accompanying this movie is a 

healthy helping of Bindae-tteok. 
This isn’t a typical Korean practice 
but on Chuseok, my family always 
eats Bindae-tteok stacked with a 
thick slice of Jeolpyeon (a kind of 
tteok, rice cake) and kimchi.

The movie adaption of Jenny 

Han’s book invigorated my tired 
old bones when I first watched 
it. I related to how tangential 
Lara Jean’s race was treated. 
Her central conflict was not 
cultural but rather a sweet and 
romantic 
fake-dating 
snafu. 

But upon re-watching the film 
for this column, I became more 
appreciative of the subtle ways 
the film included race.

The 
main 
character 
Lara 

Jean’s race was never at the 
forefront of the book’s plot but I 
always appreciated the author’s 

small details that signaled that 
Lara Jean wasn’t wholly white 
despite her predominantly white 
school and white father. She and 
her family, in remembrance of 
her deceased Korean American 
mother, maintain some Korean 
holiday traditions. Despite not 
knowing the language, Lara 
Jean ate some Korean food and 
drank special probiotic drinks 
like Yacult, unfound in most local 
supermarkets.

If “Seoul Searching” dove 

deep into untangling the knot 
of personal and cultural hang-
ups, “To All the Boys I’ve loved 
Before” 
successfully 
captured 

the normal levity of being second 
generation for many second gen 
students.

“The Half of It” directed and 

written by Alice Wu (2020)

Accompanying 
this 
movie 

is 
japchae, 
stir-fried 
glass 

noodles mixed with thinly sliced 
vegetables mixed with soy sauce 
and sesame oil. While not my 
favorite Korean dish, this is a 
staple of Korean cuisine. 

I saw “The Half of It” for the 

first time only last week but it has 
been very well received by critics 
of The Michigan Daily (please 
check out both the Daily Arts and 
The Statement sections for a more 
comprehensive review).

Ellie Chu, the protagonist of 

“The Half of It” is a quiet girl, 
neither out of the closet nor free 
with her personality. At home, she 
cares for her father. His limited 
English language skills make her 
his proxy. She pays their electric 
bills because the call center people 
reportedly cannot understand 
him through his accent. Her role 
as translator is a familiar situation 
for many second gen individuals. 

Similarly to “To All the Boys 

I’ve Loved Before,” “The Half of 
It” doesn’t fixate its plot on APIA 
immigrant struggles. But also 
like “To All the Boys,”the film 
still alienates and references race. 
For Ellie, racism plays a big part 
in her narrative about alienation. 
She feels frustrated people cannot 
look past her father’s accent. In 
school, she gets jokes about her 
last name, Ellie “chu chu.” Unlike 
Lara Jean of “To All the Boys I’ve 
Loved Before,” Ellie is friendless, 
largely excluded from the social 
fabric of her small town. That 
begins to change as Ellie gets 
involved in a classically Cyrano de 
Bergerac plot to help a hapless guy 
woo the prettiest girl in school.

Hyphenated: APIA 

second-gen movie night

DAILY APIA COLUMN

NETFLIX

KARI ANDERSON

Daily Arts Writer

ELIZABETH YOON

Daily Arts Columnist

COMMUNITY CULTURE REVIEW

ELLEN SIROWER

Daily Arts Writer

The piece as 
a whole was 
one highly 

representative 
of Schoenfeld’s 
music, which 
is known to 
incorporate 

sound blends of 
classical, folk 
and popular 

genres

The piece very 

clearly had 

several voices 
that seemed 
to “talk” all at 

once

Read more online at 

michigandaily.com

