The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Arts
Wednesday, October 21, 2020 — 13
BOOK REVIEW
TV REVIEW
Review : ‘Anxious People’ Review: ‘The Right Stuff’
Most of us like to think we
have a handle on our lives. We
make careful plans, we budget,
we organize, all so that when we
come home after a long day, we
have the peace of mind to enjoy
a few moments of relaxation
before getting back to business
the next day. But deep down
everyone knows that at any point,
catastrophe can strike forcefully
enough to reduce the calmest
and most level-headed of us to
a state of sheer panic. If that
wasn’t evident before, it certainly
has been since the COVID-19
pandemic began. Still, this isn’t
something we openly talk about,
and perhaps for good reason. It
would certainly be a bad idea to
invite your friend out to lunch,
then casually remind them that
there’s a non-zero possibility
someone will call in the next five
minutes and inform them that
their sibling has been hit by a bus.
Of course, we’re still reminded
every once in a while that this
and any number of life-changing
events
could
occur
at
any
moment. Reminders like these
can cause people to do stupid
things like trying to rob a cashless
bank and then accidentally hold
hostage a group of prospective
buyers at an apartment viewing,
which happens to be the plot
of
Fredrik
Backman’s
novel
“Anxious People.”
The novel takes on a third
person narrative structure that
distributes its attention evenly
between twelve characters who
are all somehow involved in
the hostage situation. There’s
the bank robber, a father-son
cop duo, a real estate agent, a
newly engaged couple, a middle
aged couple, an elderly lady, a
struggling actor, a therapist and
a bank executive whose collective
anxieties
result
in
easily
avoidable stress and confusion.
Though
ostensibly
about
a
hostage situation, the real content
of the novel is the frequent
flashbacks that reveal trauma in
the characters’ pasts. Each step
of the main action is interrupted
by a flashback that explains why
a character made the strange or
poor decision they did.
This method sounds confusing,
but it’s surprisingly elegant in
practice. The characters, though
a bit flat at times, all feel distinct
and easy to keep track of. There
are few points where the reader
feels lost. The novel’s clarity is
in part due to Backman building
an intentionally confusing and
stressful scene to demonstrate
the
characters’
anxieties
before revealing a small piece
of information that comically
deflates the situation and lowers
the stakes. Backman does this
frequently
enough
that
the
reader can start reading about a
convoluted scenario with the trust
that it will soon be resolved. This
allows Backman to progressively
heighten the confusion toward
the climax of the novel without
losing the reader.
The
narrator
regularly
pokes fun at the characters’
predicament,
but
with
a
compassionate tone that never
ridicules and instead functions
as a reminder that they’re all
fundamentally okay. It is this
delicate
balance
that
allows
Backman to construct scenes
with real emotional weight in a
story that’s essentially a comedy.
There are only a few points
where this balance slips. Jack, the
younger police officer witnessed
a suicide when he was younger.
He later runs into someone else
about to jump from a bridge and
is able to talk them out of it. These
two incidents are part of why he
decides to become a police officer.
These memories cause him a
lot of distress throughout the
novel, but the way this subplot
gets tied up in the end feels over
the top. Up until this scene,
Backman does a good enough job
of creating scenes with emotional
depth out of situations with far
lower stakes, but using suicide
to heighten the emotionality of
the scene felt unnecessary. There
is also a scene where Zara, the
bank executive, is speaking with
her therapist and they have an
incredibly interesting back and
forth where they each struggle to
take control of the conversation
and avoid talking about what the
other wants them to talk about.
Then, at the very end of the
conversation, the therapist plainly
states what Zara is worried about,
even though the scene itself
demonstrates it clearly without
beating the reader over the head
with “the point.” These are,
however, relatively minor issues
that don’t significantly hurt the
reading experience.
“Anxious People” is about
compassion. It is about characters
in distress who learn to use love
instead of force to solve problems.
The novel is especially salient
today, when it seems like every
week there’s a new anxiety-
inducing world event. It gives
us a blueprint for how to love
each other in the midst of chaos.
DIGITAL CULTURE
Born on the internet: video sharing for the soul
It’s hard to imagine a time
when watching videos on the
internet was not a simple,
unified process. I certainly
can’t, my youth allowed me to
skip the era of downloading
the latest 240p movie trailer
from the Pirate Bay using dial-
up internet, feeling the joy
and anticipation of the prize
waiting for you in forty-five
minutes — wait, no now it’s
twenty, but now it’s an hour,
well maybe just sleep and
watch it when you wake up. By
the time I discovered the joys
of watching videos, the whole
process was much simpler: go
to YouTube.com.
Oh,
YouTube
circa-2010,
a
wonderland
of
emerging
content
creators
pioneering
a field that seemed at once
impossible
and
tantalizing:
people were being paid to make
videos for a living. These were
the proto-influencers, spending
their days making comedic
videos with their best friends,
raking
in
the
cash.
Some
channels like Rocket Jump
Productions
were
pumping
out
Hollywood-level
videos,
while others got popular by
parodying a popular song. This
was the golden era of YouTube,
the era of Ryan Higa, Shane
Dawson, Ray William Johnson
of =3 and, most importantly to
my life, Smosh.
The power duo of Anthony
Padilla and Ian Hecox shook
the world with their Pokémon
theme song lip-sync and found
success week in and out with
skits and parodies. These two
teens from southern California
suddenly found out, not only
that their voices mattered, but
also that people wanted to hear
them. Whether it was Food
Battle, Boxman or one of their
million parodies or “if BLANK
were real” videos, audiences
craved the content Smosh put
out every Friday, and I was
right there with them. I still
remember following the launch
of Smosh Games, bringing in a
whole new crew and jumping
into let’s plays, the new hot
thing on the video-sharing site.
Fall 2012, New Jersey ravaged
by Hurricane Sandy, and there
I was, on my phone using my
Dad’s data hotspot to watch the
latest “Boss Fight of the Week.”
Thanks to recommendations,
I roamed around the gaming
side of YouTube, stumbling
through
Pewdiepie
and
TobyGames to find JonTron
and PeanutButterGamer. These
videos weren’t merely wastes
of time for me, they were my
vice. A video while I ate a
pre-homework snack, a few
episodes of the Completionist
before bed, it didn’t matter if
I knew the games they were
talking about, I was intoxicated
by what they were doing. After
years of viewing, I wasn’t
content
on
staying
to
the
sidelines — I had to be a part of
this somehow.
So I bought a recording device
and a microphone and roped
my best friend into starting a
YouTube channel with me. The
wistful, ignorant blessing of
youth. Late one August day we
sat in my basement, Audacity
running on my rundown laptop,
and played “Mario & Luigi:
Superstar Saga” on the Wii U. It
only got better from there.
Snow, rain or shine, whenever
I could gather my friends to
record, all crammed onto my
small couch in my basement,
we would do it. Now, don’t get
around thinking I was popular:
We capped off at 80 subscribers
and never grew from there.
Frankly, I’m still surprised
knowing people watched four
high schoolers struggle to tell
jokes and fail at playing “New
Super Mario Bros. Wii.” Some
of them were friends, some
were strangers, but they all
gave us a chance. I gave my all
into this channel, convincing a
friend to edit the videos while
I was learning the ropes, or
having another one essentially
be our brand manager as I ran
new show ideas by them on a
nearly daily basis. I paid an
artist for assets, learned how
to (barely) use Photoshop and
tried, and so very badly, but
inevitably failed, at sticking
to a schedule of two videos a
week. There was nothing that
would stop me from being the
next Pewdiepie, y’know that
except I wasn’t Swedish and
the YouTube algorithm doesn’t
benefit small channels in the
slightest.
In
the
end,
my
gaming
channel was me and three
other people, all of whom
are now some of my absolute
closest friends, spending four
years
goofing
around
and
playing games together. We
were never successful, we were
absolutely the furthest thing
from it, but that never stopped
the process from being a blast.
Every recording session was
an excuse to spend hours with
friends, either failing at getting
through World 9 of “NSMBW”
or playing “The Evil Within” at
2 a.m., and looking back now,
I could never ask for anything
more. YouTube gave me the
chance to try something new
and insane and find a passion
for creation while doing it. It
allowed me to learn skills I
use to this day, it bonded my
friends into a family and above
all else, it let me live a dream. I
may not have ever reached the
heights of SkydoesMinecraft,
but that didn’t matter to me.
I’m grateful for the experience
I had.
When YouTube was at its
best, it wasn’t a vehicle for Late
Night Show clips or dozens of
useless advertisements. It was
the Wild West, inviting people
from all over to throw their hat
into the ring to be the next big
thing. The only bad idea was
one you didn’t try. People rose
and fell overnight, but everyone
put their hearts and souls into
it and, most importantly, had
fun doing it.
I miss the old YouTube. Sure,
I go on the app daily and still
subscribe to people putting
out quality content, but it’s
different. Now, people rely on
sponsorships and Patreon so
they can do the thing they most
enjoy— somehow it became a
true job to do what you love. I’m
lucky to have found YouTube
when
I
did,
this
magical,
mythical place that encouraged
everyone to lie about being 18
and take a shot. Make that let’s
play. Do that make-up tutorial.
Write
that
long,
wholly
unnecessary essay about why
“National Treasure” is a classic
and deserves a third movie.
Everyone had the platform to
do whatever they wanted, it
really put the you in YouTube.
Let’s all take a moment
to take a deep breath and
remember that terrible, funny,
sincere viral video or favorite
Smosh song (I’m partial to
“Firetruck!”)
and
remember
a lighter, weirder time on
the
internet.
Think
about
if
Dr.
Seuss
beat
William
Shakespeare in that epic rap
battle. Pour one out mentally,
or physically if you’d like, for
what was and then get back
into life a little happier and
a little more fantastic than
before.
M. Deitz can be reached at
mdeitz@umich.edu.
SEJJAD ALKHALBY
Daily Arts Writer
M. DEITZ
For The Daily
Have you ever wanted to
explore the minds of people
you don’t normally see on
TV? To challenge what you
know about our country’s
history, and to see one of the
most significant moments in
humankind from a whole new
perspective?
If you answered yes to
any of these questions, do
not watch the new Disney+
anthology series “The Right
Stuff.” It won’t give you any of
the above.
Based on Tom Wolfe’s 1979
book of the same name and
the 1983 movie adaption, “The
Right Stuff” is a historical
drama about the United State’s
first
team
of
astronauts,
known as the Mercury Seven.
As these hard-working average
Joes
prepare
to
change
history, they become instant
American celebrities and must
deal with the scrutiny that the
newfound fame brings upon
their families.
The
main
conflict
is
between John Glenn (Patrick
J. Adams, “Suits”) and Alan
Shepard (Jake McDormand,
“Watchmen”). Both men are
members
of
the
Mercury
Seven, and out of their mutual
desire to become the first
American to travel into space,
they
form
a
competitive
rivalry. While Glenn is the
perfect
family
man
with
charm and charisma, Shepard
is the rogue bad boy who
hooks up with “chicks” and
then leaves them to fulfill his
American duty. It’s a conflict
that feels just as played out
and tired as a 2020 show about
the Space Race should.
To the show’s credit, none
of it feels sloppy or unsure
of itself. It knows who its
target audience is, and it gives
them everything they want:
cool cars, pretty women and
unbridled patriotism. Every
scene tries so desperately to
amaze the audience that even
reading the amount of people
on a signup sheet is met with
an over-dramatic score.
Essentially, if you asked
every white dad in America
what
their
favorite
movie
moments
were,
and
then
forced
a
bot
to
write
a
screenplay based on those
moments,
you’d
have
the
groundwork.
The most surprising aspect
of “The Right Stuff” is its
ability to pass the Bechdel test.
Halfway into episode two,
Annie Glenn (Nora Zehetner)
and Trudy Cooper (Eloise
Mumford,
“Fifty
Shades”)
discuss
the
hardships
of
marrying an astronaut and
their personal goals. It’s an
honest attempt to finally give
the women some agency. Only,
that’s exactly how it feels.
After over an hour of white
men
mansplaining
bravery,
this “girl power” moment is
comically
disingenuous.
It
isn’t inherently problematic
or ill-spirited. It’s just poor
writing.
Certainly,
stories
like
this
are
not
worthless
or
insignificant.
Their
monumental roles in shaping
the history of the country
are
undeniable,
and
the
impact they made on people is
immeasurable. However, these
are the exact stories we have
been told over and over again
without any new perspective.
In the modern era, another
show that celebrates white
male
American
history
without a single reservation
isn’t just irrelevant — it’s
blissfully ignorant.
As one of the first adult-
oriented shows on Disney+,
2020’s
“The
Right
Stuff”
is
a
hugely
generic
and
unnecessary adaptation. As
we enter the new decade, let’s
leave “stuff” like this behind.
Contributor Ben Servetah
can be reached at bserve@
umich.edu.
BEN SERVETAH
For The Daily
WIKIMEDIA COMMONS
NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC
It is this
delicate balance
that allows
Backman to
construct
scenes with
real emotional
weight in a
story that’s
essentially a
comedy
There is
literally no
reason you
should watch
“The Right
Stuff.”
This was the
golden era of
YouTube, the
era of Ryan
Higa, Shane
Dawson,
Ray William
Johnson of
=3 and, most
imporantly to
my life, Smosh.