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.

