The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Arts
Wednesday, January 27, 2021 — 5

Rina Sawayama, ‘Minari’ 

and cultural ‘others’

Design byJessica Chiu

Daily Arts Top Five: 

What to read, watch & 
listen to this weekend

Each week, Daily Arts writers evaluate 

the latest movies, shows, books, music, 

games and more. They watch, read and 

listen for the next standout artistic trends 

and then write about what that means 

for us in the art world and beyond. Come 

Friday, we highlight what Daily Arts 

loved most — here’s what will keep you 

captivated this weekend. 

— Zoe Phillips and Elise Godfryd, 

Managing Arts Editors 

Watch: “Pieces of a Woman”

In her review for the Daily, Daily 

Arts Writer Mary Elizabeth Johnson 

commends the new Netflix film release 

“Pieces of a Woman” for its willingness 

to explore one woman’s experience of 

motherhood in a way that doesn’t shy 

away from the “often overlooked parts” 

of it. The film approaches pregnancy, 

childbirth and the post-partum period 

with empathy, honesty and openness. 

Though the film’s reception has been 

somewhat polarized, Johnson promises 

“it’ll make you want to call your mom, 

check up on her and thank her.” 

Listen to: Two Saviors

Two Saviors, Buck Meek’s new 

album, is, in the words of Daily Arts 

Writer Rosa Sofia Kaminski, “like a love 

letter written upon waking up from a 

dream.” With this collection of songs, 

the Big Thief guitarist has created a 

breakup album that is as melancholy 

as it is danceable. Two Saviors, “tinged 

with sadness” and “suffused with light” 

all at once, considers large, universal 

themes like nostalgia and sadness 

through a “loving observation” of the 

small things. 

Read: “On the Way Out, Turn Off the 

Light” by Marge Piercy

In her review for The Daily, writer 

Emilia 
Ferrante 
describes 
Marge 

Piercy’s poetry as boldly introspective. 

The collection meditates on love 

and loss, sex and politics, family and 

religion. Within each, Ferrante notes 

that Piercy’s writing “thrives in small 

sentences and phrases.” The result is a 

book of poems that deserves to be kept 

close by, available for revisiting when in 

need of comfort. It is, as Ferrante writes, 

“like a friend giving gentle advice” — a 

carefully arranged collection of words 

that “most people screaming into the 

void can’t express.” 

Watch: “WandaVision”

“WandaVision,” the latest Disney+ 

endeavor into the Marvel Cinematic 

Universe, is, according to Daily Arts 

Writer Jessica Curney, a solid and 

exciting beginning to Phase Four of 

the Marvel franchise. The TV series 

examines what happened to Wanda 

Maximoff (Elizabeth Olsen, “Sorry For 

Your Loss”) and Vision (Paul Bettany, 

“Uncle Frank”) after the explosive 

events of 2019’s “Avengers: Endgame.” 

Curney assures us that any viewer, 

regardless of their experience with 

Marvel, can enjoy the “wild ride” that is 

“WandaVision.”

When we think of what defines 

good art, nationality and language 
are generally not the first factors 
that come to mind. Yet, in reality, 
the celebration of the arts is often 
heavily influenced by outdated ideas 
dictating what stories are deserving 
of recognition. 

The British-Japanese pop singer 

Rina Sawayama stands as one 
of the clearest examples of this 
phenomenon. When BRITs and the 
Mercury prize were released back 
in July, the 30-year-old musician’s 
critically-acclaimed 
album, 

SAWAYAMA, 
was 
noticeably 

missing from the lineup. Sawayama 
sat down with Vice following the 
news, describing her exclusion 
from nominations, and even the 
possibility to enter for consideration, 
as “othering.” Despite having lived 
in London for 25 years, Sawayama 
was not considered “British enough” 
according 
to 
stringent 
award 

guidelines, ones that she labeled as 
“border control.” 

Sawayama was born in Niigata, 

Japan, where she lived for five years 
before moving with her family to 

London. She currently holds an 
indefinite-leave-to-remain 
visa, 

which grants Sawayama stay in the 
U.K. for an indefinite period of time 
and allows her to study and seek 
employment. Most of Sawayama’s 
family still lives in Japan, one of 
the few countries that prohibits 
dual-citizenship. She explains that 
“getting rid of my Japanese passport 
genuinely feels like I’m severing 
ties with them.” The situation 
shines light on a flawed definition 
of Britishness and the persistent 
view that non-European voices are 
unwelcome in British culture. 

But it’s not just a British issue; 

the Grammys are notorious for 
excluding Latin and other foreign 
language albums from their Album 
of the Year nominations. An album 
in a language other than English 
has never won Album of the Year, 
and for 2021 alone, there are only 
two nominations for Latin artists 
outside of the Latin categories. It’s 
yet another explicit example of 
the music industry’s tendency to 
pigeonhole foreign talents. 

The 
recently 
released 
film 

“Minari” (2020), which follows the 
story of a Korean-American family 
living in rural Arkansas, faces a 
similar barrier. Although “Minari” 

was directed by American filmmaker 
Lee Isaac Chung and produced 
by American companies A24 and 
Plan B, the film was categorized 
as a foreign language film in the 
Golden Globes by the Hollywood 
Foreign Press Association. The 
HFPA guidelines stipulate that a 
film’s dialogue must be at least 50% 
English to be considered for Best 
Picture 
nominations. 
“Minari,” 

which features both Korean and 
English dialogue, as well as Korean 
and 
Korean-American 
talents, 

apparently didn’t make the cut. 

This exclusion comes on the 

tails of two similar cases at last 
year’s Golden Globes. The Oscar-
winning film “Parasite” (2019), 
which was entirely in Korean, and 
“The Farewell” (2019), a film with 
both English and Chinese dialogue, 
were also ineligible for Best Picture 
nominations 
despite 
receiving 

overwhelmingly positive reviews 
from critics. Lulu Wang, director 
of “The Farewell,” tweeted in 
response to this year’s Golden Globe 
nominations, “I have not seen a more 
American film than #Minari this 
year. It’s a story about an immigrant 
family, IN America, pursuing the 
American dream. We really need 
to change these antiquated rules 

that characterize American as 
only English-speaking.” So often in 
American pop culture immigrant 
stories, especially those of people 
of color, are labeled as outsider 
experiences despite their central 
importance 
to 
the 
American 

identity. So, is the only requirement 
for artistic recognition to speak 
English? 

As 
evident 
from 
past 
Best 

Picture nominations at the Globes, 
it’s not that simple. The 2009 film 
“Inglourious 
Basterds,” 
which 

prominently 
features 
dialogue 

in German, French and Italian, 
was nominated in the Best Drama 
category despite large portions of 
its story transpiring in a language 
other than English. Many of its stars, 
including Christoph Waltz, Mélanie 
Laurent and Diane Kruger, are not 
American, calling into question 
why “Inglourious Basterds” and 
“Minari” have faced such different 
treatment 
despite 
their 
many 

commonalities. 

The problem that remains is that 

works in the Foreign Language 
category do not receive nearly as 
much attention as those in the 
Best Drama or Musical/Comedy 
categories. The Golden Globes in 
particular nominate Best Actors 
and Actresses exclusively from 
these two groups, nominations 
which are not afforded to actors 
in foreign language films. They’re 
treated as an afterthought — never 
truly equivalent to their “domestic” 
counterparts. It’s disheartening, to 
say the least. 

The experiences of Sawayama 

and 
“Minari” 
point 
to 
an 

overarching issue with xenophobic 
microaggressions in Western pop 
culture. When the recognition of 
art is overshadowed by arbitrary 
percentages and passport statuses, 
it is abundantly clear that English-
speaking cultures are still unwilling 
to view foreign works as equal. 
These works are often placed inside 
the box of their “foreignness” and 
treated as some kind of novelty, a 
completely separate entity from 
mainstream American or British art. 

It is difficult to imagine 

myself on the path I might be on 
had I not read the books I have 
read. I have often heard about 
“the moral of the story,” but life 
is rarely so straightforward. 
Few stories have a lesson, but 
every story can be learned 
from. In lieu of a dissertation 
on 
one 
book, 
expounding 

interpretations 
pulled 
from 

subtext so deep it may as well 
be imagined, here is a tour of a 
few subtler points I have picked 
up on a problematic and elusive 
topic: consciousness. 

Picture: The sun is setting 

behind my childhood home. I 
am sitting with my back against 
the window facing southwest. 
I look up from my book to see 
delicate yellow light on the wall 
and turn around to see a heavy 
gold pouring through the trees. 
I realize that the sun will set 
tomorrow, but that I will not 
be here for that sunset. I will 
be somewhere else. Basic facts, 
invincible tenets of life emerge: 
The sun rises and sets every day. 
The setting sun will light up this 
room tomorrow + I will not be in 
this room tomorrow = I will not 
see the setting sun light up this 
room tomorrow. 

This seems like a pretty 

obvious observation, but the 
difference is that I can still 
picture myself sitting on that 
couch, 
watching 
the 
light 

change. It won’t happen, but 
I can see it as clearly as I see 
myself in that room as my 
mind wanders through this 
line of thought. I can also see 
myself sitting at my desk in 
my apartment in Ann Arbor, 
watching an entirely different 
version of the same sunset. 
Initial 
circumstances 
entail 

conclusions.

I’m thinking in this strange, 

almost 
mathematical 
way 

because at the moment I am 
reading a stunning short story 

called “Story of Your Life” by Ted 
Chiang, the basis for the movie 
“Arrival.” In the story, aliens 
land on earth and the narrator, a 
linguist named Louise, is tasked 
with communicating with them.

As Louise learns the aliens’ 

language, she begins to see 
time differently. The aliens 
perceive 
time 
non-linearly 

— they view their entire life 
simultaneously, each moment 
a predetermined scene in a 
play. As Louise becomes more 
proficient in the alien language, 
she gains memories of her 
future. The reader gradually 
comes to understand that the 
memories are not presented 
in the expected chronological 
order, despite Chiang using the 
present and future tense to relay 
them. As the reader learns about 
the unique abilities provided by 
the alien language, they realize 
that the perceived past is really 
the future. The use of tense 
makes perfect sense.

“Story of Your Life” has an 

almost magical effect on the 
reader — it feels as though 
Chiang has broken a secret 
rule of storytelling, that of 
chronology. But this technical 
rebellion is perfectly welcome, 
as it brings me to that delicious 
event we all hope for in a book: 
the “a-ha!” moment. 

Great stories spark novel 

thoughts 
in 
their 
readers. 

The iconic quote from Dr. 
Ian 
Malcolm 
in 
“Jurassic 

Park” springs to mind: “Your 
scientists were so preoccupied 
with whether or not they could, 
they didn’t stop to think if they 
should.” Hearing this delivered 
in Jeff Goldblum’s impeccably 
stuttered 
cadence 
prompts 

legitimate consideration: How 
should we treat bioengineered 
animals? It seems like a distant 
question, one that our great-
great-grandchildren will face, 
not us. And while we may not 
resurrect 
dinosaurs 
anytime 

soon, 
Michael 
Crichton’s 

original “Jurassic Park” novel 
does raise relevant questions 

regarding 
consciousness 
and 

life.

Consider the velociraptor, a 

creature artificially created by 
geneticists in “Jurassic Park.” 
Does it have rights? Should 
we protect it, or let it roam 
free? The point that Crichton 
emphasizes in the novel is 
that nature can never truly be 
controlled, that life will escape 
any cage, will “find a way.” 
But when we do play God and 
create an animal, there is an 
undeniable implication: that we 
owe our offspring protection. 

Creation is paternal in the 

world of “Jurassic Park,” yet 
protection necessitates a certain 
amount of control. However, 
if we can never control nature, 
then it follows that we can never 
truly protect it. Crichton asks 
us to question our treatment of 
animals, an issue that is further 
complicated when we consider 
the role of consciousness in 
other forms of life.

But 
how 
about 
another 

perspective, 
one 
where 
an 

animal is not created, but 
altered? In Stephen Baxter’s 
novel 
“Manifold 
Time,” 

scientists send a rocket to 
examine an alien object that has 
appeared in the solar system. 
It’s a one-way trip, so they 
can’t send a human to pilot the 
vessel. They opt instead for a 
non-traditional pilot: Sheena 5, 
a squid, biologically enhanced 
to have the intelligence of a 
human. Sheena can control the 
rocket, perform all the scientific 
functions necessary and inhabit 
a much smaller space than a 
human. 

This seems like a perfect 

solution, one that eliminates 
a loss of human life while 
mimicking 
the 
creative 

problem-solving abilities of a 
conscious person. But of course, 
if Sheena is conscious, then isn’t 
sending her on a suicide mission 
just as immoral as sending a 
human? To further complicate 
things, Sheena is — unknown 
to the scientists — pregnant 

when she begins her voyage. 
Her 
offspring 
inherit 
her 

mental abilities, and a family 
of newly-conscious beings is 
created. The story unfolds like 
a logical extension of “Jurassic 
Park” 
as 
the 
squids 
find 

ways to survive in space and 
eventually reproduce to form a 
generational society. 

Reading “Manifold Time” led 

me to unexpected emotional 
leaps; I began to consider a 
squid the same way I would 
consider 
a 
person. 
Sheena 

thinks in the same internal 
monologue as myself, she feels 
the same fear of death that I 
feel and she turns out to be very 
similar to any other person, 
with the exception of certain 
tentacular 
differences. 
She 

leads me to wonder, is the gap 
between people and animals 
really all that big?

Stephen 
Godfrey-Smith’s 

newest 
book 
“Metazoa” 

explores this topic in the same 
way that Sheena explores the 
solar system. Both a philosopher 
and 
a 
biologist, 
Godfrey-

Smith 
observes 
animals 

the 
way 
an 
anthropologist 

observes humans. He describes 
encounters 
with 
octopuses 

and 
shrimp 
like 
they’re 

simply other people, as if the 
difference in species is no more 
than a language barrier. One 
passage stuck out to me: “Two 
weeks later I went back again, 
implausible as it seemed to be 
driving three hours up the coast 
to visit a shrimp … He looked 
tired, very much on his own, 
and probably near the end of his 
days.”

What Godfrey-Smith seeks 

to prove in “Metazoa” is that 
consciousness 
cannot 
be 

strictly delineated. It’s not as if 
there is a switch, as if the lights 
are on in one animal and off in 
another. More complex animals 
like 
octopuses, 
dolphins 
or 

house 
cats 
certainly 
feel 

emotions similar to ours. They 
also form memories the way we 
do, remembering locations and 
routes and feelings associated 
with different places. Most 
importantly, they use language.

There was a moment over 

winter break when I sat in my 
living room and my family’s 
cat, Lily, started pawing at 
the door, wanting to be let in. 
She saw me stand up through 
the glass, and when I walked 
over 
she 
stopped 
pawing, 

looked at me and meowed. It 
wasn’t an empty utterance, 

there was an intention behind 
it, a conveyance of meaning: 
Open the door, Julian. In that 
moment, it certainly seemed 
that 
there 
was 
something 

behind her eyes that resembled 
my own consciousness.

But then the moment was 

over, and I sat back down and 
picked up my book, which 
brings us back to “Story of Your 
Life.” The other books I’ve 
mentioned here all brought me 
to think about consciousness 
differently in other beings, in 
animals. 

But “Story of Your Life” 

brought me to think differently 
about my own mind. I saw 
tomorrow as something half-
certain, as if today were a 
snapshot of a ball, just released 
from a hand, waiting to fall. I 
couldn’t tell exactly, but some 
present information entailed 
some future events. The sun will 
set, the room will glow, I will be 
there or I will be somewhere 
else. Fill in that last blank, and 
the future is not all that hard to 
see in my mind. 

It’s a little thing, a tilt of the 

lens rather than a full pan, but 
it’s important. Stories make us 
think; great stories change the 
way we think.

NORA LEWIS
Daily Arts Writer

JULIAN WRAY
Daily Arts Writer

On science fiction, consciousness and the moral of the story

Read more at 
MichiganDaily.com

INGROOVES

Design by Melissa Lee

Read more at 
MichiganDaily.com

ZOE PHILLIPS & 
ELISE GODFRYD
Managing Arts Editors

