4 — Wednesday, September 21, 2022
Arts
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Less than a year after the
release of the third installment
of the “After” series, I willingly
purchased
tickets
to
the
premiere of the fourth movie,
“After Ever Happy.” I stepped
into the theater well aware
that the plot would be weak,
the relationship between Tessa
(Josephine Langford, “Moxie”)
and
Hardin
(Hero
Fiennes
Tiffin, “First Love”) would be
exhausting and the film would
end in yet another unexciting
cliffhanger that will inevitably
drag me back next year for round
five.
Why
am
I
involved
in
this never-ending cycle? It’s
definitely not because of the
films’ quality, which has proven
to
lack
significant
meaning
and
engaging
characters
in
the past. But the “After” series
is one of my last connections
to the One Direction fandom.
“After” originated as fanfiction
published on Wattpad by Anna
Todd. Directioners would lie
awake at night on their iPod
touches, scrolling vigorously to
read the newest chapter. Now,
we sit in theaters, reunited
with the poor storyline and
the very slight resemblance
Fiennes Tiffin has to Harry
Styles. Knowing the origin of the
“After” series is enough to keep
me coming back, even if it’s out
of obligation.
“After Ever Happy” once again
focuses on the toxic relationship
between
destructive
bad-boy
Hardin and good-girl Tessa as
they navigate their post-college
lives. Their lives seem to be in a
never-ending downward spiral.
Hardin discovers who his real
father is, prompting him to
burn his mother’s apartment
down. Just a couple of days later,
Tessa finds her father dead on
her bathroom floor following
an
overdose.
Tragedies
like
these are mere casualties in the
“After” series.
There’s really no plot to
summarize — Hardin and Tessa
take a few breaks from each
other that ultimately lead them
back together to have more sex.
If the films are so lackluster, one
may wonder why the fifth film is
already confirmed. I can’t speak
for everyone in the theater, but
by the laughter coming from
all corners and the looks of the
crowd (mostly girls in their
early 20s), I can confidently say
most people came for the same
reasons as I did — the nostalgia.
There’s nothing more ridiculous
than knowing that fanfiction
you once read in your bedroom
as a 12-year-old is playing on the
big screen. It’s so messy that you
simply cannot look away.
The previous “After” film,
“After We Fell,” had issues
bringing back the actors from
the previous films. Although
there weren’t as many drop-offs
this time around, Tessa’s mother,
previously played by Selma Blair,
was recast as Mira Sorvino
(“Mighty Aphrodite”). It seems
like every time one of these films
comes out, there’s a moment in
the theater where I am simply
confused. It takes a second to
readjust to the new actress, and
it throws off the already subpar
plot. The “After” series cannot
seem to hold onto its talent, and
that’s only a small part of the
larger canvas of problems for
viewers in terms of engagement.
Langford’s
performance
is
one of the better ones, but she
becomes almost unbearable to
watch as Tessa, who seems to
have no thoughts of her own
in any of the films. I found this
particularly frustrating in “After
Ever Happy.” When Hardin
burns his mother’s apartment
down, Tessa simply acts as his
getaway car. She finally drives
far enough away that they can
pull over. What happens next?
You guessed it, more sex.
Although Hardin is almost
always in the wrong, we still see
Tessa as the one struggling at the
end, chasing him. It’s frustrating
to see Hardin’s success story
and Tessa’s downfall when it
seems like it should be the other
way around. Tessa is reduced
to nothing without Hardin, but
I guess that’s what was written
on Wattpad. No one would have
liked to read the collapse of
Harry Styles in the early 2010s. I
know I wouldn’t have. Still,
Tessa’s lack of independence and
control seems much more real on
full display in the film, regardless
of the viewer’s knowledge of the
original fanfiction.
I
found
myself
getting
frustrated in the theater, but I
was instantly reminded by the
giggles surrounding me of why I
was there — not for quality, but
for community. The trajectory
the films have taken is so
ridiculous it’s laughable, and we
all know the reason the “After”
series has seen any success at
all: the One Direction fandom
reuniting several years after the
band announced their hiatus.
So
when
I
see
“To
be
continued…”
appear
on
the
screen after an anti-climatic
ending, I’m not mad. I thank the
“After” series for doing its job
of bringing a community back
together, even if it’s with toxic
sex scenes and a weak narrative.
Daily Arts Writer Laura Millar
can be reached at lamillar@
umich.edu.
‘After Ever Happy’ is not good, but I will continue to watch
LAURA MILLAR
Daily Arts Writer
Image distributed by Voltage Pictures
Daily Arts runs a marathon: Introducing the
runners (part 1)
Four albums you
might have missed this
summer
In 2022, like in years before, the
writers of The Michigan Daily Arts
are stretching out their hammies to
participate in a grueling challenge of
mental fortitude and physical fitness:
the Probility Ann Arbor Marathon. A
little pretentious, a little weird, The
Daily team is a mix of ex-trackletes.
For the sake of journalism and
prestige,
The
Daily’s
tenacious
review-writing gremlins are closing
their laptops, tying up their Brooks
and hitting the Ann Arbor pavement.
Non-gremlin
but
marathon-
interested University of Michigan
students can sign up for the marathon
with the discount code “Goblue25.”
Individuals in the Campus or Ann
Arbor community interested in
volunteering at the October 2 event
should contact alise@epicraces.com
for more information.
Kaya “I’ve Got One Thing Going
For Me” Ginsky
Since the first day that I could
stumble over my cleats, I have
played sports: basketball, tennis,
lacrosse. Yet sports never came
easy. I was uncoordinated, never
a “natural athlete,” and I resented
myself for that. At some point in my
early teens, my angst and growing
pains pushed me to run, and soon
I had one asset: I was faster than
most “athletes.” Even on days when
my pace lagged or my legs dragged,
I felt myself strengthen. When I
run, I find the pride and confidence
I thought could only come with
the world (and my inner critic)
considering me “athletic.” When I
run, everything I do is up to me, and
I trust myself wholeheartedly to do
what is best. I can push myself or
take it easy, run fast or slow for long
or short distances. I can listen to any
music as the beat pulses through
my racing heart (an unfamiliar
feeling, as I never had a sense of
rhythm). Mt. Joy, Mac Miller,
Taylor Swift, Phoebe Bridgers,
The Who, Rihanna, Fleetwood
Mac, Kanye West and Flume all
tell me what I need to hear, even
if the lyrics (or lack thereof) don’t
quite apply to my life. I bound, leap,
stride, duck and dance along sandy
beaches, wooded trails, city streets
and sunny neighborhoods (or with
an empowering Peloton instructor
or comforting sitcom blaring on
the treadmill). I can think freely
and not speak. I can feel my body,
which I once hated for its lack of
coordination,
enjoy
movement.
Running keeps me grounded and
reminds me that I am moving
forward. When we run, we can
acknowledge all our body can do,
past, present and future, even if we
are not “athletes.”
Rushabh “Ready to Run” Shah
Unlike many of my childhood
experiences, which have become
blurred and morphed over time,
those that I had on my elementary,
middle and high school race track
have stuck in my mind. Track and
field wasn’t my favorite sport, nor
was it necessarily the thing I was
best at, but I still remember my
first medal and my last. I remember
lifting the house cup as an 11-year-
old kid and as captain of the house.
I remember throwing up after the
one-mile run, and I remember
realizing I had a crush on my high
school girlfriend when we were
together on the field. All these
memories, and more, were made on
the same running track.
However, like many high school
extracurriculars,
running
was
something I gave up on completely
when I came to college. With all
the self-doubt that college brings,
I guess the Ann Arbor Marathon
is my way of proving to myself that
I can still do it. I wasn’t convinced
that I should participate, simply
because I knew I wouldn’t be able
to live up to the standards of my
past self.
“Why tarnish old memories
by going back to something I will
most likely not be able to excel in?”
I asked myself. However, when
I begrudgingly stepped onto the
running tracks at the Intramural
Sports Building, I thought to myself
— “Why not make new ones?” 16
minutes and 35 seconds of stride
after stride, eight rounds of deep
breaths and hearing the sound of
rubber on clay, and my indecision
vanished. I am ready to run again.
Lillian “Please Be Proud of Me,
Dad” Pearce
You know that tweet where
people
express
their
fear
of
marrying into a morning 5K
marathon-running
family?
Unfortunately, that was my family
from 2012-2015. God bless my
father’s herniated spinal disc that
brought our family 5Ks to an end.
For four consecutive years my
father and I woke up at the butt
crack of dawn on Thanksgiving Day
to drive to Detroit, run three miles,
get back in the car and feast on a
bird the size of our heads. I would
wear my Turkey Trot shirt to school
on the following Monday, yearning
for someone to ask me about it, not
yet realizing that no one cares about
runners (and they often thoroughly
dislike those who make running
our entire personality).
When my dad stopped running
and I no longer harbored the fear of
him sprinting past me, I too gave it
up. With no one beside me to laugh
when I tripped or to yell at me to
pick up the pace, I lost interest;
sharing the activity with my dad
was sort of the whole point.
Though he’s still not running
races — it turns out herniated spinal
discs are pretty serious — I knew he
would like to see me shivering at a
starting line once again. (Funnily
enough, he won’t be in the country
on race day. Anyway, this one’s for
you, Dad.)
Erin
“This
Was
A
Toxic
Relationship, But Now It’s Half My
Personality” Evans
Running is something I do alone.
I was alone at 6 a.m. on the
treadmill in my senior year of high
school. Any endorphins I might
have gained were firmly stomped
out by my hatred for that machine
and the triumphing hatred of my
own body that drove me back to it.
It was a hate I kindled alone.
I briefly ran with my mom when
the pandemic closed the gym. She
ran five miles every other morning
when it was so dark we had to wear
headlights. I could see her light
catching up to me as I stopped to
walk or ahead of me as I forced
myself to start running again,
wrapped in darkness. I learned to
tolerate running on my own, found
a three-mile loop to take instead of
the five-mile and went by myself
later in the morning, quietly coming
to the conclusion that I wasn’t cut
out to run far or to enjoy it.
The track at Palmer Field was
too repetitive for my freshman self,
so I took to running haphazardly
through the streets of Ann Arbor,
going four, sometimes five miles.
By the time I was sent home for a
second semester of virtual classes,
the connection between exercise
and body, tied tightly in my mind
for years, was broken. Due to that or
to increased endurance (or probably
both), the dread had seeped out of
running.
That winter, I spent mornings
running farther, ignoring the pain
in my feet from shoes I didn’t realize
were too small. I loved running
alone. It was a state of existence to
let my thoughts go undirected and
see what I could do. It was a part of
me that I couldn’t fully explain the
appeal of to my non-runner friends
— and it seemed to annoy or bore
them when I tried — so I kept it to
myself. It felt intended as a solo act.
As much as the act of running
feels personal to me, I’ve wished
I had people to talk to about it.
Joining the marathon team is a way
for me to be with other runners who
understand the feeling.
Lizzie “If I Don’t Text, Assume I
Slept Through” Yoon
I am a late riser by habit and
tradition.
While
school
and
obligations keep me on a tight
schedule,
physically,
my
body
can sleep for more than 11 hours
straight. Emotionally, a decade of
poor sleep habits has softened the
sting of waking up past noon (or
even after 4 p.m.) and I am no longer
fazed (but yes, I probably should
be more bothered). However, my
favorite time to run is before 7 a.m.
Mornings are romantic, rare
and exciting for me — like time
travel. The pre-dawn glow makes
the pavement and city look raw
and unfinished. When running
past South Quad, I am still myself
as a college student but am also
resonating with every version of
myself that deigned to leave the
house pre-sunrise. I am in lower
elementary school, boarding the
bus in the early morning darkness; I
am a middle schooler watching the
season finale credits play, preparing
to feign post-sleep drowsiness as I
clamber downstairs for a breakfast
I usually sleep through; I am a
high school senior, standing on a
beach with my entire graduating
class, watching the sun rise and a
life chapter close. This year, I am a
senior again.
Given my preferred running
time and my sleep schedule, you
might expect me to be terrifyingly,
woefully
unprepared
for
the
marathon. This is true: One glance
at my most recent, sparse Strava
history shows a pitiful mile time
and distance.
But I love running; I love cutting
through grass and passing ongoing
construction; I love water breaks
with the Arts section and seeing
the city of Ann Arbor in blue tones.
Thus, with my very best writerly
friends, I am committed to seeing
this marathon relay through, bright
and early 5 a.m. on race day.
Drew “Perhaps Peaked Last
Year” Gadbois
Last year, I cautiously said that
I might be able to join the Daily
Arts marathon relay when it was
announced. By the time I stopped
tiptoeing around the decision, the
spots had been filled. I’ll admit,
I was disappointed to lose the
opportunity to prove myself, but
I went about my life, still running
because I liked it, but certainly not
training. Only two weeks out from
the race, I was panic-called and
asked to join the lineup. My only
solace was that there truly were no
expectations of me. I hadn’t even
been timing myself during training.
In any case, I decided to make a go
of it. And I absolutely crushed it.
Running has been an aspect of
my life that has evolved over time.
Early on, it was easy for me to get
frustrated and discouraged by
literally anything when I was on
a run. It could be my feet hurting
too much, sweat getting in my eye
or that I wasn’t going as fast or as
far as I wanted to, and my brain
would call it quits. Whoever said
that running was 95% mental could
not be more correct. But then over
this summer, something really
fundamental happened: I started
running with other people. All of
a sudden, I was able to go twice as
long and twice as fast compared
to my prior solo efforts. It became
clear that I needed other people
around me to kickstart my progress.
There was a certain amount of
accountability that I felt, which
pushed me forward. At the same
time, simply being in the presence
of others allowed me to take my
mind off the actual labor of running.
Almost immediately, my solo runs
improved as well. Confidence was
all it took.
Now the pressure is back on.
I did better than I ever expected
on the last relay, so now I have the
expectation to crush it once again.
Time for round two, I guess.
The Daily Arts section can be
reached
at
Arts@michigandaily.
com.
DAILY ARTS WRITERS
Ugly Season — Perfume
Genius
Given the trajectory of Mike
Hadreas’ music over the years,
it’s easy to feel taken aback by
the sudden contrast that Ugly
Season holds over the rest of
his
discography.
However,
the almost auteur role that
Hadreas
has
managed
to
craft for himself as of late
doesn’t
seem
unnatural
for him, given the way his
subversive pop sensibilities
have evolved throughout his
career. Perfume Genius’ first
three albums set the stage for
his big breakout No Shape,
whose orchestral grandiosity
became the impetus for even
larger-scale
production.
If
No Shape was the lighting of
the fuse, then 2020’s Set My
Heart On Fire Immediately
was the explosion itself, with
incendiary lyrics about queer
longing and dormant passion
that made it one of the most
celebrated pop albums of the
year. In turn, Ugly Season
is Hadreas’ way of sifting
through the wreckage. This is
the closest Hadreas has ever
gotten to becoming a full-on
composer, trading traditional
hooks and melodies for music
that resigns itself to shifting
in the darkness. Equal parts
shocking and seductive, Ugly
Season might scare off fans of
his earlier work, but make no
mistake: this is easily Perfume
Genius’s
most
forward-
thinking
and
mesmerizing
album to date.
Heart
Under
—
Just
Mustard
What is it about Ireland
that produces some of the best
shoegaze?
The
sophomore
effort of the rock quintet
hailing
from
the
island
perfectly toes the line between
monstrous scale and brooding
passivity. Waves of distorted
guitar and industrial texture
bloom into monolithic blocks
of sound. Without necessarily
targeting the listener, the
music of Heart Under feels
like a weapon. Its antagonism
is only cut through by the
glowing angelic quality of
lead
vocalist
Katie
Bell’s
voice, the magnitude of whose
effect on the music could
be compared to the likes of
Broadcast’s
Trish
Keenan.
There is also a certain kind
of confidence a band has to
have in order to make a record
that so willingly stays at one
level, one pace, for its entire
runtime. Moreover, it takes a
certain amount of greatness
to make the record thrive in
that space. Taking influences
from
obvious
choices
like
My Bloody Valentine all the
way to post-rock chameleons
Bowery
Electric,
Heart
Under cannot exist without
these predecessors and yet
easily transforms itself into
something greater than the
sum of its parts. Needless to
say, Just Mustard have carved
themselves quite the space to
explore in the future.
Niineta – Joe Rainey
Niineta is an album where
someone’s enjoyment of it can
be indicated by their reaction
to the genre description. Joe
Rainey’s
expertise?
Post-
industrial electronic powwow
music. If this intrigues you,
let me assure you, it’s just as
cinematic and enlightening
as it sounds. By far one of
the most inventive records
to
come
out
this
year,
Rainey
tactfully
captures
the language and culture of
Ojibwa all the while never
retreating from the forefront
of synthetic sound. To that
effect, the album thoughtfully
activates
a
convergence
between
history
and
the
future, cultivating a grand
stage for various recorded
chants and orchestral blooms
to roam. Niineta is a record
that frequently packs in as
many
complicated
textures
as
possible;
however,
this
never overshadows the vocal
elements of the album. More
than anything, it is intensely
reverent. Witnessing the pure
imagination of Niineta feels
like such a lightning-in-a-
bottle moment. And when
it’s over, the only emotion
recognizable
is
that
of
gratitude.
Steve
Reich:
Reich/
Richter
—
Ensemble
Intercontemporain
&
George Jackson
Live versions of this Reich/
Richter have been floating on
and off of YouTube ever since
it was commissioned in 2019,
but it wasn’t until this year
that it was finally released
to the public on Nonesuch
Records. Initially performed
alongside an installation by
Gerhard
Richter,
the
duo
focused their exhibition on
structural
patterns,
both
within visual art and music.
The end product on the latter
side of the collaboration is
perhaps one of Reich’s most
artistically
potent
works
in
decades.
Despite
how
theoretically
rigorous
and
dense the actual concept of
the piece is, Reich/Richter
rarely
feels
mechanical.
On the contrary, it flows
effortlessly from section to
section, naturally progressing
toward the end. That being
said, the real beauty of Reich/
Richter is its ability to conjure
a
whimsical
yet
dramatic
narrative. There’s almost a
childlike joy that rolls over
you. The environment shrinks
until you’re stuck with only
the significance of yourself.
It’s terrifying. It’s revelatory.
It’s the manifestation of pure
wonder.
Daily
Arts
Writer
Drew
Gadbois can be reached at
gadband@umich.edu.
DREW GADBOIS
Daily Arts Writer
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