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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