Wednesday, October 12, 2022 — 3
Arts
michigandaily.com — The Michigan Daily
A Michigan summer is difficult
to hold in your hands.
It is a season that slips into
temperature
extremes,
turning
increasingly novel each year — July
and August heat are just almost
unbearable at times — but more
than that, summer is a season of
universal
renewal.
Warmth
is
restored from the ground up in
every living being, and the beating
heart of summer forces a fresh pulse
within every sun-kissed soul. It is
undeniably obvious why summer
has a reputation for blossoming love
and brief romances: the ephemeral
nature of its passions are boundless.
Despite this, it is impossible
for me to truly love summer. The
official calendar length of summer
is three months, ranging from
June to September — but this
length rarely holds true in feeling.
A Michigan summer is the very
definition of brevity, a brief lapse
of light sandwiched between the
nine-month heartbreak that is
Michigan’s grip of winter. The Arb’s
bloom never lasts long enough, and
the Diag’s trees lose their color
faster than I can enjoy it. The loving
warmth born in April settles into
a casket by September. I can’t love
summer, but I also can’t love the
transition into winter, spring or
autumn — each seasonal death is a
funeral of sorts, and the reminder
of life passing is almost universally
mortifying.
When
summer’s
scorching sun settles into the
gloomy mornings of autumn, and
the evening darkness comes earlier
and earlier, the natural grief of
another earthly rotation is difficult
to miss.
Unfortunately, there are no cures
for the endless melancholy the
end of September and the start of
October brings, but I offer you my
literary mode of relief and escape
nonetheless.
“Breasts and Eggs” by Meiko
Kawakami
As the epitome of a somber
summer afternoon, “Breasts and
Eggs” by Meiko Kawakami hangs
heavily onto the empty feeling
of staring into endless summer
sunsets. Set in Japan, the novel
is propelled by the intertwined
narratives of three characters:
Natsuko, a single, struggling writer
grappling with her age and the
pressures of loneliness, success and
motherhood; Midoriko, her silent
niece laboring through the aches
and pains of puberty; and Makiko,
Natsuko’s older sister on the hunt
for affordable breast implants to feel
like the ideal woman. With each ebb
and flow of the novel, Kawakami
paints
the
deeply
bittersweet
scope of women’s lives from birth,
through puberty and ultimately to
death.
As the central idea of the novel,
the brief glow of women’s youth
holds the same ephemeral nature
as the blink of summer. Kawakami
explores this with ease: Natusko
spends her portion of the novel
in a fight against her window of
fertility. She is unpartnered and
not financially well-off, but her
deepest desire is to be a mother.
Her summer is ending, and the
grief she feels over her childlessness
turns into a feverish desperation
to have a baby. She begins to spend
more time than not researching
sperm donation in Japan. Her
sense of true womanhood relies
upon fleeting biological ability, in
the same way Makiko’s conception
of womanhood is dependent on
the perfect body. This body is
dependent upon mimicking its
previous window of youthfulness,
despite Makiko’s ascendance into
mother- and adulthood. This focus
on recreating Makiko’s teenage
and young adult life only fuels
the confusion of Midoriko, who is
entering her teenage years at the
same time her mother tries to return
to them. In this novel, the body is a
weapon used against the woman
who is inside it. There is a warm
window of use for their bodies, and
then a lifelong grief over losing the
physical validation young women
receive in a patriarchal society.
“Giovanni’s Room” by James
Baldwin
As the paragon of tragic love
stories, “Giovanni’s Room” ushers
in the hauntingly melancholic
experience of a summer love
abruptly cut short, and uniquely
ends in both literal and spiritual
death. Set in ’50s Paris, the novel
explores the seedy underbelly of
the gay scene that David, the central
character, falls into upon beginning
a lengthy affair with an Italian
bartender. David finds himself
unable to repress his desires;
despite his absolute determination
to ultimately live the conventional
heterosexual life with his fiancée,
he is fully drawn by the hypnotic
Giovanni. This internal torture and
grief from David’s sexual identity
ultimately drives the tragedy and
grief of the novel, as he oscillates
between reality and his dream.
For
Giovanni,
his
love
for
David is greater than life itself.
This is partially because his life
is defined by pain — his titular
room is full of wine stains, rotting
food and notably lacks windows
— and partially because David and
Giovanni share a true love that
Giovanni cannot bear to lose. In the
all-consuming romance they share,
every character knows that tragedy
is lurking around the corner.
Melancholy is the central setting of
the novel — where Giovanni loves,
there is a pit of sadness, and where
David explores, there is a web of self-
denial and pain. But David loses the
war between his desire for love and
his desire for his good American life,
and this ruins everything for him.
Giovanni spirals into self-loathing,
murder and, finally, his death upon
David’s
abandonment;
David’s
fiancée smashes her and David’s
picture-perfect
life
by
leaving
him. All that remains of his life is
homelessness and an irreversible
emptiness. This is the final grief
of the novel: David and Giovanni
both experience death, and both
are inconsolably lost, but David is
haunted by the past that resides
tumultuously inside him and by
the past love and freedom that has
escaped him. Giovanni’s Room is
an ambush of the rawest and most
wounding portraits of Queer love
and the perpetual melancholy that
stains everything of love and value
when it is denied.
This time of year is famously
liminal — every day follows a course
of seasonal change. Mornings are
cold and bitter, but the afternoon
heat swelters on the skin. The
evenings, worst of all, invite
reflections of moonlight and a
once-forgotten cold. In this return
of winter’s predecessor, tucking
myself into the warm embrace of
novels like these is often the only
refuge I find.
Literary cures for end-of-summer melancholy
“Hocus Pocus 2” is Disney’s
latest attempt to squeeze extra
profits from their many classic
movies, trying to recapture the
original’s magic in an updated
form. The modern reimagining
of the ’90s classic replicates the
corny hilarity of the original
while falling victim to the same
lack of direction.
The
Sanderson
Sisters
return in all their humorous,
bewitching glory, played by
Bette Midler (“The Addams
Family”), Sarah Jessica Parker
(“New Year’s Eve”) and Kathy
Najimy (“Dumplin”). Besides
a flashback to the Sanderson
Sisters’ youth to introduce the
all-powerful Magicae Maxima
spell, the film follows much the
same premise as its prequel.
We are introduced to Becca
(Whitney Peak, “Gossip Girl”)
and Izzy (Belissa Escobedo,
“The Baker and the Beauty”),
two teenagers who are obsessed
with
witches
and
magic
and inadvertently bring the
Sisters back to life. The Sisters
have moved on from gaining
immortality and instead want
to take revenge on all of Salem.
The most important thing
this movie had to get right was
the humor. Luckily, the comedic
timing of Midler, Parker and
Najimy has not waned. They
make their characters just the
right level of over-the-top. The
Sanderson Sisters feel absurd
and out of place in the modern
world, leading to countless
jokes at their expense. They’re
convinced by Becca that lotion
is a modern form of potions,
leading to an incredibly gross
scene of all three Sisters eating
beauty products. But, outside
of these jokes, the movie
struggles to generate laughs. It
attempts to solve this issue by
reusing gags from the original
movie but with a slightly more
modern twist, such as when
the Sanderson Sisters used
Roombas as brooms, copying
the moment where they used
vacuums for brooms in the
original movie, beat for beat. I
still laughed at these moments,
but not quite as hard as when I
saw them the first time.
The film does, however,
excel by adding a message
about
female
empowerment
and sisterhood. It’s an organic
addition that improves the
movie overall, as Becca is
a likable character and an
intelligent adversary for the
Sanderson Sisters. The teenage
characters
don’t
resort
to
screaming,
instead
working
in creative ways to stop the
ancient witches — the audience
can hopefully see themselves in
these characters and is spared
yet another bumbling fool to
cringe at.
There’s one scene in particular
that I feel obligated to address.
It flashes on the screen for only
a couple of seconds, but about
two-thirds of the way through
the movie, we are shown a
couple watching an unchanged
scene from the original “Hocus
Pocus.” It is never explained. I
exclaimed when this happened,
as it completely broke the
continuity of the film. It brings
up an endless array of questions
about what exactly the nature
of the first film is. I questioned
the scene but stopped myself.
I realized the audience is not
meant to think about this scene
that deeply because the film
itself doesn’t. It’s a one-off
joke that’s meant to make the
audience laugh and move on.
This realization made me
realize that as much as I
wished to be enchanted by this
movie, there was a question in
the back of my brain stopping
me from fully enjoying it: What
was the reason for making this
sequel? The generous answer is
to create a lovable homage to
the original. But every choice
this film made screamed the
contrary: This film is a blatant
cash grab. Every joke stolen in
its entirety from the original,
every copied plot point and
every illogical decision point
to this film as another soulless
attempt by Disney to turn a
profit.
Despite
my
painful
awareness of the reason this
movie was made, I still enjoyed
it. The jokes made me laugh, if
less so than the originals, and
the film aesthetically embraces
the Halloween spirit. I would
encourage audiences to watch
the original film instead, but
“Hocus Pocus 2” is still a
movie all about Halloween that
anyone can appreciate near the
holiday.
AVA BURZYCKI
Daily Arts Writer
Design by Leah Hoogterp
‘Hocus Pocus 2’ is a
disappointing sequel
ZACH LOVEALL
Daily Arts Writer
This image is from the official press kit for “Hocus Pocus 2,” distributed by Disney+.
I’ll be straight up: I am unfamiliar
with Australian TV. Apart from
breaking out the “naur” when things
don’t go my way, I have little to no
knowledge about those from Down
Under. But one thing’s for certain:
Australians can make a damn good
show.
Netflix’s “Heartbreak High” is a
reboot of an Aussie teen series of the
same name that was popular in the
’90s. Reboots are often a hit-or-miss
situation, but if done right, they can
open the door for a fresh take on a
classic, with new and interesting
stories and characters. Having never
seen the original, I don’t have much
of an opinion on the success of the
show as a reboot, but on its own,
“Heartbreak High” stole my heart.
Our main character, Amerie
(Ayesha Madon, “The Moth Effect”)
returns to Hartley High to find her
world turned upside down. Her
longtime best friend Harper (Asher
Yasbincek, “The Heights”) wants
absolutely nothing to do with her
anymore. The reason for Harper’s
ire is a mysterious trauma from a
summer music festival — one that
Amerie can’t seem to remember. To
make matters worse, all of Amerie’s
popular friends take Harper’s side,
and, the icing on the cake, the entire
school finds out about her and
Harper’s secret “sex map.” That’s
right. The two besties have secretly
documented every sexual escapade
between any two (or more) students at
Hartley High, drawn as an elaborate
map with colorful lines and an
extremely in-depth legend. Amerie
quickly goes from it-girl to outcast
after her map breaks up couples and
outs people, and everyone takes to
calling her “Map Bitch” (no points
for creativity there). Her map lands
a handful of students, endearingly
called “sluts,” in a mandatory sex
education class. Now, Amerie must
navigate her new social status, the
confusion and anger surrounding
her situation with Harper and the
unexpected attention of certain boys
at school.
“Heartbreak High” performs an
incredible balancing act between
genuine humor and heavier topics.
This is one of the first shows with
“Gen-Z” humor that actually made
me laugh. When Amerie is crying in
a bathroom stall after the sex map
exposé, Quinni (Chloé Hayden,
“Jeremy the Dud”) peeks over the
neighboring stall to promptly ask, “Is
this your 13th reason?” When some of
the characters are getting ready for a
party, Darren (James Majoos, debut)
asks Malakai (Thomas Weatherall,
“RFDS”) if he wants something *limp
wrist* “gay to wear.” I apologize
to my roommates for cackling at
3 a.m. The show also brings in
nonbinary actor James Majoos and
Australia’s first mainstream autistic
actress Chloé Hayden to play a
nonbinary character and autistic
character, respectively. “Heartbreak
High” realistically explores the
struggles these characters must
face, dedicating episodes to Darren’s
tough
relationship
with
their
dad and to Quinni navigating her
complicated romance with Sasha
(Gemma Chua-Tran, “Diary of an
Uber Driver”).
I would describe this show as
“Euphoria” meets “Sex Education,”
meaning
there
are
a
lot
of
complicated feelings, messy flings
and broken hearts. Despite all of
this, “Heartbreak High” features
the strong platonic relationship
between Amerie and Harper as
its primary love story, sending the
message that at the end of the day,
manipulative boys, sex and drama
don’t matter nearly as much as your
chosen family. Madon and Yasbincek
acted their hearts out in these eight
episodes. The girls’ initial pettiness
was entertaining to watch at first, but
as the storyline grew deeper and the
show began to unpack exactly what
went down between the two, my
heart ached for their friendship and
I was nearly brought to tears once I
finally heard the whole story.
I never thought that eight episodes
could make me feel so much. Our
main characters, especially Amerie
and
Harper,
are
charismatic,
somewhat mysterious and, above all,
extremely messy. Many questionable
decisions
were
made
between
the two, but then again, what is
high school without questionable
decisions? Behind every destructive
choice the two girls make to hurt each
other — intentionally or otherwise —
is a desperate desire to get their best
friend back. It’s this particular brand
of pain that “Heartbreak High”
depicts extremely well, and one that
plenty of teenage girls are familiar
with.
I’m clearly not the only one raving
about this show — “Heartbreak
High” currently has an 89% audience
rating on Rotten Tomatoes. Those
Australians may be chewing on their
vowels, but they sure know how to
make us laugh and self-reflect while
doing it.
Relive your worst friendship
breakup with ‘Heartbreak High’
SWARA RAMASWAMY
Daily Arts Writer
This image is from the teaser art for “Heartbreak High,” distributed by Netflix.