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specialagentblogger · 3 months

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Chain of Influence from Alexa Chung's IT: Heathers and Beetlejuice

Alexa Chung was a British TV host, model, and the IT girl of the 2010s. Ballet flats, hot pants, cashmere cardigans, and statement sunglasses made Alexa a fashion icon. During a time when skinny jeans, neon accessories, and flower crowns were a thing, Alexa stood out with ahead-of-her-time style choices. She definitely was one of the first well-known women that I sourced my inspiration from.

"IT"

In 2013, Alexa released her debut book IT, featuring her drawings, style influences, witty advice, and stories. This perfectly pink, cultural reset of a book, catered to young, aspiring "It" girls and wannabe Vogue Editors. Despite receiving critiques akin to a "wasted opportunity," IT marked the sweet beginning of character development for my 13-year-old self. The book led me on a transformative journey, unveiling my taste in music, film, and fashion - a chain of influence, if you will.Alexa wrote a lot about the most iconic film fashion that inspired her throughout the years.

HEATHERS (1988)

One of the films that started my endless love for cinema and marked the chain of influence, was Heathers (1988) - directed by Michael Lehmann and written by Daniel Waters. A satirical and macabre cult classic about a high school, where obnoxious jocks rule and the mean girls are all called Heather - until Veronica (Winona Ryder) and her mysterious boyfriend (Christian Slater) decide to kill every mean kid at the school. Pair a cinematic legend (our girl Wino) with a sexy hunk that is Christian Slater, and you have yourself an 80s classic. Watching this film when you’re 14 years old, in your secret world (my room) on a mini laptop was a transformative experience. In a sense that, in that moment, I fully understood the magic that cinema held and I wanted more. My eyes could not get enough of the cinematography, the costumes and the beautiful young actors - all while the haunting Syd Straw’s voice sang Que Sera, Sera (strongly advisable to put this song on while reading this post).

The film itself tells a classic tale of relational agression between high school girls. In the words of Lyn Mikel Brown or her book of the same name - girlfighting. In the book Girlfighting (2003), the author argues that for quite some time, soap-operas, films, and reality TV had only focused on women who are in competition with one another. Heathers falls right into that category. Its main focus is Veronica Sawyer (Winona Ryder) - one of the Heathers clique, who finally gets tired of being an accomplice to other school kids’ misery. Her character has a line in the film where she says: “I don’t really like my friends. It is like they are people I work with and our job is being popular”. It is the moment where Veronica foreshadows her involvement in the downfall of her mean friends. This twist is kind of ironic as Veronica is such good of a person that she cannot stand the meanness of her friends. Thus, she will become mean herself and even turn to murder, in order to end the meanness altogether.

COSTUMES

Iconic, voluminous hair, fitted checkered jackets with shoulder pads, mid-length grandma skirts, colourful stockings and none other than bitchy attitudes! Every shot of Heathers is filled with endless outfit inspiration, curated by Rudy Dillon. Oh, how fun would it have been to dress like that in high school. I love how this kind of fashion evokes a nostalgic longing for a time before I was even born. From then on out, you would not see me leave a vintage clothing store without an 80's padded jacket.

It would be very easy to guess who I was planning to dress as on Halloween 2014. I put my grey skirt on, borrowed my grandpa’s ashy blue t-shirt, covered my face in fake blood and bought a paper cigar from Tiger. It was magical. I walked around saying “What’s your damage, Heather?” - sadly, no one understood the reference back then and I ended up really scaring my mum. I might have been better at Maths, had I not been rewatching Heathers every other evening. However, no regrets. 2 + 2 is still 4, forever till the end of time.

Beetlejuice (1988)

The chain of influence from Alexa’s book continued naturally when I decided to explore Winona’s earlier work. The first one that came to mind was Winona’s breakthrough film 'Beetlejuice' (1988) - an absolute Halloween must-watch. Crafted by the extravagantly distinctive auteur director Tim Burton, renowned for the gothic and fantastical settings in his films. The contrast-heavy cinematography in Burton’s mise-en-scène is influenced by German Expressionism, an art movement that emerged in Germany in the early 20th century. The most predominant aspects of this movement include distorted sets, angular or weirdly-shaped architecture, and a dark, frightening atmosphere.

The film tells the story of a recently deceased couple, portrayed by Geena Davis and Alec Baldwin, who find themselves haunting their home after a new family moves in. In an attempt to scare away the living occupants, the couple summons a mischievous spirit named Betelgeuse (Michael Keaton) by saying his name three times. The narrative takes an intriguing turn with the introduction of Winona Ryder's character, Lydia, who, along with her parents (Catherine O’Hara and Jeffrey Jones), becomes entangled with the supernatural world. Winona Ryder delivers a captivating performance as Lydia, portraying a goth teenage girl who can see the dead because she has no fear of dying.

CINEMATOGRAPHY

Cinematographer Thomas E. Ackerman fully realised Burton’s ominous vision for the film. Every single shot is like a surrealist painting - a true feast for the eyes. Even if one does not find the film’s plot appealing, the visual aesthetic will still definitely satisfy one’s artistic hunger. Ackerman's attention to detail and use of lighting contribute to the film's haunting atmosphere, making it a visual masterpiece.

Beetlejuice vs. The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari

As mentioned previously, the influence of German Expressionism is evident in Burton’s work, and in my opinion, especially in Beetlejuice. The film has striking visual similarities to, arguably, one of the first horror films, The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1920), directed by a German director of the silent era - Robert Wiene. The film follows a somnambulist who makes horrifying predictions of future events. I watched it in university while I studied film, and I have to say, I was utterly spellbound. The fact that a silent film can be spine-chilling like that still blows my mind.

The distorted corridor in Beetlejuice mirrors the endless, distorted corridor in The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari. It evokes a sense of claustrophobia, almost like an optical illusion. The surrealist, angular structure of the Caligari corridor seamlessly fits into Beetlejuice, capturing the dreamlike, or rather nightmarish atmosphere. Exactly what one imagines the afterlife to be like.

In the following comparison shots, we can even identify a door with a diagonal line in Burton’s still, and the exact same shaped detail (window/door) on the house in Wiene’s still. I missed a crucial and rather obvious detail, which I just now discovered. You should have seen the way my jaw dropped: there is a black silhouette of a man in the background, seemingly holding a broom in Burton’s shot. Similarly, in Caligari’s shot, there is a man wearing black, holding what appears to be a cane.

The following two shots also sparked an 'aha' moment for me. In one, the green light and the appearance of a dead bride with a tulle veil emerge from the darkness. In another, there is a muted green light covering the room, and a girl sleeps in a white nightgown, reminiscent of a wedding dress, on a bed adorned with tulle sheets.

THE DINNER

There's a dinner scene in Beetlejuice that's wonderfully campy and even a bit meta, making it one of the most standout moments in cinema to date. The scene features Lydia, her parents, and their friends having dinner. In an attempt to scare them into leaving, the deceased couple (the Maitlands) and Betelgeuse possess the guests. One by one, they start moving involuntarily and break into singing Harry Belafonte’s legendary song 'Day-O (The Banana Boat Song),' in his distinctive voice. I truly love this artistic decision because it cleverly uses dark humour and absurdity to dilute the frightening topic of spirits and afterlife.

As I reflect on this chain of influence, I think of it as the epitome of 'one thing led to another.' I love that I could delve into Winona Ryder's creative universe and discover life-altering cinematic classics as a young girl. This, however, is just one of the many discoveries I made as a 13-year-old reading Alexa's book. More is yet to come...

Beetlejuice Beetlejuice Beetlejuice

#beetlejuice #alexa chung #winona ryder #german expressionism #dr caligari #betlegeuse #it girl #tim burton #heathers #christian slater #catherineohara #geena davis #robert wiene #somnambulism #dark humor #horror #cinema

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automeris-io-moth · 1 year

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The Helard and The Heretic.

“I can revive the fire, if you untie my hands.”

Marie turned her head to face the girl across her, laying, evidently uncomfortably on her side, wide brown eyes focused on her, digging into her skin even from afar, from across the thick rising smoke coming from the dying flames in between them, even through glazy eyes caused by the ash and the pecks and bits of brunt wood flying all around them. Yet, the Archaic God’s chosen refused to meet her eyes, even if it meant having them fixed down on the dirt, having exaggerated loops and turns around the place to get to something, as long as she could keep the vile sourness building inside her throat as the shivering form of the one not accustomed to such coldness still gazed her way with such mockingly understanding eyes.

It felt unfair, if she was to be honest, she had no right to understand was the thing being said into her ear, lingering as a thought in the back of her head, growing stronger and more difficult to push further into ignorance, each time she tried to do it. So she kept the upset, the unsettling feeling inside her gut mimicking something close to anger born from thinking herself pitied, buried still inside.

“That jacket is a mere decoration, it’s giving you no warmth,” Jordan said, sighing out when getting no answer “let me please revive the fire, I’m not gonna run, I don’t know where we are, I don’t know where the terrain claimed by your patron ends so I cannot call for my Father.”

Silence still.

Jordan sighed yet again, turning over the sleeping back she laid over, looking up to face the night sky. At least that was the same one she saw at the haven, of course, in the middle of nowhere where the light of the city bottered no luminary, leaving it all open to free sight. She had once traced a constellation map on a handcrafted journal The Deity had gifted to her once long ago, and she used it to entertain herself, the easiest things to draw, she said, when one had no talent to do so. It was useful too, when the night felt heavier than usual, when the responsibilities and the inherent stress of such a position, and unwanted one more even, fell too heavy to bare on, not only for her, but the unimportant chit chat about the star kept everyone at ease, even the Father God once, though she still doubted if it was true interest or mere show for support.

The stars were as easy to read that night. The sky was open everywhere where the thick smoke did not reach.

“That one there is Orion,” she said, aiming to keep her voice assured, lifting her hands tied together by the wrist to the sky “follow it from Betlegeuse, that one close to the moon, from it goes up, then down to it again as you follow right, down, left.”

“Stop.”

Said Marie, voice unsure of her own sayings. Sounded more tired than annoyed, yet the Herald could not tell for certain.

She gulped.

Both girls stayed silent for a moment more, a moment that crossed through as eons, and in looking for something Jordan could fake being checking, being occupied with to make things less awkward, even if only the idea sounded far more than ridiculous in the situation given, still without any success, they finally met eyes.

Then, they were stuck there, gazing at each other. The Herald smiled as kindly as she could, aiming to give sympathy.

Marie stood up, pushing the piece of polished wood behind her, approaching her with loud stomps over the dirt, kicking the dust and ash. She leaned down, kneeling to reach her, taking a tight, cold grip to the other girl’s loosely closed fists held together by the rope. When the knife was pulled out again Jordan could not help flinching back, recognizing the light tingle of the moon shine reflecting over the blade. The Heretic's blue eyes watched her holding back a whimper, swallowing when she met the trunk behind.

The ropes were cut.

“Relight it then.” she said, plopping down on the dirt, over the end of the sleeping bag, with a tud.

Jordan hummed an affirmative, crouching to the bonfire.

“Did he give you fire powers?” she asked, genuine interest under her breath.

The girl blew through her halfly closed fingers to red burning coal, sweeping away the accumulated ash around, grabbing new wood from the pile beside.

“No, he did offer them though,” Jordan said “but I’m afraid this is just my liking for camping working here.”

“...you like to camp?”

“Yeah, I used to do it all the time before being chosen. I’m guessing you like it too, considering there’s a perfectly good cabin right before us, and yet here we are.” she joked, offering a light chuckle as if not to offend the other, if something dedicated had been touched in her words.

The fire cackled, and the girl smiled along.

“Not really, but the inside is colder and harder to warm up. I don’t really mind, but, well, you know.”

“Thank you, Marie.” the girl said, and the silence fell once again.

Jordan’s face felt warm again, a little too much when the flames burst out again, yet she thought it adequate, given before it was all smoke and cold air. All the fog before accumulating around their faces rose further up in the sky, the air finally clearing for them to breathe. She stood before the fire, facing the crouching one sitting where she before laid, watching her under her lashes, face looking down yet the blue of her eyes too bright to be hidden.

The Herald smiled at her, walking on the side of the bonfire to approach her, light steps over the grass, careful. The Heretic flinched back at the closeness of the other, sinking further into the soil, wishing she could dig a hole and be buried inside.

“May I hold your hands?” Jordan asked “maybe it can help while you acclimate to the fire.”

“Why would you want to do such a thing?” Marie gulped, eyes still wandering around “I’m doing all of this and you still dare to show this play-pretend kind of kindness to me. You will get nothing from my sympathy.”

“I know that,” she shrugged “I'm not gonna tell you I’m not trying to leave, I am, but not through you, I know you really have no say in this, for more he will try to convince you you do.”

In silence, the girl sitting by the trunk reached her hands forward, searching then for the other’s. In silence, the girl kneeling before her understood her wordless permission and cupped them into her own, brushing them softly trying to warm them.

“I’ve done things I didn’t want to, too, you know? An occupational hazard you could say.”

A mocking chuckle “You? We’ve all seen the Father God eating from your palm.”

“It took me an atrocious quantity of deeds, and unheard rebellion to convince him to stop the Mater from causing the apocalypse, doesn’t sound like him eating from my palm there.

“Well he didn’t immediately obliterate you with your rebellion.”

“He did choose me, if it was a conscious election he probably knew something of the sort would happen.” and once again, their eyes wouldn’t meet, but Jordan was not to force it then, just kept holding her hands feeling them warm under her touch “He’s not all that bad either, but I’m not the one to say he’s benevolent, I just accepted a while ago that when working with gods you just can’t measure them with your own moral compass, cause let me tell you they’re not gonna meet it.”

“But he’s nice to you.”

“He’s nice to all of us, every Elected. Quite fatherly so the title does fit him,” she continued, finally dropping down to be sitting in front of her, legs open on the outside of the other’s crossed ones “Just like the Mater is good to us, and believe me, she’s the nicest, loveliest being ever to her chosen, Matthew, and still, she craves a purging of all the rest.”

“I know it’s...I know it’s not right but I envy you for that.”

“It’s not wrong, Marie” Jordan said, pulling the other closer, slowly for if the Heretic wanted to back off. She didn’t. “It’s hard enough as it is, and something tells me you were never given the chance to even grieve what you lost.”

“Grieve?”

“Grieved the life you lost, the people,” she answered “all that cheesy stuff.”

“I have no right to do that, it was my fault, I did it, I called for him,” her voice raised, her legs tremble when her held hands could not “I wished for it when you all were chosen, I just wanted to run away or I don’t know, for something to happen. I was angry, I was so fucking bored and I just wished for what you had. I still do it seems.”

Her head fell down to the other’s shoulder.

The other’s hands were just too warm as they ran up and down her tangled hair, already grown out of control, without shape or purpose falling over the middle of her bag. How her nails scratched unimaginably gently her scalp when not pushing softly her neck down to rest back again where it was when she aimed to lift it, not forcing it but encouraging her to leave it.

It was too warm.

“It was my fault, Jordan, I have no right to…”

“You have all the right. We all daydream, I, too, always wished for something else, it’s normal, we all do it. But you did not choose this, I don’t want to hear you blaming yourself again, Marie.”

And Marie cried when her name was called. Head buried in the other’s shoulder and nails digging so tightly to her sweatshirt they scrapped the skin of her back. She was shaking, then uncontrollably, her teeth chattering to the other, this time not because of the cold, she cold she seemed to forget for that fleeting moment.

“I can see my mom again, I can’t go back there because the people...the people will hurt her if they see me with her.”

Jordan tightened the embrace, without nails and never in full force, just secure, firm.

“You’re brave for protecting her at your expense, but I’m sorry you have to” she said, hearing the other whimper against her neck “How is she? Did you get your eyes from her?”

Marie shook her head against the other’s chest.

“My grandpa’s” the other muttered, breathing harsher between words.

“Well you grandpa had really pretty eyes, may I say so.”

A different vibration runs up her chest, the most untraceable giggle she was to ever hear.

“You’re my age, aren’t you? Rounding 20?”

“21”

“And college? What did you want to study?”

Her eyes burnt too much by then, the coldness of the air was only stopped by the figure of the girl holding her, and with the evaporating scent of ashes and burnt wood the smell of pine and humid dirt were at their crescendo, even if it was long ago the last time those mountains had smelled as such. It was calming, new winds, quite literally she laughed at the thought, and if it was to end, because it was to end, that was a certain promise, a real event to happen even if Marie wanted nothing but to ignore its approach, she was to make the best she could of that.

Much less awkward, she cheered herself on, than she thought it would be. And never in her life would she have imagined herself there and then, in that moment, in that place and within the hold of the person who held her.

Her whole body shook, uncontrollably so, as she dipped further in, crying openly to the other’s sweatshirt, a darker shade of yellow forming on the fabric.

“I was admitted in Julliard”

“Julliard?” Jordan did nothing to hide her tone of surprise “That’s...that’s amazing, you must be such an artist, I bet it’s violin”

“Fine arts, dance.”

“Close enough.”

There was no answer other than a nod and a loud sniff.

“Will you perform for me some time? I would love that.”

Lately everything I've uploaded has been new pieces, but this time I wanted to try something I wrote about a year ago, and at the time and now, I really like.

It's a more or less long piece (around 45k), but for now I think only one part is fine, the rest is too much worldbuilding haha.

But well, I hope you like it.

(Hey, by the way, I've noticed that the posts explode when it's the middle of the night for me, that, during the day there are ten likes and between 1 and 5 am, boom, 50. I find it funny, I don't know if it's because of the time difference or because in general Tumblr is quite nocturnal)

That was it bai <3

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