#every actor in hollywood is screaming for the chance to play a character and not an action figure

[buginateacup]

One thing I truly and absolutely adored about Glass Onion was that Blanc stepped back.

Every other movie about a detective always shows them pushing through to the end and breaking the rules and getting their man but Blanc is always very clear about where his jurisdiction ends and allows the victims to actually pursue their justice. It’s such an underrated aspect and I love it.

#glass onion #glass onion spoilers #rian johnson please continue to give us fifty more of these #every actor in hollywood is screaming for the chance to play a character and not an action figure #he's doing character work #he's doing eat the rich #he's doing women getting justice and inexplicable accents

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Casting couch scenario with him

Or special massage after a hard day by him?

I went with my Thunder thot.

Not All That Glitters

Warnings: implied noncon, coercion, blacklistic, manipulation, power imbalance. This is a dark fic and you are responsible for your own consumption. 18+ only. Proceed with caution.

Character: celebrity!Thor

Summary: A chance encounter with Hollywood's number one leading man leads to an offer you can't refuse.

Please leave some comments and a reblog. It keeps me motivated and I love any constructive feedback, screaming, keyboard smashes, etc. that you have to offer.

Enjoy!

You smile as a flash leaves a glaring ring in your vision. You resist the urge to shield your face from another shutter, moving carefully before the backdrop. You leave the clusters of photogs and walk the line of reporters and bobbing mics, calling for an interview or a snapshot.

Your name isn't among the rabble. You're a newcomer, fresh off a mid tier credited roll. Something that has your name fluttering through audition rooms but unlisted in the magazine. You'll be lucky to be featured on the up-and-coming rosters of aspiring actors.

As you wave politely, you're drawn in by a journalist with a big red mic, "hey, hey! Do you have a moment?"

"Um," you nod and step closer to the metal rail keeping the press at bay, "sure."

"You're in Caliber, right?" She asks, "new star, any other upcoming projects?"

You're slightly thrown off by the suddenness of it all but Hollywood never moves slow. 

"Uh, yes, actually, I'm currently set to support in an adaptation of–"

"Oh! Oh!" The reporter nearly hits you with the microphone as you dodge her and shield your mouth. You realise you were only a placeholder for a desperate paparazzo,  "Thor! Thor!"

You peek over as the tall blond strides casually, stopping to pose in his black tux, smiling at the lens brightly. So suave and cool, a veteran of the stomping ground you're trying to tiptoe onto. A-list, well beyond your directory.

You turn back and smile at the camera before it pans away. You hope that doesn't make the cut. Absolutely embarrassing.

You're jostled in the tight squeeze if interviewees as the reporter squeals louder and waves excitedly. As you sidle away, a warm hand catches your lower back. You stop short and look up, fighting to keep an unaffected veneer.

"Pardon," the statuesque blond rumbles in his deep voice, "I'll try not to get your toes."

You bat your lashes up at Thor Odinson, the star of every red carpet and every blockbuster. 

"Excuse me, sorry," you murmur, "I was just–"

"Miss, can you move? You're in his way," the cameraman snaps.

"Oi," Thor utters and keeps his hand against you as he faces the reporter, "I was just coming to see my friend. Brilliant actress if I do say so myself."

You blink and hide before you muster a semblance of cool to look over, "uh, yeah, hi!"

You give a pathetic little wave up at him. He winks and leans in to peck your cheek, "play along."

You keep your smile plastered on and turn to the camera. Thor stays close, looming over you. Somehow, he's even bigger than on the screen.

"You… are you working together?" The woman asks as he raises the mic to him.

"Ah, well, we can't tell all our secrets," he teases, "but I am very excited for the future."

"Can't you give us something?" She preens.

"Sorry, we've got to go," he nudges you, "come on, sweetheart."

You move, too shocked to argue with him. That's one way to get attention. He urges you along, taking you away from the barriers.

"Ugh, right arses," he mutters as he smooths his jacket, "pardon me, but I hate how they treat us like circus animals."

"Us?" You whisper, thankfully unheard.

"I hope you didn't mind," he seems to recall himself and pivots to the flashing photogs, "smile, sweetheart, don't want them gossiping?"

He bends his arm behind you, posing as you raise your chin and do the same. Your disbelief keeps you quiet as you let him guide you along.

"Stick with me. One day, you'll be desperate to be away from it all."

"One day? That's optimistic," you reply as you walk with him behind the gabbing celebrities and their interviewers.

"Oh, I know a star when I see one," he follows you along, "and I know a few tricks."

⭐

After your brush with the towering heights of Hollywood, you take your seat with the rest of the extras among the array of sparkling stars. Your table is well out of the shot of the cameras, only caught in the background of the front runners. You don’t mind, the free champagne makes up for the overpriced gown bartered for a name drop of the designer.

You know several of the actors sat with you. They are on a similar level, dependable if not forgettable. You are the lot of ‘those ones’, those faces people swear they’ve seen before but can’t recall where. 

Your adrenaline is still amped high and further stoked by the alcohol. You’re not nominated in name, only as part of the ensemble for the film. Still, the reviews were positive enough that you might just get to peek out over the shoulder of the director.

The pandering rolls on. You plaster on a smile for appearances but the presenters are predictable, the poorly landing jokes cringeworthy, and the winners expected. You swallow a yawn as an orchestra takes stage to perform a medley of songs nominated for score of the year. You hide behind your glass, trying not to betray your disillusion as many of the guests show a similar unrest.

“Eh,” you nearly spill on yourself as a hand rests on the back of your chair and you look up at the figure who is suddenly hunched close, “there you are.”

You blink at Thor and glance around the table. Malorie, stage name, Loren, shares a curious look before you face the blond star. Your smile grows effortless as you do.

“Hi,” you greet nervously.

“I didn’t want to lose you in the mix,” he keeps his voice quiet, beneath the sonorous strings, “you’ve a card? Number for your manager?”

You take a breath, stunned. He’s just humouring you. Hollywood is all appearances and he no doubt wants to maintain his veneer as the affable leading man. You play along.

“Oh, sure,” you reach for your clutch. You always carry a card around, it’s part of the job. You’ve gotten some of better roles shoving them in hands, “and thank you, for earlier. I’m still so embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed? For what?” He says as he watches you, the heat gathering in your cheeks. It’s just the champagne, you need to slow down.

“Just… you know how ridiculous those interviewers can be,” you shrug and fish out a card, flicking it out between two manicured fingers, “here.”

He nearly covers your whole hand with his own, his other still firmly planted on the back of your chair. He takes it slowly, a lingering touch along your fingers as he looks down to read the type. His cheek dimples as his thumb grazes the raised font.

“You’ll get a call,” he promises, “I should be back to my table before I’m caught out.”

He leans in and to your surprise, pecks your cheek. You struggle not to recoil and give a tiny giggle instead. He gives a soft squeeze to your shoulder before he steps away. You watch him go, turning back slowly to the stable, stunned and stiff. 

You clasp your clutch shut and leave it in your lap. You reach for your glass as Malorie leans over, “so how exactly do you know Mr. Ken Doll?”

“We ran into each other on the carpet,” you scoff, “he’s just being polite.”

“Honey,” she speaks behind her hand, “do you know what a PR stunt could do for you? Especially with that man?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You think he’s gonna call you to be his co-star, mm mm. No, sweetie, he’s on the rebound and he needs a humble little lover to bring him down to earth. You know the game. Same as me.”

“No, it’s nothing… he’s not going to call, either way. I’m not stupid. Like you said, I know the game.”

“That isn’t a courtesy,” she nods to him and you peer across to his table. He watches you, sending a wink in your direction, “that’s groundwork.”

You take a drink and look down at the table cloth. You pull your shoulders up dismissively, “whatever, you’re just mad I got that audition over you.”

“Pfft, save me the trouble of squeezing into a corset,” she waves her hand at you, “don’t whine to me when your tits feel like pancakes.”

⭐

“You got an audition,” your manager, Josie, chews into the speaker. You hold it away from your ear as her gum snaps noisily, “big one.”

“Oh?” You wonder as you go over a script, “when–”

“You’re going to have to drop out of that period piece if you get it,” she interjects, “and shouldn’t be an issue. Bigger check with this one.”

She’s always blunt, always to the point, but she’s better than your last agent. The one who emptied your bank account and disappeared. Lessons learned.

“Right, well, we’ll see. I might be able to work both.”

“I’m telling you, sweetheart, this is the real deal. Thor Odinson’s directorial debut. Starring and directing. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. For most people, it’s none in a lifetime.”

“Oh, wow, Thor? He called–”

“His agent did, legal team too. They’re very hush hush about this project so you’re gonna have to keep it zipped.”

“Okay, got it,” you say, “sounds… like a lot.”

“It’s what you’ve been waiting for, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s just… I didn’t think he’d call.”

“Have you even had a look at your phone today?”

“What do you mean?” You toss the script on the table and stand.

“I know you hate reading the damn things, but the tabloids are going crazy about that kiss. I’ve been working overtime tryna get these damn vultures off my back. We gotta figure out how to work this.”

“Work what?”

“Leave it to me,” she chirps, “I’ll text you the time and the place for your audition. Remember, keep it quiet. Wear a hoodie or something.”

“Al–”

The line clicks before you can finish. You sigh and swipe away the ended call. She never says goodbye. You’re used to it. You press your thumb down and open the front page, pacing as you scroll down to Entertainment. ‘Winners and Losers…’ ‘Best Dressed’, the typical articles that follow a ceremony.

You stop before you can scroll past the small thumbnail. You squint and read the hyperlink, ‘Odinson moving on?’ You chew your lip and open the page. At the top, a picture of you and Thor on the carpet, one posed, the other with his shoulder to the camera as he speaks to you. A rather intimate scene.

You skim the article, your name pops up, a list of your less insignificant roles, and some leading questions to pad it out. A video ends the article and you frown. The candid moment that Thor pecked your cheek looks much more provocative from another angle. 

Your phone buzzes and the message pops up in a bubble across the top. Malorie’s triumphant, ‘told ya so’ is quickly flicked away. 

Well, as awkward as it is, this is your chance. Maybe your only to claim your spot among the stars or fade back to the obscurity of the endless Hollywood void.

⭐

You’re surprised to find the address listed is residential. You’re used to hotels or random studios. Nothing so fancy as the gated mansion in the hills. You steer your old beater up and hit the button on the speaker box, waiting for a response as you check your bag. The script arrived the day before, allowing little time for your preparation.

“Name?” The response comes, curt.

You give your name and your purpose but the microphone seems to cut before you finish. A loud buzz signals your admittance and the gate retracts to let you through. You lean on the pedal and continue up the sprawling drive.

You pull in behind a Benz and kill the engine. The contrast of the vehicles remind you how far out of your league you are. You get out of the car, gathering yourself and putting on that well-refined mask. Be calm, be cool, and just do what you know how to do. Act.

You go up to the front doors but resist the urge to lift the large brass knocker. It seems more ornamental than practical. You find the doorbell cam and hit the button, swaying impatiently.

A tall blond woman answers the door. Regal and unlike any maid you’ve ever seen. Her long peridot dress suggests anything but. In fact, you think you know her, at least by sight.

“Oh, you must be…” she chimes as she pulls you in by your hand, your other grasps your bag tightly, “we are so excited to have you here! Thor can’t wait to get started.”

“Ah, okay, thank you,” you say as she lets you go and sweeps around to shut the door.

“My, my, I’m sorry,” she checks her waved hair in a nearby mirror, “Frigga Vanir. Thor’s mother.”

“Frigga,” you’re breathless, “you’re his mother? You’re… you’re…”

“Oh, my day is well behind me,” she tuts, “but I’m flattered.”

“I… had no idea.”

“We try not to let it get out,” she puts a long finger to her lips, “we wouldn’t want any unkind assumptions about the family, yes?”

“I wouldn’t– won’t say anything,” you promise, “um, I think I’m confused. Is this… an audition or–”

“Of course! Thor just hates the whole pretense of studios, such a headache. Besides, this place is so big, we may as well get some use of it.”

“Makes sense,” you accept with a nod.

“This way,” she directs you up the left arm of the double staircase, “oh, dear, you must be so anxious. I do forget how it used to be. But you don’t need to worry. Thor showed me your last picture, what was it? Caliber? I loved it, dear, you are very talented.”

“That means a lot, especially from you,” you say as you follow her, hiking your bag up to your shoulder.

“After you’ve gone through the whole… process, we’re going to do a nice little dinner. You’re more than welcome to join.”

“Thank you, that’s so nice.”

“Don’t be so nervous,” she turns to you as she stops before a door, “you will do just fine. He’s already very fond of you, oh and you are so effortlessly endearing.” She touches your shoulder, “and I do prefer you to the one who came yesterday. She was… loud.”

“Thank you,” you smile as she reaches for the door handle, “um, before… before I go, can I just tell you that you were amazing in Eden. It’s one of my favourites.”

“You do not have to pander to me, dear,” she chuckles lightly.

“I’m not. I–” you clear your throat as you recall the monologue you learned in high school, “‘If we go any further, we cannot go back but—’” You look around, as if there is someone watching, “‘if we go no further, we will be lost forever.’”

She gives a slanted grin, “oh, you’re not lying.”

“I was a very obsessed teenager,” you laugh at yourself, “I’m sorry.”

“No, no, go on,” he pushes down the petal shaped lever, “he’s waiting.”

You nod and turn as she waits for you to enter. You slip through and the door shuts behind you. It’s not what you expected. Any of it. The room is dimly lit, an artificial fireplace licking along one wall, as Thor sits on a chaise with his phone in hand. On the table next to him is a script and a legal pad.

“Er,” you begin nervously, “I’m here.”

You cringe at your own stupid declaration as his head pops up. He brightens and stands to greet you, “oh, you are. I did fear you might not come. Please, ignore any redundant messages I just sent.”

“Oh, uh, that’s fine, I’m sorry, I thought–”

“You’re one time, early,” he says as he approaches and offers his hand, “always a good impression.”

He bends and kisses your forehead before you can react. You say nothing. It’s not the worst you’ve encountered. Too many directors like to physically guide you around a set and they tend to have wandering hands.

“So, you read the script?” He asks as he retreats and sits again. He puts his phone aside and takes the script from the square table.

“I devoured it. It’s so interesting.”

“I can only take so much credit. My brother is a gifted writer,” he flips through the pages, “and you got my notes for the scene we’ll go over?”

“Yes, I think,” you put your bag down, “I think I got it.”

“I don’t mind if you read,” he says, “short notice and all.”

“No, no, I’m awful with a script in hand,” you give an awkward flutter of your fingers, “I’m ready.”

“Alright, so I’ll be Erikkson and you are Alva,” he sets the context, “remember that this is set during a snowstorm…”

You listen diligently as he lays it out. He’s sauve, a professional. The way he goes through it so naturally. You do wonder about the producers, there’s usually one around for auditions, or at least a casting director. You peek around, trying to find a lens, it’s at least standard to record.

You don’t question it. You don’t want to ruin this. You can’t just throw this away after years of scrimping and scraping for parts. You might finally be able to give up the server gig.

“We’re lost,” Thor begins the scene and looks at you, your cue.

“You’re lost,” you argue, “and stubborn.”

You go through the lines. They flow easily despite the late night cramming them into your brain. You follow your instinct, imagine the set around you, a whole swirl of snow gusting and guiding you. You don’t think, just go.

You finish the scene as Thor signals with a clap. His script is beside him. You only feel his gaze then, realise how intently he’s watching you.

“I like it. You’re… subtle. Natural. Exactly what we need.”

“I’m sure you have others to see still,” you say, “before you can make a decision.”

“My mind is made up, I want you,” he says.

“Really?” You can’t help but beam.

“Yes,” he beckons you over, “come here.”

“Um,” your lip twitches but you near him, “what’s up?”

“Well, there’s one more thing we should try, just before I call my casting director,” he pats the seat next to him.

“Okay…” you sit, nervously rubbing your palms together.

“You read the entire script?” 

“Yep,” you answer.

“So you know… we– Erikkson and Alva, they kiss.”

You poke your tongue into your cheek, “uh, yeah, but that’s… standard.”

“Still, chemistry is everything,” he angles towards you, “I want to be sure you’re the one.”

“Well, wouldn’t that be better…” your voice trails off and you correct yourself, “yeah, I suppose.”

“It’s all business,” he assures, “if we don’t mesh, it could ruin the whole thing. Trust me, I’ve had some real dead fish.”

You try not to show your discomfort at his last comment. Dead fish? Is that how he sees actresses or women in general? 

“Alright,” you shift, “I…”

He touches your cheek and leans in slowly. You tilt your head back and meet his lips as they descend. His beard tickles you as your mouths join and he slides his tongue out. You let him in, wanting to just get it done with and show him you can do anything he needs. 

He hums and his hand slips around the back of your head, holding you against him. He smothers you hotly and you find it hard to breathe. You press against his chest, it’s enough to prove yourself. More than. He doesn’t budge.

He pushes you down against the couch, your legs crushed sideways under him as he follows you down. You babble into his mouth and clutch the fabric of his shirt. You bite down on his tongue and he parts at last with a hiss.

“Get off,” you shove him but he remains unmoved, “Thor, what– I think we got it.”

You try to sit up and force him off you but he keeps you trapped under him. He cradles your head, his thumb brushing your cheekbone, “you know how big this could be for you?”

You’re taken aback. His timbre grinds in his throat, different than before. His aura is suddenly dark and smoky around you. His eyes are dilated and endless. You shudder as you press your fingertips into his chest.

“I know but… I don’t want it. Get off.”

His eyes close and he remains as he is. His lip twitches and his jaw ticks. His breath scours you as he lets it out through his nose, your arms trembling beneath his weight.

“Do you know what happens when you say no?”

You gulp and bat your lashes as your eyes burn, “Thor, please, I can’t do this–”

“No, you don’t. Because the ones who say no aren’t heard from. Not in Hollywood. You say no right now and you say no to every director and producer in Hollywood. Hell, I could get you barred all the way to Broadway–”

“Thor, you don’t have to give me the part, alright? I just can’t–”

“You do it or you don’t work again. Not outside that bistro paying you pennies.”

Ice flows through your veins as his heat enwraps you, consuming you in fiery horror. You stare at him, speechless. It’s all you ever wanted but is it worth the cost?

“You’re so beautiful,” he purrs as he caresses your cheek, “I didn’t want it to be like this.”

“I’m just…” your mouth is dry, your tongue clumsy. You feel your stomach pit and swallow up your soul; a fair price for a dream you can’t let go, “surprised. I wasn’t prepared–”

“Baby, I’ll be good to you,” he grazes over your hair and cradles your head, “you just gotta let me…” his lips brush yours softly, “I’m gonna make you a star.”

#thor #dark thor #dark!thor #celeb au #au #thor x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #mcu #marvel #avengers

[martianbugsbunny]

Live-Action Herc

This movie will most likely be a disaster. There, I said it, that out of the way. Also, I will be throwing a little extra shade in this post, because this is my way of playing worst-case scenario.

MEG

I don’t trust modern writers to pull of Meg in any good way. These days it seems nobody can understand the difference between sardonic wit and unkindness, so Meg will probably be insulting people left and right for no reason, which of course we’re supposed to laud her for, bc she’s just a salty queen, right? Yeah no. I want a nuanced Meg, like I had in the original. I want Meg with a dry wit and a hopeless situation but a good, if hardened, heart. Actually, getting Meg who is indebted to Hades and yes, needs help, needs saving, is going to be dubious enough. Because heaven forbid a woman is anything but completely in control *sarcastic*

HADES

He’s an icon. I love him. I also don’t know if I’m going to like any new version of him that I’m given. If he’s skinny, I riot. There’s a preoccupation in movies these days (although people would die rather than admit it) in having every character be a very specific kind of attractive--which for guys, often ends up placing them smack-dab between slim and BUILT. I think a Hades who looks more like the cartoon version, who’s fat and has a sharp nose and grey skin would be attractive. (*certain exclusions may apply, as even with these traits I may not find the specific actor attractive* *good characterization may balance out physical attractiveness in this event as well*) Also, I love his loud personality, because a lot of Disney villains are threatening in a more subtle way. Hades knows he’s powerful and he’s very obvious about knowing it.

HERCULES

Hercules is BUILT. That’s kinda the point of Hercules. But he’s still a pretty gentle man, and I fear what modern writers might do to him. Gentle women are written poorly enough; gentle men haven’t been written well since Aragorn. *for legal purposes, I am kidding* But he’s not all quippy and sarcastic, like so many male superheroes are, and I love him for it. A gentle man wins my heart much more quickly than a guy who makes obnoxious jokes at every chance he gets. Also, his love is what defines him. His love for Meg is what saves them both. His willingness to risk his life in the impossible hope that he can save her life saves both of them. A man like that is a rare find in modern cinema.

Also, if they make the romantic plot something about Herc being a real player until he meets Meg, at which point he decides to mend his ways, I will scream. That trope is so played out it’s not even interesting anymore.

VISUAL EFFECTS

They gotta pay their artists well for this one, and give them reasonable deadlines, because there will end up being a lot of visual effects. Cerberus, the Hydra, Hades’ hair--these are all things that cannot be created without at least some computer input. And if the movie is not aesthetically pleasing, or if it looks jarring or fake, I’m not going to enjoy it no matter how good the plot is. If it makes my eyeballs and my brain want to crawl out of my skull and die, the plot cannot save it. In short, I don’t want it to look as lackluster as She-Hulk did. I want it to be a cinematic masterpiece. Maybe use some practical effects, because those are underused and underrated in modern Hollywood as well. This movie should be pretty, because it’s a fantasy-type story about heroes and gods and great deeds and for Pete’s sake such high subject matter should be beautiful! AND FINALLY, THE APPARENT TIKTOK VIBE

If the dialogue is as such that the characters say things like ‘yeet’ or ‘bestie’ in normal conversation, I’m done. That’s not how people talk in actual conversations with each other. There is a legitimate difference between online dialect and in-person dialect and if the makers of this movie fail to grasp that, it’s going to be the kind of cringe that gives me secondhand embarrassment just from watching. And believe me, that makes me so uncomfortable I will not go back to watch the movie ever again. The characters should talk like regular fricking people.

Also, if there is an excess of TikTok dancing, I may cry.

Basically, TikTok provides short videos. They are meant to be short videos and short videos alone. These are not designed to provide an enduring experience like a two-hour-long movie. They are designed to grab you for the brief amount of time before your attention span fails and you move on. Trying to extend TikTok energy into a whole movie? Not gonna work, because that goes against the fundamental principles of what TikTok was made to do.

#live action hercules #megara #hercules #hades #visual effects #disney

[blind-rats]

The Rise & Fall of Joss Whedon; the Myth of the Hollywood Feminist Hero

By Kelly Faircloth

“I hate ‘feminist.’ Is this a good time to bring that up?” Joss Whedon asked. He paused knowingly, waiting for the laughs he knew would come at the creator of Buffy the Vampire Slayer making such a statement.

It was 2013, and Whedon was onstage at a fundraiser for Equality Now, a human rights organization dedicated to legal equality for women. Though Buffy had been off the air for more than a decade, its legacy still loomed large; Whedon was widely respected as a man with a predilection for making science fiction with strong women for protagonists. Whedon went on to outline why, precisely, he hated the term: “You can’t be born an ‘ist,’” he argued, therefore, “‘feminist’ includes the idea that believing men and women to be equal, believing all people to be people, is not a natural state, that we don’t emerge assuming that everybody in the human race is a human, that the idea of equality is just an idea that’s imposed on us.”

The speech was widely praised and helped cement his pop-cultural reputation as a feminist, in an era that was very keen on celebrity feminists. But it was also, in retrospect, perhaps the high water mark for Whedon’s ability to claim the title, and now, almost a decade later, that reputation is finally in tatters, prompting a reevaluation of not just Whedon’s work, but the narrative he sold about himself. 

In July 2020, actor Ray Fisher accused Whedon of being “gross, abusive, unprofessional, and completely unacceptable” on the Justice League set when Whedon took over for Zach Synder as director to finish the project. Charisma Carpenter then described her own experiences with Whedon in a long post to Twitter, hashtagged #IStandWithRayFisher.

On Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel, Carpenter played Cordelia, a popular character who morphed from snob to hero—one of those strong female characters that made Whedon’s feminist reputation—before being unceremoniously written off the show in a plot that saw her thrust into a coma after getting pregnant with a demon. For years, fans have suspected that her disappearance was related to her real-life pregnancy. In her statement, Carpenter appeared to confirm the rumors. “Joss Whedon abused his power on numerous occasions while working on the sets of ‘Buffy the Vampire Slayer’ and ‘Angel,’” she wrote, describing Fisher’s firing as the last straw that inspired her to go public.

Buffy was a landmark of late 1990s popular culture, beloved by many a burgeoning feminist, grad student, gender studies professor, and television critic for the heroine at the heart of the show, the beautiful blonde girl who balanced monster-killing with high school homework alongside ancillary characters like the shy, geeky Willow. Buffy was very nearly one of a kind, an icon of her era who spawned a generation of leather-pants-wearing urban fantasy badasses and women action heroes.

Buffy was so beloved, in fact, that she earned Whedon a similarly privileged place in fans’ hearts and a broader reputation as a man who championed empowered women characters. In the desert of late ’90s and early 2000s popular culture, Whedon was heralded as that rarest of birds—the feminist Hollywood man. For many, he was an example of what more equitable storytelling might look like, a model for how to create compelling women protagonists who were also very, very fun to watch. But Carpenter’s accusations appear to have finally imploded that particular bit of branding, revealing a different reality behind the scenes and prompting a reevaluation of the entire arc of Whedon’s career: who he was and what he was selling all along.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer premiered March 1997, midseason, on The WB, a two-year-old network targeting teens with shows like 7th Heaven. Its beginnings were not necessarily auspicious; it was a reboot of a not-particularly-blockbuster 1992 movie written by third-generation screenwriter Joss Whedon. (His grandfather wrote for The Donna Reed Show; his father wrote for Golden Girls.) The show followed the trials of a stereotypical teenage California girl who moved to a new town and a new school after her parents’ divorce—only, in a deliberate inversion of horror tropes, the entire town sat on top of the entrance to Hell and hence was overrun with demons. Buffy was a slayer, a young woman with the power and immense responsibility to fight them. After the movie turned out very differently than Whedon had originally envisioned, the show was a chance for a do-over, more of a Valley girl comedy than serious horror.

It was layered, it was campy, it was ironic and self-aware. It looked like it belonged on the WB rather than one of the bigger broadcast networks, unlike the slickly produced prestige TV that would follow a few years later. Buffy didn’t fixate on the gory glory of killing vampires—really, the monsters were metaphors for the entire experience of adolescence, in all its complicated misery. Almost immediately, a broad cross-section of viewers responded enthusiastically. Critics loved it, and it would be hugely influential on Whedon’s colleagues in television; many argue that it broke ground in terms of what you could do with a television show in terms of serialized storytelling, setting the stage for the modern TV era. Academics took it up, with the show attracting a tremendous amount of attention and discussion.

In 2002, the New York Times covered the first academic conference dedicated to the show. The organizer called Buffy “a tremendously rich text,” hence the flood of papers with titles like “Pain as Bright as Steel: The Monomyth and Light in ‘Buffy the Vampire Slayer,’” which only gathered speed as the years passed. And while it was never the highest-rated show on television, it attracted an ardent core of fans.

But what stood out the most was the show’s protagonist: a young woman who stereotypically would have been a monster movie victim, with the script flipped: instead of screaming and swooning, she staked the vampires. This was deliberate, the core conceit of the concept, as Whedon said in many, many interviews. The helpless horror movie girl killed in the dark alley instead walks out victorious. He told Time in 1997 that the concept was born from the thought, “I would love to see a movie in which a blond wanders into a dark alley, takes care of herself and deploys her powers.” In Whedon’s framing, it was particularly important that it was a woman who walked out of that alley. He told another publication in 2002 that “the very first mission statement of the show” was “the joy of female power: having it, using it, sharing it.”

In 2021, when seemingly every new streaming property with a woman as its central character makes some half-baked claim to feminism, it’s easy to forget just how much Buffy stood out among its against its contemporaries. Action movies—with exceptions like Alien’s Ripley and Terminator 2's Sarah Conner—were ruled by hulking tough guys with macho swagger. When women appeared on screen opposite vampires, their primary job was to expose long, lovely, vulnerable necks. Stories and characters that bucked these larger currents inspired intense devotion, from Angela Chase of My So-Called Life to Dana Scully of The X-Files.

The broader landscape, too, was dismal. It was the conflicted era of girl power, a concept that sprang up in the wake of the successes of the second-wave feminist movement and the backlash that followed. Young women were constantly exposed to you-can-do-it messaging that juxtaposed uneasily with the reality of the world around them. This was the era of shitty, sexist jokes about every woman who came into Bill Clinton’s orbit and the leering response to the arrival of Britney Spears; Rush Limbaugh was a fairly mainstream figure.

At one point, Buffy competed against Ally McBeal, a show that dedicated an entire episode to a dancing computer-generated baby following around its lawyer main character, her biological clock made zanily literal. Consider this line from a New York Times review of the Buffy’s 1997 premiere: “Given to hot pants and boots that should guarantee the close attention of Humbert Humberts all over America, Buffy is just your average teen-ager, poutily obsessed with clothes and boys.”

Against that background, Buffy was a landmark. Besides the simple fact of its woman protagonist, there were unique plots, like the coming-out story for her friend Willow. An ambivalent 1999 piece in Bitch magazine, even as it explored the show’s tank-top heavy marketing, ultimately concluded, “In the end, it’s precisely this contextual conflict that sets Buffy apart from the rest and makes her an appealing icon. Frustrating as her contradictions may be, annoying as her babe quotient may be, Buffy still offers up a prime-time heroine like no other.”

A 2016 Atlantic piece, adapted from a book excerpt, makes the case that Buffy is perhaps best understood as an icon of third-wave feminism: “In its examination of individual and collective empowerment, its ambiguous politics of racial representation and its willing embrace of contradiction, Buffy is a quintessentially third-wave cultural production.” The show was vested with all the era’s longing for something better than what was available, something different, a champion for a conflicted “post-feminist” era—even if she was an imperfect or somewhat incongruous vessel. It wasn’t just Sunnydale that needed a chosen Slayer, it was an entire generation of women. That fact became intricately intertwined with Whedon himself.

Seemingly every interview involved a discussion of his fondness for stories about strong women. “I’ve always found strong women interesting, because they are not overly represented in the cinema,” he told New York for a 1997 piece that notes he studied both film and “gender and feminist issues” at Wesleyan; “I seem to be the guy for strong action women,’’ he told the New York Times in 1997 with an aw-shucks sort of shrug. ‘’A lot of writers are just terrible when it comes to writing female characters. They forget that they are people.’’ He often cited the influence of his strong, “hardcore feminist” mother, and even suggested that his protagonists served feminist ends in and of themselves: “If I can make teenage boys comfortable with a girl who takes charge of a situation without their knowing that’s what’s happening, it’s better than sitting down and selling them on feminism,” he told Time in 1997.

When he was honored by the organization Equality Now in 2006 for his “outstanding contribution to equality in film and television,” Whedon made his speech an extended riff on the fact that people just kept asking him about it, concluding with the ultimate answer: “Because you’re still asking me that question.” He presented strong women as a simple no-brainer, and he was seemingly always happy to say so, at a time when the entertainment business still seemed ruled by unapologetic misogynists. The internet of the mid-2010s only intensified Whedon’s anointment as a prototypical Hollywood ally, with reporters asking him things like how men could best support the feminist movement. 

Whedon’s response: “A guy who goes around saying ‘I’m a feminist’ usually has an agenda that is not feminist. A guy who behaves like one, who actually becomes involved in the movement, generally speaking, you can trust that. And it doesn’t just apply to the action that is activist. It applies to the way they treat the women they work with and they live with and they see on the street.” This remark takes on a great deal of irony in light of Carpenter’s statement.

In recent years, Whedon’s reputation as an ally began to wane. Partly, it was because of the work itself, which revealed more and more cracks as Buffy receded in the rearview mirror. Maybe it all started to sour with Dollhouse, a TV show that imagined Eliza Dushku as a young woman rented out to the rich and powerful, her mind wiped after every assignment, a concept that sat poorly with fans. (Though Whedon, while he was publicly unhappy with how the show had turned out after much push-and-pull with the corporate bosses at Fox, still argued the conceit was “the most pure feminist and empowering statement I’d ever made—somebody building themselves from nothing,” in a 2012 interview with Wired.)

After years of loud disappointment with the TV bosses at Fox on Firefly and Dollhouse, Whedon moved into big-budget Hollywood blockbusters. He helped birth the Marvel-dominated era of movies with his work as director of The Avengers. But his second Avengers movie, Age of Ultron, was heavily criticized for a moment in which Black Widow laid out her personal reproductive history for the Hulk, suggesting her sterilization somehow made her a “monster.” In June 2017, his un-filmed script for a Wonder Woman adaptation leaked, to widespread mockery. The script’s introduction of Diana was almost leering: “To say she is beautiful is almost to miss the point. She is elemental, as natural and wild as the luminous flora surrounding. Her dark hair waterfalls to her shoulders in soft arcs and curls. Her body is curvaceous, but taut as a drawn bow.”

But Whedon’s real fall from grace began in 2017, right before MeToo spurred a cultural reckoning. His ex-wife, Kai Cole, published a piece in The Wrap accusing him of cheating off and on throughout their relationship and calling him a hypocrite:

“Despite understanding, on some level, that what he was doing was wrong, he never conceded the hypocrisy of being out in the world preaching feminist ideals, while at the same time, taking away my right to make choices for my life and my body based on the truth. He deceived me for 15 years, so he could have everything he wanted. I believed, everyone believed, that he was one of the good guys, committed to fighting for women’s rights, committed to our marriage, and to the women he worked with. But I now see how he used his relationship with me as a shield, both during and after our marriage, so no one would question his relationships with other women or scrutinize his writing as anything other than feminist.”

But his reputation was just too strong; the accusation that he didn’t practice what he preached didn’t quite stick. A spokesperson for Whedon told the Wrap: “While this account includes inaccuracies and misrepresentations which can be harmful to their family, Joss is not commenting, out of concern for his children and out of respect for his ex-wife. Many minimized the essay on the basis that adultery doesn’t necessarily make you a bad feminist or erase a legacy. Whedon similarly seemed to shrug off Ray Fisher’s accusations of creating a toxic workplace; instead, Warner Media fired Fisher.

But Carpenter’s statement—which struck right at the heart of his Buffy-based legacy for progressivism—may finally change things. Even at the time, the plotline in which Charisma Carpenter was written off Angel—carrying a demon child that turned her into “Evil Cordelia,” ending the season in a coma, and quite simply never reappearing—was unpopular. Asked about what had happened in a 2009 panel at DragonCon, she said that “my relationship with Joss became strained,” continuing: “We all go through our stuff in general [behind the scenes], and I was going through my stuff, and then I became pregnant. And I guess in his mind, he had a different way of seeing the season go… in the fourth season.”

“I think Joss was, honestly, mad. I think he was mad at me and I say that in a loving way, which is—it’s a very complicated dynamic working for somebody for so many years, and expectations, and also being on a show for eight years, you gotta live your life. And sometimes living your life gets in the way of maybe the creator’s vision for the future. And that becomes conflict, and that was my experience.”

In her statement on Twitter, Carpenter alleged that after Whedon was informed of her pregnancy, he called her into a closed-door meeting and “asked me if I was ‘going to keep it,’ and manipulatively weaponized my womanhood and faith against me.” She added that “he proceeded to attack my character, mock my religious beliefs, accuse me of sabotaging the show, and then unceremoniously fired me following the season once I gave birth.” Carpenter said that he called her fat while she was four months pregnant and scheduled her to work at 1 a.m. while six months pregnant after her doctor had recommended shortening her hours, a move she describes as retaliatory. What Carpenter describes, in other words, is an absolutely textbook case of pregnancy discrimination in the workplace, the type of bullshit the feminist movement exists to fight—at the hands of the man who was for years lauded as a Hollywood feminist for his work on Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel.

Many of Carpenter’s colleagues from Buffy and Angel spoke out in support, including Buffy herself, Sarah Michelle Gellar. “While I am proud to have my name associated with Buffy Summers, I don’t want to be forever associated with the name Joss Whedon,” she said in a statement. Just shy of a decade after that 2013 speech, many of the cast members on the show that put him on that stage are cutting ties.

Whedon garnered a reputation as pop culture’s ultimate feminist man because Buffy did stand out so much, an oasis in a wasteland. But in 2021, the idea of a lone man being responsible for creating women’s stories—one who told the New York Times, “I seem to be the guy for strong action women”—seems like a relic. It’s depressing to consider how many years Hollywood’s first instinct for “strong action women” wasn’t a woman, and to think about what other people could have done with those resources. When Wonder Woman finally reached the screen, to great acclaim, it was with a woman as director.

Besides, Whedon didn’t make Buffy all by himself—many, many women contributed, from the actresses to the writers to the stunt workers, and his reputation grew so large it eclipsed their part in the show’s creation. Even as he preached feminism, Whedon benefitted from one of the oldest, most sexist stereotypes: the man who’s a benevolent, creative genius. And Buffy, too, overshadowed all the other contributors who redefined who could be a hero on television and in speculative fiction, from individual actors like Gillian Anderson to the determined, creative women who wrote science fiction and fantasy over the last several decades to—perhaps most of all—the fans who craved different, better stories. Buffy helped change what you could put on TV, but it didn’t create the desire to see a character like her. It was that desire, as much as Whedon himself, that gave Buffy the Vampire Slayer her power.

#Joss Whedon #Buffy The Vampire Slayer #Ray Fisher #Charisma Carpenter #Feminist

[spideyanakin]

Silent Britain - Chapter 5

Tom Holland x Reader

Series Masterlist 🍒

Normal Masterlist 🧚🏻‍♀️

Summary: You’re pretty new to Hollywood, finally getting a role in a blockbuster Martin Scorsese film, working alongside some of the biggest actors in the game. To your surprise, Tom Holland is playing your love interest in the high-stakes British Gangster film. Eventually, you and Tom become love interests outside the film, but is it too difficult to keep a relationship in all your new found success? Or will you and Tom find your happy ever after?

"Alright, well im going to go-” You choked on your words before wiping your tears with the back of your hand. “I’ll see you tomorrow”

~

"It went terribly" You sobbed onto Timothee's pillow as he looked at you with sad eyes, folding his t-shirts and dropping them into his suitcase.

"He hates me."

"Don't say that! I'm telling you, I don't understand his behavior." Timothee shook his head as he thought about what he was going to add to his bag, mixed with why Tom could have possibly been so mad at you. "He really loves you know?" He added as he did a full 180 to grab some of his pants, folding them and putting them on top of his shirts.

"Loved, you mean." You grumbled as you hugged his pillow and wiped the tears from your eyes. "I pushed him away twice and he doesn't want to be pushed away a third time, that's what it is. I brought this on myself. I was a terrible co-star and now karma has it for me."

Timothee looked at you with vague eyes, not knowing what to tell you next. He clapped his hands when he finally got the answer.

"I'm talking to him tomorrow. Let him cool down from whatever happened." He decided.

"What did happen!" You almost screamed and he backed away with a chuckle.

"Calm down Dicaprio in the wolf of wall street."

"That's a specific reference." You folded your eyebrows and looked down at your fingers.

"He's always angry and screaming in this film what do you want." He shrugged before handing you a chocolate bar and taking one for himself.

"Thanks." You grumbled opening the packet, letting the comforting taste bring warmth back to your body.

~

"Morning." Hardy smiled as he rolled his suitcase towards the taxi waiting area.

Tom grumbled something barely audible as he passed right through Hardy, almost hitting him with his shoulder.

"Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed." Hardy laughed towards Tom who ignored Hardy's playful stare and planted himself right next to Timothee Chalamet.

“You alright Tom?” Timothee turned his eyes to him, clearly seeing the frustration in Tom’s eyes.

“Everything’s fine...” He looked away and scanned the line, surprised when you were nowhere to be seen.

“If you’re searching for Y/n she has the later Taxis and the latest plane” Timothee gave Tom a tight smile.

“Oh...” Tom suddenly felt sad as he realized you wouldn’t be on the same flight as him. But angry when he realized Tom Hardy would.

An assistant waltzed towards Tom’s group and handed out the plane tickets, and some further information about the arrival. Every actor took separate cabs, and Tom found himself walking into the plane in a short amount of time - headphones into his ears desperately trying to push away the anger he felt towards Hardy.

He eyed all the seat numbers until his eyes fell on seat number 38. His stomach did a flip when the window seat was occupied by the one and only Tom Hardy - the one person he didn’t want to see.

While Hardy gave Tom and a large smile, Tom looked away and placed his bag on top. Half a plane of business class seats and he had to be paired with the one person he didn't want to see.

Hardy took the cue and looked down at his phone - a little shaken up by Tom’s coldness.

Two hours into the flight and Hardy got his script out. Tom finally removed his headphones to order something from the flight attendant and the other Tom took it as his cue to nudge his shoulder.

“Hey man.”

“Hey.” Tom said a little harsher than he meant - but what do you want to sound like when the person is trying to steal your girl.

“Martin wrote a new scene yesterday and I’m still trying to learn and practice it - he said it will be the first thing we're going to shoot tomorrow do you mind helping?” Tom looked at the script that was standing on Hardy’s lap and then back to his eyes.

“Um sure.” He gave him a tight smile.

“Thanks." he nodded with a charming smile "Here.” He handed Tom his script. “Alright.” Hardy cleared his throat "You ready?"

"Yeah."

“Alright. Here we go" He gave the cue and started his line. "Lilibet this is a warning.” His line entered Tom’s ears as his eyes scanned the page to make sure they were the right words.

“Father - you don’t understand. This is more than just some-”

“No.” Just like in the script the line cut Elizabeth’s line. “This is about family.”

“He's also my family. If you can’t accept it, then he will be my only family” Tom’s heart pounded in his chest when he realized what the next line was.

“But what about us?” Tom felt his blood turn cold. What he had heard last night was rehearsing and nothing else. Hardy wasn’t trying at all to win you over, he was rehearsing the new scene Martin had written.

Tom gulped. “But, I love him-”

“How is he more important than this family?”

“It’s just ‘How is he more important than this?’ not family” Tom looked into Hardy’s eyes and he gave a thankful smile.

“I always get that one wrong.” He shook his head with a smile breaking from his character and Tom handed him an awkward chuckle in return.

‘Well maybe if he hadn't said the line right yesterday, maybe I would have discovered it was indeed just a scene’ Tom thought to himself before coming back to the lines.

“Im asking it again. How is he more important than this.” Hardy repeated and Tom continued.

“D- dad, you don’t understand.” - ‘If only I had stayed to heard this line’ Tom thought and suddenly felt a strike of stupidity flash through him.

“Hardy do you mind if I leave you for a second.” Tom pointed behind him. “I just remembered something I have to tell Timothee.”

“No problem.”

Before he knew it Tom took Helena’s empty seat and started rambling to Timothee about the whole situation.

“Hey calm down Gnomeo.”

“Gnomeo?”

“What? You wanted me to say Romeo?” Tom didn’t know how to answer. “They both die in the end - I don’t think you’d want that.”

“Can we get back to the actual problem?” Tom shook his head at Timothee’s absurd comment.

“Yes. So the fact that you got jealous for no reason. Because you thought that Edward Thomas Hardy CBE was in the way of your relationship with Y/n?”

“He’s a CBE?” Tom stayed frozen for a second.

“Yeah, men! how did you not know that? Aren't you British?”

“I am-” he wanted to say something but shook his head. “That's not the point.” He sighed in frustration. “and yes....” He grumbled.

“Dude he plays her father.”

“I know-”

“He could be her dad in real life.”

“I also know that.”

“He’s married.”

“I know,” Tom whined.

“He has kids.”

“I know.” He melted in his seat in shame. “But- they’re both such great actors and it sounded so real.” He looked away too ashamed to face Timothee's stare “And I’d just read The Princess Diarist.” Tom grumbled and folded his arms.

“Wait there's a book to the films? Oh my god iconic.”

“No not the princess diaries and there’s always been a book about these - the princess Diaaaarriist” Tom looked at Timothee whose eyes were full of confusion. “Carrie Fisher’s memoir. She talks about her affair with Harrison Ford- it got to my head.”

A loud chuckle filled the gap between the two boys and Timothee had to grab the chair in front of him to stop from laughing at Tom’s stupidity.

“You better tell Y/n that you love her, the second we land.”

~

The tropical air filled your lungs the second you landed. The view was breathtaking and everything was just perfect - apart from the fact that you might had ruined all your chances with Tom.

Great way to set the mood.

You checked into the hotel. Unpacking a few things and washed the flight away with a shower. You threw your clothes into the closet with frustration as you thought of Tom. Your head wasn’t even where it should have been - in the acting. It was far away wondering how in the world could you have been so stupid to push Tom away.

‘Maybe if you had given it a chance. He wouldn’t have been so mad.’ You thought. But that thought was too painful.

You threw on a bathing suit and the first dress your hand landed on and went off to explore Hawaii on your one day ‘off’.

You walked through the hotel garden and found a nice spot on a bench under a few palm trees. You let out a small sigh when you sat down, letting the day flow away from your mind and finally taking a second to focus on the scenes you were filming tomorrow. You thought your peace was going to last until a voice brought you back to reality.

“Hey.” A British accent that was all way too familiar made your eyes open.

“Hey?” You forced a smile as he sat next to you. For a second, there was only the sound of birds chirping and the wind blowing in the palm leaves.

“I’m sorry.” He sighed and you turned your head with a quizzical look. “I shouldn't have ignored you yesterday- That was wrong of me sorry.” He shook his head.

“Is it my fault?” You looked into his eyes. “Because I rejected you so many times? I came to tell you how I really felt yesterday. I came to give you a chance and you pushed me away. I guess I know how you feel now." You let out a sad chuckle

“You- you did?” His eyes went wide.

“Kinda yeah” You played with your fingertips.

“I’m such an idiot.” He folded his eyes and sat back.

“You want me to back up that statement?” You smirked.

“Yeah, yeah no need to rub it in.” He let out a stiff chuckle before looking back at you. “I was more stupid than you think.”

“What did you do now?” All the anger and sadness you felt suddenly melted away when you met his eyes.

“I was looking for you to make a huge love speech and ask you to give me a chance but I overheard you rehearsing with Hardy and I didn’t hear the whole thing and thought he was asking you to be with him instead of me.” He ended his rambling with a sheepish grin and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Tom he’s married.”

“I know” He whined.

“He has kids.”

“I know.”

“You’re such an idiot.” You shook your head with a smile.

“I know.” He looked at you with a small smile. “Forgive me?”

“Yes. I forgive your jealous ass.” You shook your head in disbelief. “Now can we stop making each other cry or scream?” You giggled. “And finally... freaking finally get this to go somewhere.” Tom nodded at your every word.

“Y/n?” You nodded when he called your name. Tom smirk as an idea flashed through his eyes. He got down on his two knees and placed his hands on either side of your hips, looking right into your eyes.

“Will you be my girlfriend?”

“Yes, Tom. I will be your girlfriend.” You chuckled before pressing a kiss to his lips - sparks flying at the contact. Your hand climbed up to Tom’s curls - Tom smiling into the kiss.

“You’re not going to stop it this time?” He chuckled in between kisses.

“Never again” You shook your head. “I’m all yours.”

~

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#Tom holland #Tom Holland x reader #Tom Holland x you #tom holland x y/n #Tom Holland imagine #actress reader #Peter parker #Peter Parker x reader #silent britain #Peter Parker x you #Peter paker x y/n #Peter Parker imagine

[dfdph]

Spotlight - Prologue

Author D.

Pairing Jungkook x Reader (female)

Genre Actor AU | Hollywood AU | Exes to Lovers AU | Romance | Fluff | Angst

Warnings Mentions of cyber bullying

Word count 3.5k

Summary “Her stylist had chosen a wonderful black Elie Saab Haute Couture for the occasion. The gown was long, sleek and structured, with overlaying tulle and tafta, the top was semi-transparent, with long sleeves and padded shoulders,  and the whole dress was adorned with an intricate golden embroidery that highlighted her figure craftily. Her hair had been pinned neatly in a bun on top of her head, with some twists and braids that she had no way of replicating on her own. The make up artist had played with golden eyeshadow and had drawn a strong and thick black line with the eyeliner, making her gaze sharper and sexier. Y/N looked like a chic princess warrior, ready for battle. And, somehow, she really felt like it. She wasn’t anxious only about the ceremony, she had read the lineup, she had read his name. She knew there was no avoiding him this time: her first love, Jeon Jungkook.”

©️ dfdph, 2021 - All rights reserved. Reposting or translating onto other sites is NOT allowed.

     Award season was the period of the year Y/N hated the most. Despite being in the entertainment industry since she was a teenager - and now being in her late 20s -, she still couldn’t get used to the stress it put her through. She actually looked forward to dressing up and posing in front of dozens and dozens of photographers at the beginning of her career, but now that she had made a name for herself, now that everyone knew who she was, Y/N would gladly stay in her king sized bed watching some movie instead. Unfortunately, even if she wanted to, there was no way she could avoid attending this season’s ceremonies. 

     The past year had been Y/N’s most rewarding yet. She had been in fact casted by a renowned and award-winning director as the main character of his new historical movie, which turned out highly successful at the box office - earning more than $110,000,000 on its opening weekend - and highly acclaimed by the critics who had praised, not only the cinematography and the intricacy of the plot, but especially Y/N’s performance - described as raw, heartbreaking and graceful. To no one’s surprise, she was soon nominated as Best Actress in most of the award events, winning all of them despite the high competition and enriching the collection of trophies she had displayed in her home office.

     When she debuted ten years ago with a minor role in an episode of a television series she only dared dreaming of reaching such a peak in her career. She could have never imagined that she would become one of the highest paid actresses in the industry, that she would afford buying her dream car and her dream house in Los Angeles, and that she would have millions of fans supporting her all over the world. Yet, there she was, getting ready for ‘the dream come true’, the award of the awards: the Oscars. And she, Y/N Y/L/N, had been chosen as the strongest contender in her category: Best Performance by an Actress in a Leading Role. She had already been nominated twice before, but this time was different, this time she felt she could actually win. Hence why she couldn’t stop walking anxiously back and forth in the 5 star hotel room her staff had booked for the day.

     Her stylist had chosen a wonderful black Elie Saab Haute Couture for the occasion. The gown was long, sleek and structured, with overlaying tulle and tafta; the top was semi-transparent, with long sleeves and padded shoulders, and the whole dress was adorned with an intricate golden embroidery that highlighted her figure craftily. Her hair had been pinned neatly in a bun on top of her head, with some twists and braids that she had no way of replicating on her own. The make up artist had played with golden eyeshadow and had drawn a strong and thick black line with the eyeliner, making her gaze sharper and sexier. 

     Y/N looked like a chic princess warrior, ready for battle. And, somehow, she really felt like it. She wasn’t anxious only about the ceremony, she had read the lineup, she had read his name. She knew there was no avoiding him this time: her first love, Jeon Jungkook.

     Y/N was a completely different woman from who she was back in high school.

     She had grown in a very poor family. Her mother had to raise her, alongside her older brother, all on her own, working long hours as a housekeeper for a rich and snob family who mistreated her and paid her just enough so that she couldn’t resign. She was a very sweet woman who had to struggle every day to give her two children the most normal life she could afford. Y/N’s father, on the other hand, was never present: an alcoholic who couldn’t keep a job for more than a month, he regularly failed to pay child support after the divorce and never once made a call to hear from them.

     Y/N understood the importance of money early on, in elementary school, when her classmates started teasing her because of her hand-me-down clothes. She was used to wear her brother’s old t-shirts every now and then and never thought too much of it. She didn’t see any difference between the rock bands pictures or the flowery prints, she didn’t realize it mattered. And when she had told her mother that those girls had laughed at her, the woman almost cried, so Y/N decided not to mention it ever again.

     Y/N grew up into a very introverted and shy teenager. She wasn’t good with socializing and generally preferred being on her own. Her desire for solitude was so evident that her classmates gave up on their attempts to befriend her and she soon became the lone wolf of their high school. By junior high, she became almost invisible. 

     Strangely enough, Y/N’s dream was that to become an actress, a profession that required a lot of things she lacked of. Confidence, to begin with, or charisma. The only thing she believed she could do was hide inside the unused storage room on the second floor and play with the old props left by the drama club. 

     She met Jungkook while doing just that. 

     The boy was just coming back from the first meeting of the Mathematics Discussion Club - of which he was the president - when he heard someone crying from a room he never noticed before. He opened the door quietly, peeking his head inside the dim lighted room, only to find the silhouette of a girl lying on the floor in a fetal position and seemingly crying her lungs out in pain. She had her hands clutching tightly her head and she was sobbing so hard that she was on the verge of hyperventilating. On instinct, Jungkook rushed to her side, his books, pencils and calculator clattering all over the floor. 

     “Are you ok?!” he screamed in worry, putting his hands over her shoulders.

     Y/N jumped up, her wailing stopping so abruptly that it made Jungkook jump as well. As it turned out, Y/N was doing nothing more than acting the part of a terminally ill girl who was suffering intense head pains - a part she had invented all on her own to test her ability with dramatic scenes. it was something she did quite often. Just the day before she was performing Meryl Streep’s part in “Into the Woods” to an invisible audience.

     “I-I’m ok.” she mumbled, drying the fake tears from her cheeks.

     “What the hell?” Jungkook murmured, looking at her in astonishment. “What was that?”

     “I was ... I was just pretending.” she replied, her voice horse from all the screaming.

     “Pretending?” he repeated as he sat bewildered on the dirty floor. “You were pretending to be in pain? Why?!”

     Y/N felt the heat rising to her face. This was the first time she had to explain her weird little secret to anyone. “Acting.”

     “Acting.” Jungkook repeated once again. “And why are you doing it in here?” he asked looking around the creepy space, with its spider webs and abandoned miscellaneous objects. “What is this place anyways?”

     “It was the old storage room of the drama club.” Y/N replied. “They don’t use it anymore. There’s no space left.”

     “I can see that.” he said staring at the shelf just above their heads that looked about ready to collapse. “So, I guess you’re not in the drama club?”

     “No.” Y/N answered looking down at her crossed legs. She wondered if he was going to snitch on her. She really didn’t want to get in trouble. Besides, it wasn’t like she was doing something that terrible.

     “I could tell.” Jungkook replied. “I saw last year’s winter play and, let me tell you, you, crying on the floor 5 minutes ago, were ten times better than that.”

     Y/N looked back at him with her mouth open in surprise. She had no idea who this boy sitting crossed legged on the floor with her was, with his white button down shirt and over washed jeans, but he singlehandedly gave her the best compliment she could wish for. “Right?!” she exclaimed sitting straighter. “I thought so too! But everybody else acted as if they saw the best performance of their lives! I knew I couldn’t be the only one who taught that their interpretation of Shakespeare’s Antony and Cleopatra was nothing but underwhelming.”

     “Damn right.” the boy nodded in agreement. “I actually looked forward to it because I prefer it over Romeo and Juliet, but I was so disappointed. You should have played Cleopatra!” he added in an afterthought. “Why didn’t you?”

     Y/N felt herself blush once again. “I never performed in front of anyone.” she confessed. “Apart from my mother an brother, that is.”

     “That’s a shame.” Jungkook murmured pensively. “You have real talent, storage room girl. Believe me, I’m an expert.”

     Being friends with Jungkook was easy, falling in love with him was even easier. It came so naturally that Y/N didn’t even have the chance to fully realize it before they were officially dating.

     He was everything Y/N wasn’t and everything she wanted to be. Even at 16 years old he already was a very confident boy. He was incredibly smart, funny and a little bit nerdy. He didn’t belong to the upper class of their high school social pyramid, nor the middle, but he had no care in matching those standards because he loved himself for who he was - Stark Trek t-shirts, consumed tennis shoes and all. 

     In the short year the two of them were together, from junior to senior year, Jungkook became the reason behind Y/N’s happiness. She wasn’t aware of how lonely she really had been while asking to be left alone. Jungkook taught her to be open towards the world, to be curious and to believe in herself and her abilities. Thanks to him and his never ending support Y/N came to realize that she wasn’t meant to hide inside the abandoned storage room on the second floor, but she deserved the chance to follow her dreams.

     Together they filed their applications for college: Jungkook always wanted to become an aerospace engineer and had set the personal - and ambitious - goal to work for NASA; Y/N, on the other hand, had worked hard during her last year in high school to win a scholarship for whichever Performing Arts College was willing to take her in - it didn’t matter which one because she knew she started her acting career late. All she wanted was to study to become an actress, to perform on stage and bring to life incredible stories, to be someone one day and someone else the other.

     But it was such a big dream, something so fickle and risky, that Y/N couldn’t help but being overwhelmed by fear, not only for her future but that of Jungkook’s as well, because after all, despite all the changes she had gone through, a part of her was still hiding from the world. So she did something stupid, something very cliché, that nevertheless seemed the right thing to do at that time: she broke up with him.

     It’s for his own good, she had thought. He is brilliant, I don’t want to hold him back.

     Jungkook fought her and for her. He was afraid something like this would happen, he was sure it wasn’t what she really wanted, he knew she was just afraid. But Y/N was a very talented actress indeed and for a moment, as she looked straight into his dark eyes and told him she didn’t love him anymore, Jungkook felt his confidence waver.

     “I’m really thankful for what you’ve done for me.” she had said. “I wouldn’t be who I am today if it wasn’t for you.”

     “Please don’t lie.” he had whispered, trying to stop the angry and disappointed tears from falling from his eyes. “Don’t pretend. Not with me.”

     “I’m not.” Y/N replied, her voice firm. “I loved you, I really did. You’ll be my first love forever, Kook.”

     And the very next day, just like in one of those cheesy television dramas her mother loved so much, she flew hundreds of miles away from him, trying to not looking back. 

     If she said she never regretted it over the following years, it would be a lie. As she started her new life, she never failed to think of him. She wondered how he was doing, if his dreams were coming true and if he ever thought of her as much as she did of him. As she grew up and matured, Y/N realized how stupid her choice had been and how important Jungkook’s role had been in shaping her personality and in breaking her shell. Y/N was sure of it: if he didn’t found her that day inside the storage room, she wouldn’t be who she was today.

     Years after she broke up with him, Jungkook still popped up into her mind every now and then. She thought of him the first time she was casted for a walk on role in a movie; she thought of him the first time her name was credited in an episode of a TV show; she thought of him the first time she won an award.

      She thought of him with regret and a little bit of melancholy. Y/N never forgot him. Not even when when became so famous she barely had the time and energy to think about herself.

      The first time Y/N heard his name spoken by someone else’s mouth, three years ago, was a complete shock. She never talked of him to anyone, apart form her mother, her brother and Jimin, her best friend and manager, so he was supposed to be a nobody to everyone else but herself. As it turned out, with a very mysterious turn of events, Jungkook had left the path towards aerospace engineering and had decided to take his chance with acting. And from what Y/N gathered from the overheard conversation, he was starting to make a name for himself as well. 

     That night, back in her multimillion dollar villa, Y/N researched his name on the internet for the first time. 

     He was new to the industry and there wasn’t much about him, it was like he popped out of nowhere. But it was definitely Jungkook, Y/N recognized him from the pictures. He had grown into a beautiful man, so handsome that she did a double take and then had to stop herself from drooling. It wasn’t like he was ugly when they were together, but he was just a skinny teenager back then and this was a man, a real man who had lost all of his baby fat and now had a razor sharp jaw and a muscular body. Apparently, he was the protagonist of an ongoing TV series that was gathering a lot of success putting him in the center of the attention. ‘The new heartthrob’, that was how he was being called.

     Y/N couldn’t help but wonder what happened after they lost contact with each other that made him change his career so drastically. Whenever she thought about him she imagined him working on some challenging project for NASA, never on a movie set. She remembered he was passionate about theatre and cinema, but never once he had expressed the desire to become an actor like her. Y/N didn’t know what to think.

     As the years passed, Y/N watched as his acting career grew, as he starred in a success after the other and as he earned the respect of even the most strict directors and critics.

     Y/N watched, yes, but from afar, never daring to contact him and secretly avoiding the chances to meet him again. 

     She had been successful, until now.

     The drive to the Dolby Theatre went far too quick for Y/N’s taste. She could barely remember how she got from the hotel room where she had been preparing to the black luxury van. Before she knew it her stylist was taking away her favorite slippers and was putting on her dress-matching Dolce&Gabbana heels.

     Y/N didn’t have the time to think. Three years of running away and finally the moment had come. Jeon Jungkook - her first love, her ‘the one that got away’, probably her biggest regret - was probably in the car behind hers.

     “Y/N, two minutes.” Jimin called out, warning her to get ready. “You know the deal. Deep breath and own that red carpet as you always do. And-”

     “I know.” Y/N interrupted him. “The left side is my best side.”

     The man, dressed up as well in a black tux, gave her a wink. “I’ll be right behind you. You got this.” he declared, looking at her intensely. “This is the one.”

     “Thanks, Chim. But from all we know I could be the next Di Caprio.” she joked, the roaring noise from the red carpet now deafening.

     “On my dead body.” he smirked. “Talk to you later, princess.”

     “Later.” she hugged him briefly. “Oh, can you please make sure my mom and Seokjin got in fine? I totally forgot to call them.”

     “Of course. My assistant is with them, anyways.” Jimin said, putting a hand on the door handle. “Ready?”

     Y/N took a deep breath, put on her best charming expression and nodded. “Ready.”

     As soon as he opened the door, Y/N was immediately hit by the boisterous and echoing call of the fans. She wasn’t sure if it was only her impression but it seemed like every single one of them was screaming her name. She was, indeed, one of the biggest names of the night, there was no use in denying it, but Y/N couldn’t help but wish they stopped making her presence so obvious.

     A young usher, pretending not so well to be indifferent and trying to be professional, guided her towards the beginning of the red carpet, hundreds of cellphones following her movements like magnets.

     “Please, come this way, miss Y/L/N.” the usher instructed in a slightly trembling voice. “There will be someone from the staff signaling you were to stop to pose for the photographers.”

     Y/N knew this already. She had attended countless of events like this, after all. Yet she didn’t say anything to the shy boy, preferring to smile at him sincerely. “Thank you very much.” she said, watching as he blushed violently.

     Y/N started her walk, Jimin and her stylist following a few steps behind to make sure that everything went smoothly. The photographers went wild as soon as they saw her, the flashes of their cameras blinding her almost angrily. She was used to it now, she had mastered the trick: squinting sexily and blinking strategically.

     As she walked slowly towards the entrance of the theatre, posing with confidence and channeling her best princess warrior, Y/N almost forgot the worries she had about Jungkook, until a new wave of screams echoed to her ears. She stiffened, even if imperceptibly. It was him, the line up said he would be walking right after her. 

     The time had finally come. Ten years had passed and she was seeing Jeon Jungkook again for the first time. 

     She continued to walk nonchalantly, every step confident and her chin up and proud. But once she reached the end of the red carpet and the photographers moved their attention away from her, Y/N couldn’t help but stop for a second, ignoring a fellow actress and ‘friend’ waving at her a few feet further. 

     She could feel him, she could feel his presence behind her back. She could either turn around and catch a glimpse of him, or resume walking and pretend he wasn’t there. It took her a couple of moments of indecisiveness, in which Jimin looked at her questioningly, before taking the umpteenth deep breath of the evening.

     She turned, the hem of her $30 000 black dress brushing almost magically over the carpet, and there he was. For a moment the memory of the nerdy boy from high school overlapped the image in front of her. She was well aware of the fact that he wasn’t that teenager anymore, she had seen his pictures, watched his movies and interviews. The boy she remembered was long gone: standing tall and proud, more than twenty feet from her, was now Jeon Jungkook ‘the actor’, dressed in a perfectly tailored night blue tux that highlighted his toned body, black patent leather shoes and impeccably styled hair.

     And he was staring - with his dark and deep black eyes - right back at her.

#bts #bts fanfic #purplearmynet #bangtanarmynet #thebtswritersclub #bts jeon jungkook #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook romance #dfdph #spotlight

[hyunjilicious]

The safest white - harry styles

Summary: When things with your abusive boyfriend reach a new level, Harry comes to the rescue. 5.7k Warnings: mentions of abuse. I hope you enjoy this! Please tell me what you thought! Your words make my day ❤

Never in your life had you thought you’d end up in a situation like this. Growing up, you got used to the idea of an ideal relationship, and for whatever reason, fell for the glamourized Hollywood look of the downs people went through as they fought for their partner. Real life hit you like a ton of bricks, put a cloth over your mouth and cut your legs from the knees down. Knowing you have to fight for what you want and know is right, even if faced with facts that contradicted your beliefs, you found yourself alone, screaming at nothing in the middle of a sea of darkness. Your own house. And you were screaming internally, because once again, you feared the man you used to call ‘love’. Droplets of sweat tickled your skin as they rushed down your sides, and your hands and feet, although cold, were damp too. You stood in the middle of the bedroom, facing the door. In some twisted way, you knew there was no chance for you to hide, so you stood there, ready take no more hits without hitting back. And harder. After pampering yourself with a pep talk, you ended up feeling quite confident. Confident that you’d get the fuck out of there with your head held fucking high, but it was a confidence that dissipated once the sound of your own phone ringing reached your ears. “Fuck” you mumbled to yourself, after you jumped out of fright. “No, no, no! Y/n. Get. Yourself. Together” You muttered these words through gritted teeth, repeating them over and over again, until the layer of unshed tears in your eyes became too thick and rushed down your cheeks, forcing you to fall to the ground. The impact made your knees sting, but the pain in your heart had already numbed every nerve ending in your entire body. You were at the edge of collapse, and you phone was still ringing. Wiping your face with the sleeve of your shirt, you crawled over to the bed and picked up your cell, only to see Harry’s smiling face on his ID photo along with the pouting emoji you added to his name. It didn’t even take a moment’s worth of consideration before you pressed the red button and declined the call. Not that you had any power left in your body to communicate with another human right now, but you also knew that if it was something important, he’d also send a text, letting you know the matter was indeed urgent. And it came. The text came about 15 seconds later in real time, but for you, it was all a haze. Again, you didn’t think about it. If you declined his call and he still insisted, something must’ve been up. 'Love, I’m stuck at the studio for at least another hour and my mum is coming over’ 'She’ll be at my house in about 20 minutes’ 'If I leave rn I’ll have to come back tomorrow and I want to spend the day with her’ 'Can you go over there’ 'Let her in and hang out or something’ 'Or if you’re busy can she come to you and wait for me there?’

No, way. There was no way you could face his mother right now. She always saw right through your bullshit. Starting with when you and Harry were 18 and started denied your feelings for one another and up until this year, when she sensed something was off with you. When you saw her 2 months ago, it took you about 3 hours to convince her nothing is wrong with you for the sole purpose of keeping Harry out of your relationship. All it took for her to notice you weren’t comfortable with your boyfriend was the way you answered a question about his whereabouts. After that, you had to make up a whole story to prove to her she didn’t need to worry. And they say actors are good liars. You felt you were going to choke with every lie to told her, and frankly, you were surprised she believed you in the end. Maybe it was just how much she trusted you. Nevertheless, you weren’t the person for the job.

You stared at the messages on your phone, and breathed out from the deepest depths of your lungs. You hated that you couldn’t help him right now, but knowing at least 3 other friends of Harry's should be available, you locked your phone and fell back down, leaning against the side of the bed. The mere thought of Harry and Anne calmed you down a bit, but when you went back to reality, another wave of misery hit you. You still had to get out of there, but opening the door to your bedroom was probably the most frightening thing on your mind. There was not much time for you to gather your thoughts and plan your next move before your phone buzzed again. 'You hung up on me. I know u can see these. Everything ok??’ Instantly, you palm connected to your forehead as you rolled your eyes in disbelief. “How did he-” you muttered, unlocking your phone, to assure him you were ok. As it turned out, your text wasn’t enough to convince him you were good, so he called. But for this, you didn’t have the power. This time you didn’t bother to hang up, you turned off your phone completely and fell down onto the carpet. The minutes that followed were excruciating. That is if there was even a matter of minutes, your sense of time wasn’t even hazy anymore, it was gone altogether. The cries you tried to muffle out of fear Jack would hear you from the other room, created an unsettling feeling in the pit of your stomach. If up until now it was all psychological, the spasming of your abdominal muscles were sure to force out everything you hadn’t eaten in the past two days. Just gastric acid was threatening to come up, but this feeling alone wasn’t enough to get you to stand up. By now, leaving the house wasn’t the problem anymore. It was the part of you that allowed yourself to be treated like trash that you didn’t know how to get rid of. At this point, the only thing you felt like doing was cracking your own chest open to rip out your heart and pick apart the broken parts. And not even that was good enough, you were afraid you’d be left with nothing. Since there was nothing you could do right now, you slowly stood up, and decided to head to the bathroom and clean yourself up in order to sneak out of the house. Messy hair and running mascara would draw attention to yourself on the street, and that was not something you could risk. As you walked across the bedroom, when you moved past the window, your eyes landed on Jack’s frame. He was sitting at the table in the back garden, drinking straight out of a bottle of Jack Daniels that was more empty than full. As messed up as that was, this sight gave you a rush of confidence. In this state, it was highly unlikely he’d hear you leave the house, and even if he did, you were positive you’d be able to outrun him. Once in the bathroom, the woman you saw in the mirror was not you. You refused to accept that you were in this state. It was a momentary lapse of character, from which you’d bounce back. You had to. In the shower, although feeling like you could break down all over again, you forced yourself to remain on track, and about 20 minutes later, you were back in your bedroom, putting on whatever clothes you found first. You checked the window. Jack was still there, scrolling on his phone. If you played your cards right, you could leave without your eyes landing on him again. You gathered your essentials - phone, charger, wallet, keys and whatever else you found completely necessary and walked over to the door, where you stopped. “I’ll take you less than three minutes to get to your car, Y/n” you whispered to yourself. “You can do this” You mumbled these words to yourself a few times, and when you raised your hand to open the door, the knob turned by itself and your heart fell two stories down. Already in overdrive, your adrenaline kicked in, sweating out of every pore as you instinctively looked for an object to use to defend yourself. All these defence mechanisms crumbled to the ground when you heard his voice. “Y/n?” because it was Harry, “Are yeh in here? Please, answer me!” You breathed out in relief, something you didn’t know you could feel again. You rushed to unlock the door, and he hurried inside at ungodly speed. “It’s Jack, ain’t it!?” he questioned with anger filled words, “I just got off with the phone with my mum, why didn’t yeh two say anything?” “I told her it was nothing” you mumbled, trying to avoid his eyes, but the way he held onto your cheeks made it impossible for you to look at anything else. “You did, yeah.” Harry nodded with despair, “And she believed yeh and now she’s blaming herself. Tell me. What happened? Where is he?” “God” you cried out and tried to lean your head back, but Harry stopped you and prompted you to look at him again. It worsened gradually, but by now, you barely managed to breathe properly as tears cascaded down your cheeks. “Hey, hey, hey” he breathed out, “Look at me, love. I’m here, ok? It’s over. I’m here. I got yeh” You tried to nod, but all you did was choke a sob and collapse into yourself, Harry barely managing to catch you. Holding you tight to his chest, he rocked you in his arms and rubbed the back of your head, “Its me, love. Its Harry”. He tried to chuckle, but pain was audible in his voice too. “Nothing will happen to yeh, ok? I swear on anything that I am, yeh're safe, yeah?” You wanted to nod, but when he moved his fingers up a bit across your scalp, you winced in pain, and he caught sight of it in an instant. “Did he hit you, Y/n?” he asked, pulling away to look into your eyes. You nodded no. For whatever reason, that was what you considered was the right answer. “Don’t lie to me, angel. Yeh don’ ever have to lie to me, ok?” “Ok” you muttered. “So did he?” “Yes..” And that was then the light in his eyes died. They started shining a particular type of darkness that terrified you to your bones. You froze. Your mind was too numb to act on your emotion, but when he brought you to his chest again, you finally realised your fear was unrooted. “Where is he?” Harry groaned in a deep tone. “Please, don’t” “I just want to talk to him” he fibbed. “Harry, I’m serious-” you cried, “Don’t do anything, I don’t want this anymore. I want it to be over. What if he tries to-” “Listen t' me, angel” he said sternly, looking straight into your eyes, “You’re crying. Shaking. I’ve never seen yeh like this. Ever. Not even close. Yer whole body shivered when I touched you. That man, hurt you. I don’t even want to think about what he actually did to you right now. Yeh’re the happiest, strongest woman I met in my entire life and he managed to bring you in this state. I won’t have that, ok? I won’t sleep again if doesn’t pay for this.” “Please, Harry” you whimpered, wiping some of your tears away. You placed your hands of top of his, and grabbed them tightly, “What if he does something to you, what if-” “Think about the girl that will come after you, hm? What about her? He’ll go on with his life thinking he doesn’t need to pay for his fucking demented behaviour, and she’ll walk straight into the lions den” “What if he hurts you?” “It won’t get to that, love. I’ll just talk to him. But I have to do this. I can’t not do it, you understand that, right?” After you reluctantly agreed, mostly because he wasn’t showing signs of giving up and you didn’t have it in you to fight him at that moment, you headed downstairs and he walked you to his car. Harry opened the door for you to climb in, but before that, you pressed yourself against him again, craving his touch and the feeling of safety it provided. “Oh, love” he sighed, rubbing your back. “I got yeh” You didn’t want to let him go, but you knew you had to. Eventually, you got into his car, but turned to him before closing the door. “You’re just gonna talk to him, alright?” you sniffled, “And then you’ll be right back, yeah?” “Yes, darlin’” Harry nodded and leaned in to kiss your forehead. “I’ll be right back” And with that, he left. You watched him walk into the house, your eyes remaining trained on his back until he was out of sight. Not knowing what was going on was driving you insane. Your phone was surely not going to provide any kind of distraction, you felt out of place, like you were sitting on a pile of nails as a train was approaching you at full speed. But there was nothing for you to do about it. Going in and joining the conversation was sure to make things worse, for all of you. It hurt that the right thing to do was sit and wait, you hated it, but you had to be patient. In need of something you keep your mind busy, you opened the glove compartment, and started rummaging through the junk that had pilled up there over the past few months. Mostly napkins, candy wrappers, McDonald’s straws, and seemingly, irrelevant stuff. Eventually, you came across some other things, like your old phone case, which you ended up discarding after you bought a new one while you were shopping with Harry for a birthday gift. There was also there a bottle of perfume, the kind you’ve been wearing for years, and in this one, there was barely anything left. Jumping jacks were taking place inside your heart. You knew Harry was the kind of guy every girl deserved in her life, but you wanted him for yourself only. It was mostly junk, and useless little things anyone would have forgotten existed, but he kept them. It didn’t take long before you got lost in thought again, but in the end, you decided to ignore any rush feelings you might be having, taking into consideration the emotional break down you have just been through. “Hey, love” Harry’s voice filled the air inside his car, as he flung the door open and climbed in in one swift motion. “Did you talk to him?” “Yeah” he said distraught and nodded, before turning around in his seat to check if it was safe to pull out. “With my fists” Your eyes snapped to his knuckles. Skin cracked and little droplets of blood peaking to the surface. However, he gripped the steering wheel as if it was nothing, and kept his smile on. What was most surprising, but actually not quite, was that he looked genuinely relieved. You sighed, “H, what happened?” “Nothing, love. I got there fuming ready to beat the guy to the pulp. But he was drunk outta his mind. I stopped then, I promise. I told him what I had to say but I doubt he understood a word I said” he confessed, grabbing your forearm and giving it a squeeze. “You said you were only gonna talk to him…” “That’s what I was planning on, I don’t- I don’t know what- anyway-” he mumbled, in between ragged breaths, “We’ll deal with it, ok? You won’t ever have to see him again. And he’s fine. He deserved so much worse, but I’m- I’m uh, I’m not-” “Thank you” you whispered, looking down at your hands, knowing any moment now the tears would come back. “Yeh don’t need to thank me, angel. I should have known sooner, this should never have happened” “I know… I’m sorry” “What’re yeh sorry about?” Harry asked, eyes trained on the road ahead, “None of this is your fault” “Then whose is it?” you exclaimed, “Hm?” “Fucking his!!” You tried to change the subject, but all you managed to do was drop this one. Nothing else held. Nothing was of interest, and even if it was, the timing was wrong. There was no way you could have started talking about what movie you just saw, and Harry clearly didn’t feel like boasting to you about what a great time he’s been having with his friends and family. Needless to say, for about 10 minutes, it was you, Harry and the sacred uncomfortable silence. “Can you drop me off at a hotel please” you asked, cringing a bit at your own words. “No, why?” He was clearly surprised, if not offended. “I- uh” you mumbled, too ashamed to use a normal tone of voice. “It’s your mum, H. I can’t see her right now. I don’t want to talk about this anymore, nor do I want someone else to worry about me. I promise I’ll be better tomorrow, and I’ll come hang out. Get a coffee or something” “Is that the only reason you want to go to a hotel?” “Yeah…” “Perfect” Harry nodded, “She’s not at my place. Didn’t expect you to be in the mood for company. But you shouldn’t be by yourself. I can drop you off wherever ya want, but not if you’re gonna be alone”. He took your silence for an answer. “My place it is, then” And you got to his house, and even if you had been there millions of times before, you felt out of place. You were afraid he bought you here out of mercy or sympathy, despite what he had just said. The atmosphere was different, and for whatever reason, you didn’t feel like home. For years, his house and anywhere near him, you felt your safest, yet today, you were afraid anything you’d say or do would be out of place. “Yeh know how this works” Harry said, walking into the kitchen, “It’s your home too, don’t shy away” “I know” you chuckled, and it did sound fake and it was obvious he noticed, but none of you pointed it out. “Are you hungry? Want something to drink? Tea? We can order something-” “I’m fine, thanks though” you sighed, slowly advancing towards him. You leaned your hip against one of the counters, silently awaiting his next move. But he didn’t quite do anything, except change his expression into one of maybe confusion. This must have been hard for him too, you didn’t know what you needed to hear, how could he have possibly known what to say? “Do you wanna watch something?” you asked, wanting to relieve some of the pressure. To be fair, you were not in the mood to watch any movie, but you figured laying down next to him would be calming and an easy way to avoid unwanted conversation. “Yeah, 'course” Harry nodded. “Actually... Got any wine?” He seemed completely taken aback, but soon enough, he came back to reality, offering to get the alcohol while you picked something you wanted to watch. It wasn’t a difficult choice. Seinfeld was a sure option, since you both liked it and it required almost no concentration at all. Just as you laid down on his couch, Harry came back into the living room, two tall glasses in his hands, and a bottle of while under his arm. “Figured white wine was safer, dunno how much we’re gonna drink, and nothing is worse than a red wine hangover” “Just how drunk do you think I wanna get?” you laughed, taking the glasses from him. “As drunk as yeh want, love” Harry smiled, pulling out a corkscrew, “The choice is yours” “Just don’t let me start ranting or anything” “Yeah…” he cringed, sucking in a deep breath as he squinted his eyes, “Can’t promise yeh that. Ya know I’m a sucker fo’ yer drunken ramblings” “Oh shut up” you scoffed. “And why did you bring these?” you questioned, pointing to the glasses, “Don’t you know me at all? Or are you suddenly grossed out by my germs?” “When you put it like that, it sounds gross, yes” Harry laughed out loud, before clutching the corkscrew tight into his hand and opening up the bottle, “But still, I’d be happy to exchange germs with you” “Oh wow” “Wha'?” Harry belted, playfully offended, “Yeh started it!” “Well, it sounds so much worse when some else says it” None of you could ever win this. He came over to the couch and motioned for you to scoot over. During the first episode, you kept your distance, but as the minutes passed and as the level of wine slowly lowered, so did the space between your bodies. By the third episode, Harry was laying down on his back with his knees bent, as you leaned back against his calves. That was when you opened up the second bottle. Still white wine, still safe. Harry's words. Every now and then one of you would chuckle, and in case too much time would pass without one of you making a sound, the other would gently ask an “You asleep?” even though both your minds were way too busy to be able to relax enough to drift off. When you almost finished this bottle too, Elaine was throwing a fuss, in the middle of Jerry’s living groom over some guy she went to gym with. “He wiped his hand on the top of the bottle when I offered him water” she said offended through the TV screen, making you stand up and turn to Harry. “This is the universe, love” he laughed but instantly you shushed him, knowing what line was next. “Are you kidding?” Elaine said again, “He should be craving my germs!” And at that, you both burst into laughter. “I had no idea this was the episode” you barely managed to say in between your crazy giggles. “Is it a coincidence?” Harry smirked, “Think not!” “You’re drunk” “So are yeh!” he defended himself, as if it would change anything. “You know what else I am?” “What?” You picked up the bottle and finished whatever was left in it, and then turned to him with a proud smile on your face, “Ready for the third one” “Stand up” Harry commanded and pointed to the space right in front of the couch. “Why?” “Do three pirouettes and if yeh don’t stumble I’ll open another one” “Buzz kill” you pouted and slapped his legs, “No” “I’ll do it with you” he laughed, and when he stood up, you reluctantly did too. When he motioned for you to do the pirouettes, another smile crept up your lips, “At least put some music on if you want to see my moves” “Oh, is that how it’s gonna be?” he laughed, walking over to his phone on the table, “Are we gonna dance in the living room like the crazy people in those sappy chick movies we used to watch?” “Why do you have to be an asshole?” you joked, leaning your head to the side. “Because-” was all he managed to say before the music turned on, making him stop talking as he silently laughed. “Why-” you exclaimed, “On Earth, were you listening to My Heart Will Go On? Is Harold in love?” “I have a good explanation!” Harry jumped to defend himself, pointing a finger at you, “I tried to learn it” “On guitar I hope” you teased. “Ha, very funny” “Oh my god, Harry!” you burst into laughter, “I’m assuming you nailed it on the first try” “Yess!” he threw his head back, cheeks all red, “Celine stand back, I’m coming for yer money” “What would it take to convince you to sing it to me?” “Sing it with me” Harry responded in an instant, and it might have been the alcohol, but it didn’t even take a second before you agreed. You both grabbed one of the empty bottles as microphones, and sang your hearts out. Even though Harry had the vocal capability to reach some of those notes and sing full verses correctly, nothing that came out of his mouth sounded right. And if you were to carefully listen to the atrocities that came out of yours, you’d feel the need to hide for a week to finally get rid of the embarrassment. But you didn’t care. And neither did he. Harry only got like this if he was in a truly good mood. He wasn't always bubbly and childish, especially not today after everything that happened, and you knew a bottle of wine wasn’t enough to awaken this side of him, but still, he danced his hips into exhaustion, providing you with all the good energy you didn’t think you could possibly get. Your performance ended when some Creedence song started, and you walked over and pressed yourself against Harry’s chest. Since you got to his house, you gradually started to feel better, but it all came so naturally, you literally had to stop and check in order to actually realize it. “Thank you” you mumbled into his shirt. “Don’t need to thank me, love” Harry said softly, rubbing your back, “Seeing you loosen up and smile makes me feel better too” His words warmed up your heart from the inside, and it was probably the amount of emotions that you felt in the last 12 hours that caused you to have so little self control, but your eyes watered. At that point, thinking someone’s happiness relied on yours, was too much for your mind to process. Especially considering that for the last few weeks, it had been quite the opposite. A lot of things came to mind. There were a lot of things you felt like saying to him. Somehow, you couldn’t escape the need to thank him again and again, you wanted to tell him how amazing he was, how much of a blessing he was. Right then and there you got emotional you wanted to rant your heart out, but in the end, you lacked the courage. For some reason, even though you had nothing but good things to say, you were afraid to do so, embarrassed even. “Still-” you said softly as you pulled away from his chest. Your eyes rose up to meet his, and he welcomed you with the same warmth he had been showing all day, “I don’t know how to exactly say this, but I know that there’s no one in my life who would have dropped everything and came to check up on me, but you did. And I know you don’t want to hear me thanking you again, but I’m so so grateful you’re in my life” you confessed, breaking into a light sob. The change of atmosphere was too sudden. He didn’t see this coming, and you didn’t know you wouldn’t be able to finish your statement without a cascade of tears streaming down your cheeks again. “Love” Harry cooed, grabbing your cheeks and wiping your tears away with his thumbs. The heat from his palms gave you a newfound sense of reality, forcing your thoughts to spiral again. “Y/n, I love yeh. So much. Yeh need to realize that someone taking care of you isn’t out of the ordinary” “It is for me, Harry” “I’ll fix yeh” he chuckled, and it was so weak, and his eyes cried because he had to do so. “And we can talk about it, or you can talk and I can listen, tonight, tomorrow, three weeks from now at 3am. Whenever yeh’re ready, I’m here for you, ok? I fucking love yeh so much, Y/n. Don’t push me away, because I’m here for you no matter what, ok? I want to be” His words, his tone of voice, calm but also disturbed and with traces of pain audible in it, the way his hooded eyes bore into yours, the way his chest rose and fell with every breath he took, was all too much. “I don’t wanna talk about it right now because I’m afraid I might say things I shouldn’t” “If you mean it, you have the right to say it. It’s that simple, love” he smiled reassuringly. You contemplated telling him how much you loved him and how it has been him all the time, but you were afraid he would put it on account of everything that had happened during the day, and that he would brush it off. The last thing you wanted was for Harry to believe your feelings for him weren’t solid. And on top of it all, up until a few hours ago you were in a relationship, and it felt wrong to admit that all this time you have been thinking of another man. “Maybe some other time” you finally said, pushing aside the topic and putting some distance between the two of you. “Whenever that may be” he nodded, “I’m here, yeah?” A whole pile of tangled emotions filled up your chest, and you needed an escape. A chance to put your thoughts in order before you said something you’d later regret. The wine was threatening to force out some confessions, and you decided a shower would be the perfect opportunity to delay them. You stayed in the bathroom for a questionable long time, but when you walked out, wrapped in a towel, Harry was still awake, watching the TV. He had laid on the bed some clothes of his for you to wear, and you couldn’t help but giggle to yourself when you finally understood why there were two shirts. The first one was neatly folded, but you didn’t really pay attention to it. The second one, a bit to the side, was obviously recently worn, so you didn’t think twice when you chose this one, the scent of his cologne tickling your senses. After putting the pair of sweatpants on too, you headed back to the living room, where Harry was comfortably laying down on the couch. He signaled for you with his arms open to join him, and you did so in an instant, cuddling into his chest. “There’s only a bit left of the game. 10 minutes tops. Mind if we watch this? I can put Seinfeld back on if you want to” “Oh, no. It’s ok.” you shook your head, “Just tell me who we’re rooting for” “The blue ones, love” Harry laughed kissing the top of your head. After you both shuffled a bit and settled back down in a more comfortable position, with his arms wrapped around you and your head buried into his neck, you only managed to comment on a few moments of the game before falling asleep. Next thing you knew, Harry was rubbing your arm up and down and whispering softly to get your attention. “Let’s go to sleep, Y/n” “No” you mumbled, turning your head so he couldn’t see your face. “Its much more comfortable, angel, I promise” he laughed. “I said no” you giggled back. “I’ll let yeh sleep here then” When he tried to pull away, you tightened your hold around his middle, “No” “Do you know any words other than no?” Harry laughed out loud. “No” His chest shook as he chuckled at your antics, “We’ll sleep here then” “Yess” you smiled and turned to face him again. He seemed amused, but even so, he looked down at you with awe in his eyes. After taking his shirt and his watch off, you both resumed your position on the couch, but this time, you had your back pressed against his chest. “I knew you were gonna chose this shirt” Harry spoke up a second after you closed your eyes, “But it’s weird because you smell like me now” “Harry?” you questioned, playing with his fingers, “Are there things you want to say, but you’re too afraid to?” It took a while before he answered, but you waited patiently. “Yeh mean in general?” “No” you said and squeezed your eyes shut, cringing in anticipation. “I mean now” This time he didn’t answer. Maybe he would have, but when you figured enough time passed, you turned around in his hold. If the answer was no, there would have been no reason for him to hesitate, so you took his silence for a yes. It was a risk you were willing to take. “Good night, Ni” you said and pressed your lips against his; it was hurried, it barely lasted for two short seconds but you put your soul into this kiss and it sent your heart into overdrive. After you pulled away, you turned around immediately and settled back into your spot. He was silent, not one of his muscles flinched. Maybe it was the wine. You shouldn’t have done that. You wanted to move. Not touch him anymore, never see him again. It felt like you ruined the best thing that ever happened to you, all because you couldn’t control yourself. And you were so close. You should have just laughed at his remark about the smell of his shirt and then go to sleep. Why wasn’t he saying anything? This was wrong, and you felt like you couldn’t breathe. “Would yeh have done that if things with Jack happened differently? If they ended on good terms? Or if we weren’t drunk?” “Yes” you whispered, your voice cracking, “I wanted to do that for a long long time. But I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry, forget it” “Will never” he said, and then brought you closer to kiss your neck, “And don’t be sorry” “I love you, Harry” “I love yeh”. He kissed your scalp and spoke into your hair, “The most”

-

Hey, guys! In case you read this far and thought this sounds similar (or maybe exactly the same) to another fic posted on here, it’s because I had previously uploaded it to another blog. It was a Niall imagine at first but then i was like hm... Harry! Anywayyyy i hope you liked this! Please don’t hesitate to tell me what you thought!

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfic #harry styles one shot #harry styles angst #harry styles writing #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #1dff

[back-and-totheleft]

"Hollywood rabble rouser"

Late one night in the summer of 2008, I found what turned out to be a stockbroker’s iPhone in the back of a NYC taxi. Turning it on in order to contact the owner, I noticed that amongst the stock watch apps and currency converters was an icon of Gordon Gekko, the corrupt market raider immortalized by Michael Douglas in Wall Street, Oliver Stone’s 1987 tale of insider trading and corporate excess. Intrigued, I hit Gekko’s pixilated face (it felt good) and a website flashed up with an entire transcription of his infamous “Greed is good” speech — one of Hollywood’s most iconic parables to the pursuit of unrestrained greed. Whoever owned the phone found those words as important as checking Facebook or texting his girlfriend. Gekko was his hero, his daily inspiration.

Watching back Wall Street a few weeks later as news of the Lehman Brothers collapse and global recession spread, it struck me that a whole generation of financiers must have grown up, like Charlie Sheen’s character Bud Fox, yearning to be Gekko. He was the business equivalent of a rapper wanting to become Tony Montana, another Stone creation. And some of these brokers, as we’ve all since discovered, were willing to trade money that didn’t exist in pursuit of pin stripe suits, corner offices, penthouses, boats, women, and stacks of cash. Perhaps the perks made the 22-year prison stretch Gekko received at the end of the film seem like a viable risk. Or they deliberately chose to ignore his downfall.

Inspired by financial fiends like Bernie Madoff, Stone decided to spring Gekko out of prison for Wall Street 2: Money Never Sleeps. Set in 2008, he is a reformed character that tries, and fails, to warn business leaders of the impending credit crunch. Many fans are understandably nervous about Douglas reprising his Oscar winning role, especially since his hair gel and brick phone have long been put into storage. Stone, who only agreed to direct the film because he felt that current financial climate lent itself to a sequel, understandably feels that it’s time for bankers to grow up. As the director of Natural Born Killers, JFK and Platoon he’s used to Marmite reactions. But, after giving Dubya an easy ride in W, will Gordon 2.0 be one step too far? Is the world ready for goody Gekko two shoes? Or will traders across Wall Street be deleting their “Greed is good” iPhone bookmarks forever? As they say on the stock market floor, let the bull charge.

Tim Noakes: When you were 18 your father got you to work on a financial exchange in France. Was that your inspiration for Wall Street?

Oliver Stone: No, it was a great summer job actually, because it was very exotic. My father was always into the stock market, into numbers. He loved that world in New York and I grew up on the fringes of it but I wasn’t particularly attuned to it. So it was a chance to see it first hand but I didn’t do very well as a trader. In those days you’d run from the phone booth in the back to the floor. It was cocoa and sugar. It was violent and busy. They used to elbow each other to get into the inner circle, like matadors. It was a real crush. I elbowed my way through it and got up to be assistant buyer, which was very complicated because you had to make the orders for everything right. You couldn’t screw up. A lot of money’s involved. So then I thought I should be one of the cocoa buyers. I was a little too ambitious for my own good.

Your father died before you made Wall Street. What do you think he would have made of it?

I think he would have appreciated that I had done a business movie. We always talked about it. He loved movies and he took me to them. We discussed them afterwards, which was an invaluable experience, and he would say that there weren’t many business movies. And there weren’t. There was not a specific genre. Hollywood was not into the business movie concept. It’s hard. I can understand why. It’s all financial talk, it’s not interesting to most people and it lacks those human emotions. Money is an interesting subject, however, for America. That’s why I addressed it in 1987. I thought, ‘Americans love money’, and what lengths they will go to get it is what that movie is about. Especially coming off Platoon, which is a different kind of movie. I was trying to prove that I could do something domestic with ‘Wall Street’.

The original was very much of its era.

It was the era of “Greed is good” and Reagan. With Wall Street 2, I’m obviously more mature, I’ve done more films, I have more confidence, I hope. I’m trying something a little bit deeper in the relationship field. There’s no Darryl Hannah in the movie. There’s a real English girl this time (Carey Mulligan). She anchors strongly the emotions of the film, because she is damaged. She’s the daughter of Gordon Gekko, if you can imagine what that can be like.

Michael Douglas once said that your style of directing is like taking people into the trenches. What did he mean by that?

He makes it sound like I dress him up in uniform and have a military hierarchy. Every single actor that I’ve worked with, and there’s obviously dozens now, you’d have to talk to every single one of them to get their perception. I would say some would disagree. Maybe Michael, because he hasn’t been in the military, would regard it as a military experience. I didn’t think of it that way. I think of a movie as an organisation that has to work at a very fluid pace involving a large amount of people who have to move quickly over a landscape. Call that what you will. It could be an adventure party or a military organisation. It’s really a satellite business. You form, you group, you rehearse, you shoot, you separate. It’s very nomadic. In that chemistry you bring together so many conflicting types of people who have different kinds of egos. It’s quite a mix. At the end of the day, if you look back at the — what is it? 19, 20 films — that I’ve directed, it’s just a mix of styles. Sometimes it really works with people. It clicks. I think Michael did great work on both films, so I’m very pleased with his result. My style might not have been good for him, but it works for other people. Some people, like Shia LaBeouf and Josh Brolin, were digging it. They loved the way I worked because it was intense and to the point and relatively fast.

Do you see yourself as a hard taskmaster or a disciplinarian?

No, I’m not a disciplinarian. I’m disciplined with myself and I think I try to lead by example not by imposition of my will. I try to lead by example. That’s just to say that people know that I’m trying to get this thing done. My approach is that we’re all in this together. The idea is king. We all serve that king. It is not a democracy, it is a constitutional monarchy, so to speak, with strong legislative power in the House of Lords. No, but the idea is king. I repeat that. Not the director. The idea. I serve the idea.

How do you balance the logistics with trying to create a piece of art?

Oh boy, if I didn’t tell you I wasn’t humbled so many times, you would not believe it. It’s a very humbling experience to make a movie, because you’re at the mercy of the elements. Of the winds and the weather as well as conditions that can go wrong — disease, sickness, bad tempers. All sorts of stuff can happen. Given that nature, to pull off a movie is extremely difficult. The editing room is another humiliation. All your mistakes are thrown back in your face. No matter how many good choices you make, and making a movie involves thousands of choices, you’re constantly having to question yourself again. I find it a very difficult position. I don’t think I enjoy it. I think I’m more experienced at it but I don’t think I completely enjoy it. I think sometimes it’s so painful you want to scream bloody murder and run somewhere.

What’s the cut-off point? How do you stop?

How do you stop? A famous director once said that every film is abandoned, never finished.

So you just let it go?

Some people won’t but I do let it go. I’m not looking for perfection. I don’t believe in it. I believe that a film is many things to many people and it changes over time. I think you have to feel good about it and about what you did. It hangs together and it’s going to be a story that can move an audience. It’s so difficult to pull off quickly. It takes time.

The world’s moved on since Wall Street. Were you apprehensive about creating a sequel to such a well-loved film?

Apprehensions? No. I’d have had more apprehensions if I’d had to do it in 1990, I think. Twenty-three years is a long time to call it a sequel. I think of it more as a bookend.

Don’t you think that’s laying you open for even more criticism? Look at what George Lucas did with Star Wars..

We’re not going back into that period. The beauty of this thing is that there’s a new period upon us, which is quite different, technically. It’s a different kind of Wall Street. The landscape has changed. It’s no longer 1987. It’s really a computer game now. The money has accelerated at a square root that is beyond belief from millions to billions. Hedge funds invest 30–40 billion dollars. Even to have one billion dollars is an enormous amount of money. When you hear these guys say, “Oh, it’s just a billion dollar hedge fund” it’s unbelievable arrogance. The heights are dizzying, and the losses are dizzying. It’s just unbelievable what happened. By all accounts it was a near-fatal heart-attack.

Were you planning on revisiting Wall Street is the crisis hadn’t happened?

No, that was the catalyst for it. It wasn’t the only reason. It was a wonderful idea for a script, that Gekko would be a different type of person. That he would start from the outside. He didn’t have power or connections anymore. Time had passed. He was dated.

Is Michael Douglas in danger of becoming a pastiche of what made Gordon Gekko good?

I feared that. That’s why we approached it in a wholly different way. Michael is playing it twenty-two years older, he’s coming out of prison. Michael has changed in that interim. He was a charming rogue, certainly, in the Eighties. You saw a lot of that in his subsequent performances. You saw a lot of Gekko in later films, so I think it was smart to move away from that pastiche, as you call it, because it would have been boring after a while. There are flashes of the old Gekko, which I love, but it’s not like the charming reptile, so to speak. It’s a different man now. I’m not saying that he’s a wholly reformed figure looking for a martyrhood, but what’s interesting about him is what he’s going to do, and how he’s going to play the game to get back. He has suffered extensively in prison, his family has fallen apart, his oldest son has committed suicide. It’s very tough on him.

How did you persuade Michael to get back on board?

Frankly, I didn’t convince anybody. I passed on the script in 2006. It wasn’t important for me to make it. I felt, what was the need to make this movie if it was going to glorify the pigs on Wall Street? They were really making money and it was ugly. There was a spate of books too like The Wolf of Wall Street, which was a big hit and they are going to make a movie out of that. There was kind of a surfeit and there was sickliness to it all. I got turned off by it. I passed, and I moved on with my life, and I did W and World Trade Centre and stuff like that. Then there was this crash and the crash changed the equation I think, I hope.

Do you think the original message of Wall Street failed because young traders ended up idolising Gordon Gekko?

That’s a very good question. Frankly, I wondered at times. The original Wall Street came about because of my experiences on Scarface. I was living in New York and I was hanging out with the dealers and the mob. That whole scene in Miami was a very shocking thing in 1982–3. Wall Street, was like Scarface north. I was suddenly seeing people my age, in their twenties, making millions of dollars, so easily, so quickly. Moving inordinate amounts of money. Also, snorting and drinking. The partying scene had really kicked in big time in the 80s. It was all new to me, so that’s how that was born. Then it went to excess. But I was very clear that Gekko was the antagonist in the movie, but as you say a lot of young people caught on to him. I do think, and perhaps I’m retrograde, that although he was not feted at the time the anchor of the movie is Charlie Sheen.

But no-one wanted to be Bud Fox.

Well that’s the movies. They want to be heroes. They want to make money. I did meet a lot of people in their 40s that said, “When I saw your movie I was studying this-or-that at this-or-that school, I was going to do history or medicine or law but then I saw the movie and I moved to Wall Street for that reason.” The the kicker was that some of them were multi-millionaires, one of them was a billionaire, and they had moved to Wall Street because of the movie. I said, “Oh boy, I wish I had a royalty on that.” These guys are really rich.

I find that quite worrying.

I gave birth to some rich people. But some of them did good. Some of them created something. That was the whole point of the original. Not to shit on Wall Street but to basically say, ‘Look, this is an engine of capitalism’. This can work. My father always felt that Wall Street was a good thing. It creates companies, it finances new companies, creates research and development, and it does. It still does, by the way, it’s not forgotten but it’s been buried in the greater picture of making bigger profits and more greed, but it’s still there. Wall Street is a good thing. It was a good thing and it can be a good thing.

Throughout your career critics have said you shouldn’t glamourise the people you put on the big screen. Do you like to provoke that reaction?

No, I like to make bigger-than-life characters but ‘World Trade Centre’ is about two very ordinary men who were real heroes. On Bush I guess you could say I supped with the devil and brought out all the reasons I thought why people voted for the guy. There is this fundamental thing which Americans like in him, and I was trying to root that out and how he became President.

You were criticised for making Bush too likeable.

You can fault that, but he was re-elected. I didn’t like him. I was very clear — I empathised. Empathy means I walked in his shoes, or tried to. As opposed to sympathised. I don’t agree with anything he said. Anything. I think he was a disaster. It was a nightmare eight years.

Do you think you were too soft?

No. I wish I’d done it a year earlier and it would have been more timely. He was out of favour when it came out, because of the economy, but frankly the movie was about the national security state which concerned me more.

Why are you drawn to these anti-heroes?

They don’t do me any good. Nixon, too.

I see a lot of similarities between Tony Montana and Gordon Gekko. In Scarface, Tony says “You need people like me to point the finger at and say, ‘That’s the bad guy’”. Do you think film critics see you in that light?

I think you’re right. I think film critics have me as a punch ball. It’s an easy target, I guess. I’ve been misidentified with the characters, but I think over time you see that there’s a whole assortment of different characters. But I agree, I think that’s true and I think that’s hurt me. It’s hurt my career as well as some of the political statements I’ve made and positions I’ve taken in documentaries I’ve made. They’ve hurt me too and they’ve given me a profile that’s not necessarily me, it’s just a profile. Absolutely.

There’s been huge furor recently that you’re reported to be attempting to humanise Hitler, Stalin and Mao Zedong.

I think it’s out of context. I did use the word ‘scapegoat’ and I think that was an unfortunate word, but frankly it’s a very interesting history that we’re putting together. We’re using the facts that we have, that are known but have been forgotten. There’s no question that Hitler had a big hand up the ladder. He didn’t come out of nowhere. He is a Frankenstein, he is a monster and I have no sympathy for him, but he was created by a Dr Frankenstein. That Dr Frankenstein is a very interesting mixture and you have to study cause and effect to understand history, otherwise you don’t learn anything from it. It’s my fault because I’m interested in the world, and I’m willing to go out there. I’m not trying to provoke, I’m trying to look for the truth. I’m trying to shine a light. For Christ’s sake, I feel like we’ve become so politically correct that you can’t do shit anymore. You’re not supposed to turn around.

Do you feel like you sometimes exploit sensitive subjects too much? More than some people can take?

Well, that’s why I like the English. They’re much more out there and they’re willing to explore subjects that the Americans are not. Having been to war, having seen the devastation America visited onto Vietnam, I cannot just be another typical American and live in isolation. My taxes are going as we speak to blowing up people in Afghanistan. I don’t feel good about that.

Back to Wall Street. Gekko says “Every dream has its price”, what’s the biggest price you’ve paid to get to where you are?

I’d have to talk to my psychotherapist, who I haven’t seen in ages. I suppose the price is that you do have long absences from home and normal quotidian values, at times. Your children grow up and you have to readapt to the fact that you haven’t been the attentive father. That’s a big issue, but I have been as attentive as I can be in taking care of them. Still, there’s gaps there. Divorces have happened. Those things.

I see Wall Street as epitomising the ruthlessness of the Eighties. During that era did you find yourself being a slave to the success that you had earned?

Yeah, I suppose everybody can become a mental slave to the need to produce. Remember, I was on a roll in the sense that I had to get financing for very complicated movies. I felt like I had a mission. To get JFK made in that era was very tough, still. You need heat. To make that movie after The Doors you need to keep rolling. In a sense I worked very fast, and hard, but I knew that I could get things done. Nixon was sort of the end of the line. I was making movies all those years. Platoon was impossible to get made. So was Salvador. Every single fucking one. ‘The Doors’. They were always problems. There were always tremendous issues. You asked what the price is? The price was to keep going fast, before they change their mind. The idea was ‘Wrap it up, get another one done’. These are tough subject matters. With ‘Nixon’ I’d done eleven or ten, I was exhausted. Frankly, I needed to take a break.

What kept you moving on? Obviously the pressures that you’re talking about manifested in different ways. You had your drug problems earlier on, but how did it manifest when the financing started to crumble down? Did you resort to those kind of vices?

I think there’s other factors. There was a lot of living. A lot of pain. Children. Divorces. This and that. But I think I have been very successful. I got movies made that wouldn’t have been done in the normal radar. They were not on the scope.

In Wall Street 2 Shia LeBeouf says, “No matter how much money you make, you’ll never be rich”. With all your success, do you empathise with that sentiment?

Of course I do. I don’t think money is the solution to happiness. Life is complicated, but certainly money can have the opposite effect. It can make you unsatisfied with life, and make life harder for you. There are two effects of it. One is that it leaves you unsatisfied, you always want more, as we see from these billionaires. Two, it leaves you falsely content and over-satisfied.

And you’re not either?

I don’t feel that way, no. I feel like I’m one trade away from disaster.

The new film is called Wall Street 2: Money Never Sleeps. What gets you off to sleep?

What gets me off to sleep? Sonata. Medication. I’m just joking. The best solution for sleep is having lived a full day and tried hard to live life fully. That makes you feel the reward of sleep.

-Tim Noakes, "The Hollywood rabble rouser sets his sights on a new generation of Wall Street wolves," Medium, Mar 3 2010 [x]

#medium #tim noakes #w. #wall street #wall street: money never sleeps #oliver stone

[maturemenoftvandfilms]

The King Of Character Actors

CHAPTER SIX: The Actor, Charles Durning

Featuring Charles Durning

Around 1990, I was working as a bellman at a hotel near Harvard Square in Cambridge, Ma. One day when I was just about to get off, I was asked to help a guess, a celebrity to their room. I said OK, since I was getting off right after and probably get a tip. Turns out it was actor Charles Durning. He's been in a lot of movies, television shows and plays, the last was why he was in town. He had everyday looks, about 5’8”, a portly 300 lbs, thinning hair and a bulbous nose with a goatee, wearing jacket, slacks and sneakers.

"What's your son?"

"Daniel, Sir."

"Hope I didn't ruin any after work plans?"

After assuring him he wasn't ruining any plans of mine, I brought him to his room to get him settled in. We hit it off after I told him I came from a big family, too. He was a FUNNY man who told me the best stories for a half an hour and I laughed so much it hurt. There was something about him. I could tell that he was special. There was nothing Hollywood about him; he was the guy on the bar stool next to you, except he did more with his life than a busload of other people. This guy had it all. Despite that, I certainly wasn't about to do anything with anybody at work.

I ended up talking to Charlie as told me to call him over upward of six or seven times over several days in his stay. This was partly because of the errands he'd have do and partly because Charlie was such a consummate storyteller; witty, incisive, profane, that you didn't want him to stop talking. I was so happy to indulge him....(I couldn't say no)!

On one such errand, I picked up a package that arrived at the hotel for him and brought up to his room. I knocked, but got no answer. I knocked again; I heard movement before the door being unlocked on the other side. Mr. Durning opened the door; he had on a hotel bathrobe and the look on his face was of such pleasure. He greeted me with a hug, and almost yanked me in. After I gave him his package, we immediately started chatting his play and my day.

He was sitting on the bed with his legs apart. From under his robe I could see his cock and huge ball sack hanging down. There I was with that beautiful cock of his, plopped on the bed right in front of me. I think he noticed me looking and began to loosen the belt of his robe so I could see his heavy chest. The water from his shower showed in the cleavage of his big tits. Oh my, was I in heaven!

He started telling me dirty jokes and I was getting kind of uncomfortable with where this conversation was going. I didn't want to end up getting a hard on. Seeing Charlie's hung cock lying on the bed was such a turn on. I listened to him carefully wondering where the conversation would lead.

From time to time, he'd give me a glance as if he’s trying to figure out what my reaction would be. Then he'd look away followed by grabbing his junk. After the 2nd or 3rd “touching” I saw that his dick was reacting to his touch.

"Do you want it?" I finally heard him say as I haven't heard him the first couple of times he asked.

"Um… yeah?!" I blurted out.

“Then get to work then.” Charlie said with a devilish smile.

I can’t believe it. Charles Durning of all people, is telling me to get to work on his cock. What a dominate sexy man. I got to my knees and I slid my hands up his legs towards his crotch. I quickly open up his robe, causing his cock to snap back against his big belly. I couldn’t resist anymore and dove onto his cock. It was like a drug as his fresh manly scent fills my nose and sends me to overdrive.

Charlie's cock generously fills my mouth and causes my lips to stretch in order to accommodate it. I slide it all the way down my throat, taking the full length as Charlie throws his head back and groans. Grabbing the back of my head, he starts trusting his cock in deeper as he fucks my face. A dream come true, I thought as I feel his pace quicken before I started to gag.

As I started jacking him off to catch my breathe, I asked him if he’d been with a lot of guys before and he told me just not that many. Just a few blow-jobs. I told him he was in for a treat as I spat in my hand and applied to my hole. Charlie looked both excited and nervous, laying there completely naked with a huge hard-on. I told him I would take care of him as I climbed on top of him, guiding his cock into my hole with one hand and tweaking his nipple with the other. He was totally into the scene and with his eyes closed and a nasty grin on his face he was moaning with great pleasure as became his whore.

As soon as his dick made contact, Charlie immediately thrust all 8 inches into me. I gasped loudly, so loudly in fact that I’m sure the people in the next room heard. The old man was up my ass and I was begging to be fucked. He was grinning that nasty grin and telling me to take his cock and to ram my ass on his old thick man cock. Putting both hands on his chest and started bouncing up and down on his cock, telling him he could fuck me as hard as he wanted. With that, he started the most rhythmic fuck I have ever had! Who would have thought this older man could do it so well!

All I wanted was for him to seed me and own me forever as rode his cock like mad. I was begging for his load as I could tell he was getting close and I didn’t want to stop him.

"Get ready, boy I'm cumming, I'm cumming! He said as he drove his cock into my ass further than anything had ever been.

It was seconds later he exploded in my ass screaming "Take it all boy!"

Charlie was filling my ass up as I fell into his arms, covered in sweat and forcing our eager tongues into each other’s lusting mouths. I moaned with satisfaction as I turned on to my back, ready to jerk myself off, but I didn’t have a chance. Charlie immediately buried his face into my crotch. The sensation of his warm mouth and the touch of his hand on my balls were like nothing I had felt with another man. He pushed his head down on it as far as he could without gagging. I felt the head rubbing the back of his throat.

He was eagerly gobbling my cock and it was as if he was a starved man trying to satisfy his hunger. I began to run my fingers through his thick gorgeous gray hair. I started to push him down farther on my dick. I began to run my fingers through his gray hair as I started to push him down farther on my dick. Charlie opened his mouth and relaxed his jaw to take more in. I squirmed to let him know I was about to cum and he just shoved his head down farther on me as I began to erupt in his throat. I felt like gallons were leaving my body and he sucked every drop out of me.

"Lets do this again before I leave." Charlie whispered to me as I got dressed.

I agreed. This had been one of the best love-making session I had ever experienced and I wasn’t going to let it be the last. We managed to find time throughout the run of his play to fuck like wild rabbits.

#Charles Durning #fan fiction #durning fan fiction #CILF #american actor #actor #The King Of Character Actors

[timeless-hollywood-classics]

Richard Cromwell (born LeRoy Melvin Radabaugh, also known as Roy Radabaugh; January 8, 1910 – October 11, 1960) was an American actor. His career was at its pinnacle with his work in Jezebel (1938) with Bette Davis and Henry Fonda and again with Fonda in John Ford's Young Mr. Lincoln (1939). Cromwell's fame was perhaps first assured in The Lives of a Bengal Lancer (1935), sharing top billing with Gary Cooper and Franchot Tone.

That film was the first major effort directed by Henry Hathaway and it was based upon the popular novel by Francis Yeats-Brown. The Lives of a Bengal Lancer earned Paramount Studios a nomination for Best Picture in 1935, though Mutiny on the Bounty instead took the top award at the Academy Awards that year.

Leslie Halliwell in The Filmgoer's Companion, summed up Cromwell's enduring appeal when he described him as "a leading man, [the] gentle hero of early sound films."

Cromwell was born LeRoy Melvin Radabaugh in Long Beach, California, the second of five children, to his mother Fay B. (Stocking) and his father, Ralph R. Radabaugh, who was an inventor. Among Ralph's patented creations was the amusement-park swing ride called the "Monoflyer", a variation of which is still in use at many carnivals today. In 1918, when young "Roy" was still in grade school, his father died suddenly, one of the millions of people who perished during the "Spanish flu" pandemic.

Later, while enrolled as a teenager in the Chouinard Art Institute in Los Angeles on a scholarship, young Roy helped to support his family with odd jobs. The school was the precursor of the California Institute of the Arts, and it was there where he met fellow classmate Edith Posener. Posener, later known as Edith Head, would become one of the leading costume designers in American film history.

Cromwell ran a shop in Hollywood where he sold pictures, made lampshades, and designed colour schemes for houses. As Cromwell developed his talents for lifelike mask-making and oil painting, he formed friendships in the late 1920s with various film starlets who posed for him and collected his works, including Tallulah Bankhead, Joan Crawford, Greta Garbo, Claire Dubrey and Ann Sothern. Actress and future Academy Award-winner Marie Dressler was also a friend; the two would later share top-billing in the early talkie film Emma.

Still known as "Roy Radabaugh", he had just two days in film extra work on the side, and can be seen in King of Jazz (1930), along with the film's star, Paul Whiteman and his orchestra. On a whim, friends encouraged Roy to audition in 1930 for the remake of the Richard Barthelmess silent: Tol'able David (1930). Radabaugh won the role over thousands of hopefuls, and in storybook fashion, Harry Cohn gave him his screen name and launched his career. Cromwell earned $75 per week for his work on Tol'able David. Noah Beery Sr. and John Carradine co-starred in the film. Later, Cohn signed Cromwell to a multi-year contract based on the strength of his performance and success in his first venture at the box-office. Amidst the flurry of publicity during this period, Cromwell toured the country, even meeting President Herbert Hoover in Washington, D.C.

Cromwell by then had maintained a deep friendship with Marie Dressler, which continued until her death from cancer in 1934. Dressler was nominated for a second Best Actress award for her 1932 portrayal of the title role in Emma.

With that film, Dressler demonstrated her profound generosity to other performers: Dressler personally insisted that her studio bosses cast Cromwell on a loan-out in the lead opposite her — it was another break that helped sustain his rising status in Hollywood. Emma also starred Myrna Loy in one of her earlier screen performances. After production on Emma was completed, Director Clarence Brown tested Cromwell for the male lead in his next feature: The Son-Daughter, which was set to star Helen Hayes. However, the part of the oriental prince ultimately went to Ramón Novarro, and Cromwell never again worked at MGM.

Cromwell's next role in 1932 was on loan to RKO and was as Mike in Gregory La Cava's, The Age of Consent, co-starring Eric Linden and Dorothy Wilson. Cromwell is also remembered during this period in Hoop-La (1933), where he is seduced by Clara Bow. This film is considered the swan song of Bow's career. Next, the much in demand Cromwell starred in Tom Brown of Culver that year, as well.

Around this period in his career in the early to mid-30s, Cromwell also did some print ads and promotional work for Lucky Strike brand cigarettes. According to his niece, Joan Radabaugh, Cromwell was a very heavy smoker. Nevertheless, at his home he was always the gracious host, as his niece related, and as such he took great care to empty the ashtrays regularly, almost to the point of obsession.

Next up, was an early standout performance by Cromwell in the role as the leader of the youth gang in Cecil B. DeMille's now cult-favorite, This Day and Age (1933). To ensure that Cromwell's character used current slang, DeMille asked high school student Horace Hahn to read the script and comment (at the time, Hahn was senior class president at Los Angeles High School). While again on loan from Columbia, Cromwell's by then salary of $200 per week was paid by Paramount Pictures, DeMille's studio. Diana Serra Cary, in her biography of Jackie Coogan, relates an episode on the set wherein Cromwell came to the aid of actress Judith Allen:

I watched as he (DeMille) systematically reduced ingenue ... Allen to screaming hysterics by calling her every insulting name in the book in front of company and crew simply to bring on tears ... Cromwell was the only man on the set who dared confront the tyrannical DeMille. White with rage, Cromwell stopped the scene and threatened to deck him if he didn't let up on the devastated girl. He (Cromwell) then drove her home himself. After that courageous act the chivalric Cromwell was unanimously praised as a veritable dragon slayer by everyone who had witnessed that scene.

After a promising start, Cromwell's many early pictures at Columbia Pictures and elsewhere were mostly inconsequential and are largely forgotten today. Cromwell starred with Will Rogers in Life Begins at 40 for Fox Film Corporation in 1935, it was one of Rogers' last roles and Poppy for Paramount in 1936 wherein Cromwell played the suitor of W.C. Fields' daughter, Rochelle Hudson. In 1937, he was the young bank-robber in love with Helen Mack and on the lam from Lionel Atwill in The Wrong Road for RKO.

In 1936, Cromwell took a detour in his career to Broadway for the chance to star as an evil cadet in an original play by Joseph Viertel, So Proudly We Hail!. The military drama was directed by future film director Charles Walters, co-starred Edward Andrews and Eddie Bracken, and opened to much fanfare. The reviews of the play at the time called Cromwell's acting "a striking portrayal" (New York Herald Tribune) and his performance an "astonishing characterization" (New York World Telegram). The New York Times said that in the play, Cromwell "ran the gamut of emotions". However, the play closed after only 14 performances at the 46th Street Theater.

By now, Cromwell had shed his restrictive Columbia contract, with its handsome $500 per week salary, and pursued acting work as a freelancer in other media as well. On July 15, 1937, Cromwell guest-starred on The Royal Gelatin Hour hosted by Rudy Vallee, in a dramatic skit opposite Fay Wray. Enjoying the experience, Cromwell had his agent secure for him an audition for the role of Kit Marshall, on the soap opera Those We Love, first on NBC Radio and then CBS Radio. As a regular on the Monday night program which ran from 1938 until 1942, Cromwell played opposite Nan Grey who played Kit's twin sister Kathy. Cromwell as Kit was later replaced by Bill Henry. Rounding out the cast were Robert Cummings and Gale Gordon.

In the late 1930s, Cromwell appeared in Storm Over Bengal, for Republic Pictures, in order to capitalize on the success of The Lives of a Bengal Lancer. Aside from the aforementioned standout roles in Jezebel and The Lives of a Bengal Lancer, Cromwell did another notable turn as defendant Matt Clay to Henry Fonda's title-performance in Young Mr. Lincoln (1939).

During this period, Cromwell was continuing to enjoy the various invitations coming his way as a member of the A-list Hollywood social circuit. According to Bob Thomas, in his biography of Joan Crawford, Cromwell was a regular at the Saturday Night dinner parties of his former co-star Franchot Tone and then-wife Crawford. Other guests whom Cromwell dined with there included Barbara Stanwyck and then-husband Frank Fay, and William Haines and his partner Jimmie Shields. During the freewheeling heyday of West L.A. nightlife in the late 30s, Cromwell is said by author Charles Higham to have carried on a sometime, though obviously very discreet, affair with aviator and businessman Howard Hughes.

In 1939, Cromwell again tried his luck on the stage in a regional production of Sutton Vane's play Outward Bound featuring Dorothy Jordan as his co-star. The cast of the production at the Los Angeles Biltmore Theater also included Cora Witherspoon and Reginald Denny

Cromwell served during the last two years of World War II with the United States Coast Guard, along with fellow actor and enlistee Cesar Romero. Actor Gig Young was also a member of this branch of the service during the war. During this period, Cole Porter rented Cromwell's home in the Hollywood Hills, where Porter worked at length on Panama Hattie. Director James Whale was a personal friend, for whom Cromwell had starred in The Road Back (1937), the ill-fated sequel to All Quiet on the Western Front. With the war's end, and upon returning to California from the Pacific after nearly three years of service with the Coast Guard, Cromwell acted in local theater productions. He also signed on for live performances in summer stock in the East during this period.

When in town, Cromwell was a fixture within the Hollywood social scene. According to the book Cut! Hollywood Murders, Accidents and Other Tragedies, Cromwell was a regular at George Cukor's "boys nights".

Back in California for good, Cromwell was married once, briefly (1945–1946), to actress Angela Lansbury, when she was 19 and Cromwell was 35. Cromwell and Lansbury eloped and were married in a small civil ceremony on September 27, 1945, in Independence, California. In her authorized biography, Balancing Act, Lansbury recounts her life with Cromwell, as well as the couple's close friendship with Zachary Scott and his first wife, Elaine. Lansbury and Cromwell have stars within walking distance of each other on the Hollywood Walk of Fame.

Cromwell made just one statement to the press regarding his wife of nine months and one of her habits: "All over the house, tea bags. In the middle of the night she'd get up and start drinking tea. It nearly drove me crazy."

According to the biography: Angela Lansbury, A Life on Stage and Screen, Lansbury stated in a 1966 interview that her first marriage, "was a mistake" and that she learned from it. She stated, "I wouldn't have not done it", and, "I was too young at 19. [The marriage] shouldn't have happened." Articles based on interviews with Lansbury have stated that Cromwell was gay. Cromwell and Lansbury remained friends until his death in 1960.

Before World War II, in the early 1940s, Universal Pictures released Enemy Agent starring Cromwell as a draftsman who thwarts the Nazis. In 1942 he then went on to appear in marginal but still watchable fare such as Baby Face Morgan, which co-starred Mary Carlisle and was produced by Producers Releasing Corporation, one of the "Poverty Row" studios.

Cromwell enjoyed a career boost, if not a critically acclaimed performance, in the film adaptation of the hit radio serial: Cosmo Jones, Crime Smasher (1943), opposite Gale Storm. Next up at Monogram Pictures he was cast as a doctor working covertly for the police department to catch the mobsters in the very forgettable, though endearing Riot Squad, wherein his "fiancée", Rita Quigley, breaks their engagement. Cromwell's break from films due to his stint in the Service meant that he was not much in demand after the War's end, and he retired from films after his comeback fizzled. His last role was in a noir flick of 1948, Bungalow 13. All told, Cromwell's film career spanned 39 films.

In the 1950s, Cromwell went back to artistic roots and studied ceramics. He built a pottery studio at his home. The home still stands today and is located in the hills above Sunset Boulevard on North Miller Drive. There, he successfully designed coveted decorative tiles for himself and for his industry friends, which, according to his niece, Joan Radabaugh, he marketed under his stage name.

Around this time, Baby Peggy Montgomery (a.k.a. Diana Serra Cary), who had appeared in This Day and Age with Cromwell many years earlier, recalled visiting Cromwell at his home along with her late husband during this period to see his "beautiful ceramic screen which had won him a prize at the L.A. County Fair." His original tiles as well as his large decorative art deco-style wall paintings of Adam and Eve can still be seen today in the mezzanine off the balcony of the restored Pantages Theatre in Hollywood, which is today considered a noted architectural landmark.

Under the name Radabaugh, Cromwell wrote extensively, producing several published stories and an unfinished novel in the 1950s. After years of heavy drinking with a social circle of friends that included the likes of Christopher Isherwood, Cromwell ultimately changed his ways and became an early participant and supporter of Alcoholics Anonymous in the Los Angeles Area.

In July 1960, Cromwell signed with producer Maury Dexter for 20th Century Fox's planned production of The Little Shepherd of Kingdom Come, co-starring Jimmie Rodgers, Bob Dix (son of Richard Dix), and Neil Hamilton who replaced Cromwell in the film. Cromwell became ill and died on October 11, 1960 in Hollywood of liver cancer, at the age of 50. He is interred at Fairhaven Memorial Park in Santa Ana, California.

Cromwell's legacy is preserved today by his nephew Dan Putnam, and his cousin Bill Keane IV, both of the Conejo Valley in Southern California, as well as the family of his late niece, Joan Radabaugh, of the Central Coast. In 2005, Keane donated materials relating to Cromwell's radio performances to the Thousand Oaks Library's Special Collection, "The American Radio Archive". In 2007, Keane donated memorabilia relating to Cromwell's film career and ceramics work to the AMPAS Margaret Herrick Library in Beverly Hills.

Cromwell was mentioned in Gore Vidal's satirical novel Myra Breckinridge (1968) as "the late Richard Cromwell, so satisfyingly tortured in Lives of a Bengal Lancer".

#Richard Cromwell #classic hollywood #classic movie stars #golden age of hollywood #old hollywood #1930s hollywood #1940s hollywood

[greatfay]

controversial opinions?

Cold pizza actually not good. Tastes like angry bacteria.

There’s a completely separate class of gay men who are in a different, rainbow-tinted plane of reality from the rest of us and I don’t like them. They push for “acceptance” via commercialization of the Pride movement, assimilation through over-exposure, and focus on sexualizing the movement to be “provocative” and writing annoying articles that reek of class privilege instead of something actually important like lgbtqa youth homelessness, job discrimination, and mental health awareness.

Coleslaw is good. You guys just suck in the kitchen.

Generational divides ARE real: a 16-year-old and a 60-year-old right now in 2021 could agree on every hot button sociopolitical topic and yet not even realize it because they communicate in entirely different ways.

Sam Wilson is a power bottom. No I will not elaborate.

Allison’s makeover in The Breakfast Club good, not bad. She kept literally and metaphorically dumping her trash out onto the table and it’s clearly a cry for help. Having the attention and affection of a smart, pretty girl doing her makeup for her was sweet and helped her open up to new experiences. Not every loner wants to BE a loner (see: Bender, who is fine being a lone wolf).

Movie/show recommendations that start with a detailed “representation” list read like status-effecting gear in an RPG and it’s actually a turn-off for me. I have to force myself to give something a try in spite of it.

Yelling at people to just “learn a new language” because clearly everyone who isn’t you and your immediate vicinity of friends must be a lazy ignorant white American is so fucking stupid, like I get it, you’re mad someone doesn’t immediately know how to pronounce your name or what something means. But I know 2 languages and am struggling with a 3rd when I can between 2 jobs and quite frankly, I don’t have the time to just absorb the entire kanji system into my brain to learn Japanese by tomorrow night, or suddenly learn Arabic or Welsh. There are 6500 recorded languages in the world, what’s the chance that one of 3 I’ve learn(ed?) is the one you’re yelling at me about. Yes this is referring to that post yelling at people for not knowing how to pronounce obscure Irish names and words. Sometimes just explaining something instead of admonishing people for not knowing something inherently in the belief that everyone must be lazy entitled privileged people is uh... better?

Stop fucking yelling at people. I despise feeling like someone is yelling at me or scolding me, it triggers my Violence Mode, you don’t run me, you are not God, fuck off. Worst fucking way to "educate” people, it just feels good in the moment to say or write and doesn’t help. Yes I’ve done it before.

Violence is good actually.

Characters doing bad things ≠ an endorsement of bad things. Characters doing bad things that are unquestioned by the entire rest of the cast = endorsement of bad things, or at the least, a power fantasy by the creator. See: Glee, in which Sue’s awfulness is constantly called out, while Mr. Shue’s awfulness rarely is because he’s “the hero.” See also: the Lightbringer series, in which the protagonist is a violent manipulator who is praised as clever, charming, diplomatic, and genius by every supporting character (enemies included), despite the text never demonstrating such.

Euphoria is good, actually. It falls into this niche of the past decade of “dark gritty teen shows” but actually has substance behind it, but the general vibe I get from passive-aggressive tumblr posts from casual viewers is that this show is The Devil, and the criticism of its racier content screams pearl-clutching “what about the children??” to me.

Describing all diagnosed psychopaths as violent criminals is a damaging slippery slope, sure. But I won’t be mad at anyone for inherently distrusting another human who does not have the ability to feel guilt and remorse, empathy, is a pathological liar, or proves to be cunning and manipulative.

It’s actually not easy to unconditionally support and love everyone everywhere when you’ve actually experienced the World. Your perspective and values will be challenged as you encounter difficult people, experience hardship, are torn between conflicting ideas and commitments, and fail. My vow to never ever call the cops on another black person was challenged when an employee’s boyfriend marched into the kitchen OF AN ESTABLISHMENT to scream at her, in a BUSINESS I MANAGED, and threaten to BEAT the SHIT out of her. Turns out I can hate cops and hate that motherfucker equally, I am more than capable of both.

Defending makeup culture bad, actually. Enjoy it, experiment, master it, but don’t paint it as something other than upholding exactly what they want from you. Even using makeup to “defy the heteropatriarchal oppressors!” is still putting cash in their pockets, no matter how camp...

Not every villain needs to be redeemed, some of you just never outgrew projecting yourself onto monsters and killers.

Writing teams and networks queerbaiting is not the same as individuals queerbaiting. Nick Jonas performing exclusively at gay clubs to generate an audience really isn’t criminal; if they paid to go see him, that’s on them, he didn’t promise anyone anything other than music and a show. Do not paint this as similar to wealthy, bigoted executives and writing teams trying to snatch up the LGBTQA demographic with vague ass marketing and manipulative screenplays, only to cop out so as not to alienate their conservative audiences. And ESPECIALLY when the artists/actors/creators accused of queerbaiting or lezploitation then come out as queer in some form later on.

Queer is not a bad word, and I’ve no clue how that remains one of few words hurled at LGBTQA people that can’t be reclaimed. It’s so archaic and underused at this point that I don’t get the reaction to it compared to others.

People who defend grown-woman Lorelai Gilmore’s childish actions and in the same breath heavily criticize teenage religious abuse victim Lane Kim’s actions are not to be trusted. Also Lane deserved better.

Keep your realism out of my media, or at least make it tonally consistent. Tired of shows and movies and books where some gritty, dark shit comes out of nowhere when the narrative was relatively Romantic beforehand.

Actually people should be writing characters different from themselves, this new wave in the past year of “If you aren’t [X] you shouldn’t be writing [X]” is a complete leap backward from the 2010s media diversity movement. And if [X] has to do with an invisible minority status (not immediately visible disabilities, or diverse sexual orientations and gender identities, persecuted religious affiliations, mental illness) it’s actually quite fucked up to assume the creator can’t be whatever [X] is or to demand receipts or details of someone’s personal life to then grant them “permission” to create something. I know, we’re upset an actual gay actor wasn’t casted to play this gay character, so let’s give them shit about it: and not lose a wink of sleep when 2 years later, this very actor comes out and gives a detailed account of the pressure to stay closeted if they wanted success in Hollywood.

Projecting an actor’s personal romantic life and gender identity onto the characters they play is actually many levels of fucked up, and not cute or funny. See: reinterpreting every character Elliot Page has played through a sapphic lens, and insulting his ability to play straight characters while straight actors play actual caricatures of us (See also: Jared Leto. Fuck him).

I’m fucking sick of DaBaby, he sucks. “I shot somebody, she suck my peepee” that’s 90% of whatever he raps about.

“Political Correctness” is not new. It was, at one point, unacceptable to walk into a fine establishment and inform the proprietor that you love a nice firm pair of tits in your face. 60 years ago, such a statement would get you throw out and possibly arrested under suspicion of public intoxication. But then something happened and I blame Woodstock and Nixon. And now I have to explain to a man 40 years my senior that no, you can’t casually mention to the staff here, many of whom are children, how you haven’t had a good fuck in a while. And then rant about the “Chinese who gave us the virus.” Can’t be that upset with them if you then refused to wear your mask for 20 minutes.

Triggering content should not have a blanket ban; trigger warnings are enough, and those who campaign otherwise need to understand the difference between helping people and taking away their agency. 13 Reasons Why inspired this one. Absolutely shitty show, sure, but it’s a choice to watch it knowing exactly what it contains.

Sasuke’s not a fucking INTJ, he’s an ISFP whose every decision is based off in-the-moment feelings and proves incapable of detailed and logical planning to accomplish his larger goals.

MCU critique manages to be both spot-on and pointless. Amazing stories have been told with these characters over the course of decades; but most of it is toilet paper. Expecting a Marvel movie to be a deeply detailed examination of American nationalism and imperialism painted with a colorful gauze of avant-garde film technique is like expecting filet mignon from McDonalds. Scarf down your quarter pounder or gtfo.

Disparagingly comparing the popularity and (marginal) success of BLM to another movement is anti-black. It is not only possible but also easy to ask for people’s support without throwing in “you all supported BLM for black people but won’t show support for [insert group]” how about you keep our name out your mouth? Black people owe the rest of the world nothing tbh until yall root out the anti-blackness in your own communities.

It is the personal demon/tragic flaw of every cis gay/bi/pan man to externalize and exorcize Shame: I’m talking about the innate compulsion to Shame, especially in the name of Pride and Progress. Shame for socioeconomic “success,” shame for status of outness, shame for fitness and health, shame for looks, shame for style and dress, shame for how one fits into the gender binary, shame for sexual positions and intimacy preferences, shame for fucking music tastes. Put down the weapon that They used to beat you. Becoming the Beater is not growth, it’s the worst-case scenario.

Works by minorities do not have to be focused on their marginalized identities. Some ladies want to ride dragons AND other ladies. The pressure on minorities to create the Next Great Minority Character Study that will inevitably get snuffed at the Oscars/Peabody Awards is some bullshit when straight white dudes walk around shitting out mediocre screenplays and books.

Canadians can stfu about how the US is handling COVID-19 actually. Love most of yall, but the number of Canadian snowbirds on vacation (VACATION??? VA.CAT.ION.) in the supposed “hotbed” of my region that I’ve had to inform our mask policies and social distancing to is ASTOUNDING. Incroyable! I guess your country has a sizable population of entitled, privileged, inconsiderate, wealthy, and ignorant people making things difficult for everyone, just like mine :)

No trick to eliminate glasses fog while wearing my mask has worked, not a single one, it actually has affected my job and work speed and is incredibly frustrating, and I have to deal with it and pretend it’s not a problem while still encouraging others to follow the rules for everyone’s safety and the cognitive dissonance is driving me insane.

It’s really really really not anti-Japanese... to be uncomfortable with the rampant pedophilia in manga and anime, and voice this. I really can’t compare western animation’s sneakier bullshit with pantyshots of a 12-year-old girl.

Most of the people in the cottagecore aesthetic/tag have zero interest in all the hard work that comes with maintaining an isolated property in the countryside, milking cows and tending crops before sunrise, etc. And that’s okay? They just like flowers and pretty pottery and homemade pastries. Idk where discourse about this came from.

You think mint chip ice-cream tastes like toothpaste because you’re missing a receptor that can distinguish the flavors, and that sucks for you. It’s a sort of “taste-blindness” that can make gum spicy to some while others can eat a ghost pepper without crying.

Being a spectacle for the oppressive class doesn’t make them respect us, it makes them unafraid of us. This means they continue to devour us, but without fear of our retaliation.

Only like 4 people on tumblr dot com are actually prepared for the full ramifications of an actual revolution. The rest of you just really imprinted onto Katniss, or grew up in the suburbs.

Straight crushes are normal. They’re people first, sexual orientation second. Can’t always know.

The road to body positivity is not easy, especially if what you desire is what you aren’t.

You’re actually personally responsible for not voluntarily bringing yourself into an environment that you know is not fit for you unless you have the resolve to manage it. Can’t break a glass ceiling without getting a few cuts. This one’s a shoutout to my homophobic temp coworkers who decided working a venue with a drag show would be a good idea. This is also is a shoutout to people who want to make waves but are surprised when the boat tips. And also a shoutout to people who—wait that’s it’s own controversial opinion hold up.

Straight people can and should stay the fuck out of gay bars and queer spaces. “yoUrE bEInG diVisiVe” go fuck yourself.

[raripuh]

WIP INTRO: EVERY STARS UNDER THE SEA

— first installment of the dreams of hearts and crowds series

genre ; literary, bildungsroman, drama

themes & tropes ; fame struggles, music and the music scene, band as a family, love at first sight, toxic relationship, crumbling friendship, isolation, enemies to lovers, road trip, reconnecting (with estranged friends and own culture)

status ; first draft, currently around 33k

synopsis ;

( Rama smiles, eyes glinting with sympathy. There's always a humorous side to an irony. Amusing. Yet pitiful. "Well, yeah. There's still a lot to fix in our country. In this world."

And it's not like Arya doesn't know that already. It's just that he's tired of screaming, of being unheard, of being silenced left and right and up and down. "People resist change whenever they can," he sighs. "I'd rather pick my battles carefully now. One way communication isn't the way to change the world." )

Rising rockstar Ambun Arya has become a sensation ever since he emerged to the global scene with his band, Zaman Reaksi. Cute, blunt, and passionate in his campaigns for many social issues, Arya doesn't shy away from showing his true colors to the world, gaining him loves and hates in every corner he turns to. He's a saint. He's a heretic. He's the fixation point of everyone's attention, good or bad. Whatever people say he is, Arya doesn't mind, especially not since he begins to date Rama, an unabashedly pan actor in their homophobic country. Life seems good enough: people cheer for him (or try to burn him down when they can get close to him), he gets to play music—his music, no less, to a stadium full of fans, and Rama just never stops stealing his heart again and again, no matter how turbulent their relationship has been. But it ends as abruptly as it began—the next time Arya blinks, he's lost everything; his band, his career, his chance to do the thing he loves everyday. Rama. All because their sex tape (which, seriously, Arya doesn't even know about) was leaked to the internet.

Lost and broken-hearted, Arya comes back to Indonesia, the homeland he once abandoned in favor of the glimmering jet-set life of Hollywood. He tries to pick himself up again, writing music even though he's not sure if people would still listen to him. And this is how he meets Anungrangin, the Twitter-famous digital artist, and also, Arya's biggest anti: an album cover art commission and a road trip, from Sumatra to Java.

characters ; intro on progress!

ambun arya. main character, rhythm guitarist and primary lyricist of zaman reaksi. a simp

st. baluka. frontman and lead guitarist of zaman reaksi. sometimes he doubles as the group's dukun/sorcerer

irfan ma'arif. ex-emo lead vocalist and clown of the band

sam the labas. bassist with a medical degree (but not practice license). plays doctor to his dumbass bandmates. an annoying musical kid

cakra wisarga. drummer, also the financial advisor of the band. she's the only sane one among her bandmates. jamet

rama tohpati. notorious actor, most famed for his role as the superhero muruy in mandala nusa cinematic universe

anungrangin. digital artist. dislikes zaman reaksi and often criticizes them (especially arya), sometimes bordering to a hate speech

referenced musicians ; merah bercerita, tool, queen, bob dylan, frank sinatra, van halen, my chemical romance. knowledge of these musicians are not necessary

content warnings ; stage gay, age gap (between adults), emotionally abusive relationship, substance abuse, violence, casual racism/homophobia/transphobia (and the discussion of it)

playlist | wip tag

ask to be added to the taglist!

{ graphic is a loose reference to this album. }

#wip intro #wip: every stars under the sea #wip: stageverse #intro: stageverse #gr: stageverse #mine. #this was done in a frenzy it's actually better than this kdjskdj

[stickykeys633]

Changing thing up a bit @capricornsicle, that other post was becoming unwieldy.

You think you’re on a crusade to expose fandom racism and bias in Teen Wolf, but in doing so, because TW is such a specific beast, you make assumptions and add unnecessary hyperbole to your arguments. 

You’ve assumed and ran with the idea that I’m white (many do, which is strange since my icon is a black woman) and you’ve treated me a certain way because of it. But then in the same breath you’ll say there’s inherent bias against Scott McCall, a character that many people saw as white played by an actor who is white passing. 

There’s also this underlying statement that any majority of people see Scott as Latinx and automatically make it a negative thing which again, isn’t true, specifically not in Teen Wolf. 

I’ve found the antis like to take black racism experiences and try to fit Scott into that category, but even a small thing like colorism makes it so it’s not equitable. 

that’s a general statement about fans and critics alike holding characters of color up to a higher standard than white characters. It’s not everyone, it’s certainly not an attack on anyone, but it happens a lot, across various fandoms. White characters are much more often forgiven for the things they do than characters of color who do the same things.

This doesn’t happen with the frequency you think and in the Teen Wolf fandom when it does happen it is rarely if ever in regards to Scott. Other, more evident characters of color yes.. And the wild examples that the antis present are never equitable. Even when presented with context, they often have to padd it and stretch it to make it seem like some infraction has been done. What it does is seek to absolve Scott of ANY wrong doing, when really there is fault laid at both parties. 

I’ll provide a couple of examples in the moment, but the bottom like is that Stiles/Derek/Peter stans acknowledge their faults and many times love them because of it. On the show Scott was never given the chance to acknowledge his faults, the show refused to admit that he needed to grow and be redeemed of anything. This was a misstep because he became unpalatable, not as a perfect icon, but as someone whose actions didn’t hold relevant consequences. 

The Donovan Incident

Now, I disagree with some key points, but overall I think this is the most important part:

They fought, like teenagers do, especially teenagers who have gone through that kind of trauma, and then, in 5x13, they’re talking outside a gas station, and they talk and get over it,

If everyone could agree that this happened, this would be a much better place. But antis will not chalk up the experience for the contrived nonsense it was and become so enraged when people blame Scott that they can’t let it be and suddenly we’re all racists. 

Which, using racism as a tool to sooth butthurt is not okay and we see it time and time again. They take every seedling and think, “how can I add racism to this so I get my way?” which is pathetic, but also sullies the impact of real racism on the show. 

During this time Tracey was murdered, Mason was non-existent, they killed Noah and Lucas sent Kira to the desert and left her there. But being mad at Scott for intentionally misunderstanding Stiles is what’s racist? This is why antis and SDP Stans constantly bump heads. Everyone has been in a friend group where some new interloper comes in and riles things up. Usually trying to steal someone’s man, but you know there are certain things you do when that happens and Scott made ALL the wrong moves. He knew Stiles didn’t trust Theo and openly disliked him, it should have been an immediate red flag when Theo started in with Stiles violently killing someone in cold blood. Additionally, I would have LOVED if the show made the connection to Scott still being traumatized by Nogi, but again, the show made it seem like Scott was JUST FINE! and again, a disservice was made to his character. 

The point is that a not insignificant number of fans label Scott as a constant bad friend, as someone who’s always a bad influence on Stiles, and that’s really not the case.

People who label him as a constant bad friend use this as ONE example of it. I actually questioned their friendship after Motel California. I remember there were a couple of beats that made it clear they weren’t sandbox buddies, and probably met in the community little league (was it little league or soccer that they met Theo? I forget?). There have been several instances of them not being as close as they claimed. 

If Stiles can be forgiven for throwing lacrosse balls at Scott (which really fucking hurt, speaking from experience) and keying some random loner kids’ car to get him beat up because Lydia kissed him

Just a side note, Stiles was havign his fun, yes, but Scott was completely complicit in these scenes and knew 100% what was going on. Stiles was helping Scott by testing his tolerance and helping him control his heartbeat and yes they did it in bonehead teenage boy ways, but there was nothing malicious or racially motivated about it. Talk about holding characters to different levels. You’ve all made the white characters irredeemable supremacists when nothing in the canon alludes to this. 

a few antis forgive Stiles but condemn Scott. And that’s because of racial bias that makes those particular antis hold Scott to much higher standards than his white friends, which is a nice way of saying it’s racism.

Which again, is wrong in that you have absolutely no way of quantifying this for every viewer. There’s no such thing as special Scott centric racism. If someone is racist, they’re going to show it against anyone not white on the show, and that’s simply a) not the case and b) impossible to determine from the asks of one anon and some misinterpreted fic. 

Liking Scott isn’t pro-POC, no, but it is tied to racial issues in Hollywood, popular media, and fandom. Scott being Latinx (despite the fact it never comes up, he’s played by a Latinx actor and is undoubtedly TV’s favorite “ambiguously brown”) makes him connected to racial issues.

But it doesn’t, because Teen Wolf was specifically created as a world without color so coding Scott as race-neutral meant that audiences had the choice to view him that way and many did. I mean, look at the show, he has two white Italian actors playing his parents, his last name is McCall and his mother’s maiden name was Delgado which could mean anything. Jeff had a habit of casting white women with Latinx last names they got from a gracious step-father, it’s not a leap to say this was true of Melissa. This is why I refuse to give the show any representation points. Diversity sure, they’re there, but they’re not well represented and again, this neither starts nor ends with Scott McCall. 

Liking Scott is something that a lot of viewers of color end up doing

Again, not entirely true. Liking Boyd? Yes. Deaton, Morrell, Kira? Yes. Scott? Sure... the response to Scott from Latinx fans was varied in interesting ways. Some went up hard for him and while I don’t acknowledge the show’s version of Scott, I write him as half Mexican in every fic. There are some who, like you, were so excited to see someone like themselves and that’s beautiful and awesome. There were also some that started excited but then were like “oh, he’s playing a white boy” which people like to forget was VERY much a thing. There was no reason to think Scott was white and in fact when Jeff received the Alma award, it was for casting Posey and not necessarily having a Latinx character. In the beginning of Teen Wolf he was actually asked if Scott was white (the phrase they used was “All American” which...), And there were still others who hated Scott instantly and thought he was wack and did NOT see themselves in him.

So even within the Latinx community alone there were several opinions. Now spread that out to hundreds of thousands and then millions of viewers. So when you say “Liking Scott is something a lot of VOC end up doing” you’re creating a value based judgement on the idea of liking YOUR version of Scott McCall. 

Which isn’t fair and isn’t correct. 

YOU ended up liking Scott because YOU appreciated the interpretation. No one can take that away from you. But when you cast this net of racism, you’re gonna end up with a lot of things that don’t fit the term and a lot of people mad that they’re caught in your web of racial bias. 

if it’s the burden of POC to fight for representation tooth and nail, then that’s the fight I’ll be fighting.

Part of it is that sometimes I worry that if I don’t post about them, if I don’t post gifs of them and talk about them and make them be part of the teen wolf tag on this site, no one else is going to.

We talked about this with your first post. Generally I’m sympathetic, but I do take issue with your methods. Yes, I’ve seen those gif tax posts and I love the concept, but... tax is something you pay in the exchange for something that you want. I don’t see POC characters as tax and I get it’s just a clever way to name what you’re doing, but I think it makes it so negative when celebrating the POC characters should be an enjoyable and inclusive thing. 

If you feel alone, it’s because you haven’t reached out to anyone. I know a lot of creators who make content for characters of color, The problem is that when you accuse people of focusing on white characters in a show FULL of white characters and cover them with a blanket of systemic bias, you’re alienating a lot of people who don’t want the drama. 

Someone just released some ao3 stats of POC characters in Sterek fics verses TW fics as a whole and Kira was sadly underrepresented, showing up in just under 45% of fics. My answer to that isn’t to scream at Stereks about how racist they are against Asians. Instead, I wanna have a Kira appreciation event, but until I can, I make sure to write Kira into my fics because I love her. I repost gifsets with her in them, I comment and seek out people who create for her and support them and if you approach some creators, the’re happy to be amenable. I’ve left comments on fics asking for a certain character and sometimes they rightfully say no, but sometimes it’s not a problem and the change is awesome. 

I feel like the bulk of antis have an idea in their mind and don’t give anyone else a freaking chance. And then, when anything negative is said about Scott, they go awf like SEE!!?!> RACISM!!!!!! when it’s honestly not the case. The anon doesn’t represent even the minority of the majority of stereks. Tumblr doesn’t, ao3 doesn’t, twitter doesn’t. That’s why it’s so much less stressful to find out ways to insert diversity and representation rather than browbeating others to do it out of shame.  

There’s this perceived bias that worms it’s way in that simply doesn’t exist at the levels you think it does. Because not only are you assuming that people dislike the characters of color because of their color, but also that they harbor negative feelings.

But, as we’ve learned from K-pop fans, it seems white people are much more willing to enjoy and put out East Asian representation than representation of people darker than them

Kira was undoubtedly brought in to bring a more Asian audience, but again, racism isn’t a pick and choose kind of thing. People who hated Kira and love Scott do not see Scott as Latinx. And Kira has more posts by a small margin mostly because she was there and she had a family and large ties to the plot. Not because kids loves k-pop (which wasn’t even that big during her run). 

And THIS:

Boyd is stereotyped as the big, buff Black guy who’s aggressive and athletic (but almost never seen as the brains of the group, despite his intelligence,xxx and comes from a poor background and answers to an assertive white man without question

Boyd was specifically not stereotypes as aggressive and athletic, and in all fanfic is usually the one who reasons and is most level headed. He came from a poor background, but so did Isaac, and he questioned Derek and Scott. This is what I mean, while I agree that it’s your interpretation, you can’t say it’s a universal interpretation and then judge others because of it. 

The only time I care is when people specifically dislike Scott because of perceived affronts to Stiles and/or Derek, and I say “perceived” because I refer specifically to ones those specific anons and antis take completely out of context, blow out of proportion, or just make up.

Lol, again, your perception, because I can give you several canon based reasons to be upset with Scott, but of course you’ll find a way, no matter how tangential to twist it, because he’s your fave and canon is a mess. This is the freaking point. Let people have their stories. It’s not hurting you if you also add in yours. 

I do not believe it is possible for a 16-year-old to consent to a romantic and/or sexual relationship with a 24/25-year-old, but this post isn’t about that

Please don’t believe that you’re the first person to try this argument because you’re not and also Derek was at most 23 when Stiles was 17 (and to make it more interesting he was 19 in the original unaired pilot, but they aged him up so Kate wouldn’t be full on statutory rape, good times!)

https://stickylovessterek.tumblr.com/post/151831687742/sterek-is-not-pedophilia

Now you might not like it, and that’s totally fine and valid. But age has no basis in their relationship. I’m more interested in power dynamics, which is why I didn’t like Aria/Fitz on PLL or Marrish (which I could have been on board for, but this show is trash). 

with perhaps me as Stiles, you as Scott, and the anon playing Theo during his villain phase circa season 5, trying to turn two people against each other over a larger ethics debate

Well, no, clearly I’m the Stiles since I’m right (i kid, I kid), but honestly, you’re the one putting the anon in this. I’ve been ignoring their hyperbole and we’ve been telling the antis to pick and choose and be discerning with their posts. That has nothing to do with me. If we’re Scott and Stiles then it’s one of us talking and the other not listening and doing theings they’re own way and the fact that both of us have different ideas as to which is which is really part of the fun. 

But it’s not racism. 

#reblog #uggh #I was trying to make these shorter #I have an actual book to work on! #discourse #anon

[letterboxd]

Life in Film: Ben Wheatley.

As Netflix goes gothic with a new Rebecca adaptation, director Ben Wheatley tells Jack Moulton about his favorite Hitchcock film, the teenagers who will save cinema, and a memorable experience with The Thing.

“The actual process of filmmaking is guiding actors and capturing emotion on set. That’s enough of a job without putting another layer of postmodern film criticism over the top of it.” —Ben Wheatley

Winter’s coming, still no vaccine, the four walls of home are getting pretty samey… and what Netflix has decided we need right now is a lavish, gaslight-y psychological thriller about a clifftop manor filled with the personality of its dead mistress—and a revival of one of the best menaces in screen history. Bring on the ‘Mrs Danvers’ Hallowe’en costumes, because Rebecca is back.

In Ben Wheatley’s new film adaptation of Daphne du Maurier’s best-selling 1938 novel, scripted by Jane Goldman, Lily James plays an orphaned lady’s maid—a complete nobody, with no known first name—who catches the eye of the dashing, cashed-up Maxim de Winter (Armie Hammer).

Very quickly, the young second Mrs de Winter is flung into the intimidating role of lady of Manderley, and into the shadow of de Winter’s late first wife, Rebecca. The whirlwind romance is over; the obsession has begun, and it’s hotly fuelled by Manderley’s housekeeper, Mrs Danvers (Kristin Scott Thomas, perfectly cast).

Each adaptation of du Maurier’s story has its own quirks, and early Letterboxd reactions suggest viewers will experience varying levels of satisfaction with Wheatley’s, depending on how familiar they are with both the novel and earlier screen versions—most notably, Alfred Hitchcock’s 1940 Best Picture winner, starring Laurence Olivier Joan Fontaine, and Judith Anderson.

Why would you follow Hitchcock? It’s been 80 years; Netflix is likely banking on an audience of Rebecca virgins (the same kind of studio calculation that worked for Bradley Cooper’s A Star is Born). Plus, the new Rebecca is a Working Title affair; it has glamor, camp, Armie Hammer in a three-piece suit, the sunny South of France, sports cars, horses, the wild Cornish coast, Lily James in full dramatic heat, and—controversial!—a fresh twist on the denouement.

A big-budget thriller made for a streamer is Wheatley coming full circle, in a way: he made his name early on with viral internet capers and a blog (“Mr and Mrs Wheatley”) of shorts co-created with his wife and longtime collaborator, Amy Jump. Between then and now, they have gained fans for their well-received low-to-no budget thrillers, including High-Rise, Kill List and Free Fire (which also starred Hammer).

Over Zoom, Wheatley spoke to Letterboxd about the process of scaling up, the challenge of casting already-iconic characters, and being a year-round horror lover. [The Rebecca plot discussion may be spoilery to some. Wheatley is specifically talking about the du Maurier version, not his film.]

Armie Hammer and Ben Wheatley on the set of ‘Rebecca’.

Can you tell us how you overcame any concerns in adapting a famous novel that already has a very famous adaptation? How did you want to make a 1930s story relevant to modern audiences? Ben Wheatley: When you go back to the novel and look at how it works, you see it’s a very modern book. [Author Daphne du Maurier is] doing stuff that people are still picking up the pieces of now. It’s almost like the Rosetta Stone of thrillers—it tells you everything on how to put a thriller together. The genre jumping and Russian-doll nature of the structure is so delicious. When you look at the characters in the book, they’re still popping up in other stuff—there’s Mrs Danvers in all sorts of movies.

It remains fresh because of its boldness. Du Maurier is writing in a way that’s almost like a dare. She’s going, “right, okay, you like romantic fiction do you? I’ll write you romantic fiction; here’s Maxim de Winter, he’s a widower, he’s a good-looking guy, and owns a big house. Here’s a rags-to-riches, Cinderella-style girl. They’re going to fall in love. Then I’m going to ruin romantic fiction for you forever by making him into a murdering swine and implicating you in the murder because you’re so excited about a couple getting away with it!”

That’s the happy ending—Maxim doesn’t go to prison. How does that work? He’s pretty evil by the end. It’s so subtly done that you only see the trap of it after you finish reading the book. That’s clearly represented in Jane Goldman’s adaptation that couldn’t be done in 1940 because of the Hays Code. That whole element of the book is missing [in Hitchcock’s Rebecca]. But I do really like this style of storytelling in the 1930s and ’40s that is not winky, sarcastic, and cynical. It’s going, “here’s Entertainment with a big ‘E’. We’re going to take you on holiday, then we’re gonna scare you, then we’re gonna take you around these beautiful houses that you would never get a chance to go around, and we’re gonna show you these big emotions.”

After High-Rise, you ended up circling back to more contained types of films, whereas Rebecca is your lushest and largest production. How was scaling up for you? Free Fire does feel like a more contained film, but in many ways it was just as complicated and had the same budget as High-Rise, since it’s just in one space. Happy New Year, Colin Burstead is literally a contained film, that’s right. What [the bigger budget] gave me was the chance to have a conversation where I say I want a hotel that’s full of people and no-one says you can’t have any people in it. You don’t have to shoot in a corner, so that scale is suddenly allowed.

Elisabeth Moss and Tom Hiddlestone in Wheatley’s ‘High-Rise’ (2015).

The other movies I did are seen as no-budget or, I don’t even know the word for how little money they are, and even though High-Rise and Free Fire were eight million dollars each, they’re still seen as ultra-low budget. This is the first film that I’ve done that’s just a standard Hollywood-style movie budget and it makes a massive difference. It gives you extra time to work. All the schemes you might have had to work out in order to cheat and get around faster, but now it’s fine, let’s only shoot two pages today. We can go out on the road and close down all of the south of France—don’t worry about all the holidaymakers screaming at you and getting cross! That side of it is great.

You had the challenge to cast iconic actors for iconic roles. What were you looking for in the casting? What points of reference did you give the actors? I don’t think we really talked about it, but [Armie Hammer] definitely didn’t watch the Hitchcock version. I can understand why he wouldn’t. There was no way he was going to accidentally mimic [Laurence] Olivier’s performance without seeing it and he just didn’t want to have the pressure of that. I think that’s quite right. It’s an 80-year-old film, it’s a beloved classic, and we’d be mad if we were trying to remake it. We’re not.

The thing about the shadow that the film cast is that it’s hard enough making stuff without thinking about other filmmakers. I’ve had this in the past where journalists ask me “what were your influences on the day?” and I wish I could say “it was a really complicated set of movies that the whole thing was based around”, but it’s not like that. When you watch documentaries about filmmakers screening loads of movies for their actors before they make something—it’s lovely, but it’s not something I’ve ever done.

The actual process of filmmaking is guiding actors and capturing emotion on set. That’s enough of a job without putting another layer of postmodern film criticism over the top of it—“we’ll use this shot from 1952, that will really make this scene sing!”—then you’re in a world of pain. Basically, it’s my interpretation of the adaptation. The book is its own place, and for something like High-Rise, [screenwriter Amy Jump] has the nightmare of sitting down with 112 pages of blank paper and taking a novel and smashing it into a script. That’s the hard bit.

Armie Hammer and Lily James in ‘Rebecca’.

Current industry news is not so great—cinemas are facing bankruptcy, film festivals in the USA are mostly virtual, Disney is focusing on Disney+ only. How do you feel about a future where streaming dominates the market and the theatrical experience becomes, as we fear, an exclusive niche? Independent cinema was born out of very few movies. If you look at the history of Eraserhead—that film on its own almost created all of cult cinema programming. One movie can do that. It can create an audience that is replicated and becomes a whole industry. And that can happen again, but it needs those films to do that. They will come as things ebb and flow. The streamers will control the whole market and then one day someone will go “I don’t want to watch this stuff, I want to watch something else” and they’ll go make it.

It’s like The Matrix, it’s a repeating cycle. There’ll always be ‘the One’. There’s Barbara Loden in 1970 making Wanda, basically inventing American independent cinema. So I don’t worry massively about it. I know it’s awkward and awful for people to go bankrupt and the cinemas to close down, but in time they’ll re-open because people will wanna see stuff. The figures for cinemagoers were massive before Covid. Are you saying that people with money are not going to exploit that? Life will find a way. Remember that the cinema industry from the beginning is one that’s in a tailspin. Every year is a disaster and they’re going bust. But they survived the Spanish Flu, which is basically the same thing.

Two months ago, you quickly made a horror movie. We’re going to get a lot of these from filmmakers who just need to create something this year. What can you identify now about this inevitable next wave of micro-budget, micro-schedule pandemic-era cinema? I’ve always made micro-budget films so that side of it is not so crazy. There will be a lot of Zoom and people-locked-in-houses films but they won’t be so interesting. They’re more to-keep-you-sane kind of filmmaking which is absolutely fine. Where you should look for [the ‘pandemic-era’ films] is from the kids and young adults through 14 to 25 who’ve been the most affected by it. They will be the ones making the true movies about the pandemic which will be in like five years’ time.

People going through GCSEs and A-Levels [final high-school exams in England] will have had their social contracts thoroughly smashed by the government after society tells them that this is the most important thing you’re ever gonna do in your life. Then the next day the government tells them “actually, you’ve all passed”, then the next day they go “no, you’ve all failed”, and then “oh no, you’ve all passed”. It’s totally bizarre. Anyone who’s in university at the moment [is] thinking about how they’ve worked really hard to get to that position and now they’ve had it taken away from them. That type of schism in that group will make for a unique set of storytelling impetus. Much more interesting than from my perspective of being a middle-age bloke and having to stay in my house for a bit, which was alright. Their experience is extreme and that will change cinema.

Kristin Scott Thomas as Mrs Danvers in ‘Rebecca’.

It’s time to probe into your taste in film. Firstly, three questions about Alfred Hitchcock: his best film, most underrated film, and most overrated film? It’s tricky, there’s a lot to choose from. I think Psycho is his best film because, much like Wanda, it was the invention of indie cinema. He took a TV crew to go and do a personal project and then completely redefined horror, and he did it in the same year as Peeping Tom.

There’s stuff I really like in Torn Curtain. Certainly the murder scene where they’re trying to stick the guy in the oven. It’s a gut-wrenching sequence. Overrated, I don’t know. It’s just a bit mean, isn’t it? Overrated by who? They’re all massively rated, aren’t they?

Which film made you want to become a filmmaker? The slightly uncool version of my answer is the first fifteen minutes of Dr. No before I got sent to bed. We used to watch movies on the telly when I was a kid, so movies would start at 7pm and I had to go to bed at 7:30pm. You would get to see the first half-hour and that would be it. The opening was really intriguing. I never actually saw a lot of these movies until I was much older.

The more grown-up answer is a film like Taxi Driver. It was the first time where I felt like I’d been transported in a way where there was an authorship to a film that I didn’t understand. It had done something to me that television and straightforward movies hadn’t done and made me feel very strange. It was something to do with the very, very intense mixture of sound, music and image and I started to understand that that was cinema.

What horror movie do you watch every Hallowe’en? I watch The Thing every year but I don’t tend to celebrate Hallowe’en, to be honest. I’m of an age where it wasn’t a big deal and was never particularly celebrated. I find it a bit like “what’s all this Hallowe’en about?”—horror films for me are for all year-round.

What’s a brilliant mindfuck movie that perhaps even cinephiles haven’t seen? What grade of cinephile are we talking? All of the work by Jan Švankmajer, maybe. Hard to Be a God is pretty mindfucky if you want a bit of that, but cinephiles should know about it. It’s pretty intense. Marketa Lazarová too.

‘Marketa Lazarová’ (1967) directed by František Vláčil.

What is the greatest screen romance that you totally fell head over heels for? I guess it’s Casablanca for me. That would be it.

Which coming-of-age film did you connect to the most as a teenager? [Pauses for effect] Scum.

Who is an exciting newcomer director we should keep our eyes on? God, I don’t know. I would say Jim Hosking but he’s older than me and he’s not a newcomer because he’s done two movies. So, that’s rubbish. He doesn’t count.

[Editor’s note: Hosking contributed to ABCs of Death 2 with the segment “G is for Grandad” while Wheatley contributed to The ABCs of Death with the segment “U is for Unearthed” and also executive produced the follow-up film.]

What was your best cinema experience? [Spoiler warning for The Thing.]

Oh, one that speaks in my mind is seeing The Thing at an all-nighter in the Scala at King’s Cross, and I was sitting right next to this drunk guy who was talking along to the screen. It was a packed cinema with about 300 people, and someone at the front told him “will you just shut up?” The guy says “I won’t shut up. You tell me to shut up again and I’ll spoil the whole film!” The whole audience goes “no, no, no!” and he went “it’s the black guy and the guy with the beard—everyone else dies!” That made me laugh so much.

Do you have a favorite film you’ve watched so far this year? Yeah, Zombie Flesh Eaters.

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Ben Wheatley’s Life in Film list

Follow Jack on Letterboxd

‘Rebecca’ is in select US theaters on October 17, and streaming on Netflix everywhere on October 21.

#ben wheatley #rebecca #alfred hitchcock #gothic #gothic cinema #gothic film #gothic romance #thriller #psychological thriller #armie hammer #letterboxd #kristen scott thomas #kristin scott thomas #netflix #working title #the thing #free fire #high-rise #english cinema #director #directing #amy jump #lily james

[monicalorandavis]

The official list of people who should win at the 2020 Oscars

Every year, every single year, there are the winners at the Academy Awards who spring up on that stage and feign shock and awe at their surprise win and we all politely clap (yes, we, the viewing audience included) when we know that the award should’ve gone to Glenn Close in ‘The Wife’! (I’m looking at you, Olivia Colman! Give Glenn her things!!!!)

So, in honor of the ones who deserve their things, I’m going rogue with a people’s choice edition of the Oscars. The committee (me) has been highly selective and factored in many different considerations when coming to our decisions. Again, this has been a tough year for film and performances. So many strong characters and not enough awards. Please read on for the official winners of the Oscars selected by me.

Best Supporting Actor:

Kevin Garnett, Uncut Gems. Now, did we all see the same movie because all this talk about Adam Sandler this and Adam Sandler that seriously overshadowed the real breakout of the film, Kevin Garnett. So natural and easy on screen, his performance was delivered with the same grace with which he played. This is a man so athletic, so natural in his body that I fear his ease in the role tricked audiences into taking it for granted. No, it is not easy to act across seasoned, professional actors. But KG made it look effortless and in a role that required grit, hostility and a quiet intimidation he got overshadowed by his own cool reputation. But I recognize you today, sir. Job well done.

Best Supporting Actress:

Jamie Lee Curtis, Knives Out. May Mrs. Curtis never put her knives away ever again! We’ve been craving big bitchy energy (hence why Jennifer Aniston is finally collecting her awards this season for her work in The Morning Show.) But there is no one who plays entitled, rich bitch like Jamie Lee. She was riveting and hilarious in a role that felt pared down in the face of a lot of Chris Evans. Not complaining, just saying we could’ve done with another epic dressing down moment by the scream queen herself. She left us wanting more. And that’s from a woman of Hollywood elk. You’d think (wrongly) that we’d seen everything she can give. No, no. She knows the score. For the sake of us all (me, especially), she needs to be in every movie, all the time.

Best Actor:

Timothee Chalamet, Little Women. A beautiful and sensitive portrayal of a character who can quite easily come across creepy or cloying. The Laurie of yore (famously played by Christian Bale) is now his own man with a unique love story full of tenderness for Jo, then subsequently, Amy. Bale’s marriage to Amy in the 90s version of Little Women left me feeling sorry for Jo. The reveal of Laurie’s marriage to Amy was a gag for the ages that Jo takes poorly. (Not, my baby sister!!) But then again, she turned this man down brutally...not important. This time around, Chalamet gives us dimensions. Layers! He turns in yet another sensuous (yes, honey) performance that has left me besotted with the young actor. It’s uncomfortable but so is unrequited love, Ms. Alcott!

Best Actress:

Jennifer Lopez, Hustlers. Of course. The pride and joy of the Bronx didn’t even earn a nomination at the real Oscars but in this world where I reign supreme, she’s a winner, baby. Her turn in Hustlers was gorgeous and nuanced. It is extraordinary to make a thieving, manipulative con woman such a grounded and compassionate character. But what does J.Lo do? JUST THAT. She has never been more charismatic and I am so happy to give her this honor. It is also the great honor of this academy (of me) to promote Ms. Lopez to the status of ‘actress’ and not ‘supporting actress’ because we must recognize the role that was Ramona. She was supporting nobody. They were all in support of their rhinestoned queen. We, the lowly audience, got the chance to live in Ramona’s world so let’s put some respect on the performance puh-lease.

Best Documentary:

Beyonce, Homecoming. Yes, the film is by and large performance footage of both weekends of the now famous Beychella. And what footage it is! Now, concert films tend to repel Oscars consideration. Yet, I award the highest recognition to Beyonce for Homecoming because it is pure artistry on every inch of that stage from the band, to the design, to the choreography. It is a treat for the eye, ear and spirit. For those of us who weren’t lucky enough to experience it in person we have Netflix to thank. Homecoming has forever raised the bar on concert films.

Best Screenplay:

Shia Labeouf, Honeyboy. This film was my favorite movie of the year and while the acting was wonderful, the story is the secret weapon. We wouldn’t believe it if it wasn’t Labeouf’s own story. It has the potential to feel very after school special. But Honeboy somehow defies preconception which is especially surprising considering we’ve known Shia Labeouf since he was 13. We should know his story. And in a way, we do. But, we didn’t know the why. The foundation of him, the roots start as all ours do - with our parents. (Call your therapist.) Disney made sure to hide Labeouf’s father, and with reason. He is an elusive, abusive, alcoholic with a crazy man’s penchant for (underage?) women. But, in the rarest sort of self-expression, Labeouf bares his soul, and his father’s soul, in the most brave storytelling of the year.

Best Director:

Alma Harel, Honeyboy. The fact that Alma Harel was nowhere in the mainstream Oscars conversation is such a disgrace because rarely has a film held aesthetic and emotion so equally in its grasp. Honeyboy was an absolutely dazzling film that tore apart a father-son dynamic so tortured and fraught it felt like some gonzo cinema verite-meets-Big Brother hybrid that I didn’t know I needed. Harel’s crisp storytelling compounded so much story and whimsy into a 90-minute vehicle and in a year of overly-long, bloated yarns (The Irishman) it felt like a special feat to carve such a spectacular treasure in such a short amount of time.

Best Film:

The Google Black History Month commercial - Wow. The jury was unanimous here. Lots of great contenders but the Google Black History Month commercial slid right in there at the buzzer and the cultural impact of it has rocked the entire country. It’s indisputable. A beautifully constructed 2.5 minutes of film making. Truly stunning. Hats off again to Google. Keep up the good work and we expect big things from you in the future!

#google #black history #black history commercial #jlo #hustlers #oscars 2020 #oscars #oscars so white #shia labeouf #shia #alma har'el #knives out #kevin garnett #uncut gems #adam sandler #best film #academy awards #academy awards 2020 #best screenplay