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oldtvlover · 2 years

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Tonight then Slaughterhouse-Five from 1972. Cast: Michael Sacks as Billy Pilgrim Ron Leibman as Paul Lazzaro Eugene Roche as Edgar Derby Sharon Gans as Valencia Merble Pilgrim Valerie Perrine as Montana Wildhack Holly Near as Barbara Pilgrim Perry King as Robert Pilgrim and many more

Story: Using his own terminology, Billy Pilgrim is "unstuck in time", which means he is moving between different points in his life uncontrollably, although he is aware of it at certain of those points as witnessed by the letter to the editor he writes to the Ilium Daily News about his situation. Primarily, he is moving between three general time periods and locations. The first is his stint as a GI during WWII, when, as a pacifist, he was acting as a Chaplain's assistant for his unit. This time is largely as a POW, where he was in Dresden the day of the bombing, spending it with among others an older compassionate GI named Edgar Derby, and a brash loudmouth GI named Paul Lazzaro. The second is his life as an optometrist in Ilium in upstate New York, eventually married to the wealthy and overbearing Valencia Merble, and having two offspring, Robert, who would spend his teenaged years as a semi-delinquent, and Barbara, who would end up much like her mother. And the third is as an abductee on the planet Tralfamadore, along with his devoted dog Spot, and Hollywood starlet Montana Wildhack - who was not averse to taking off her clothes to further her career - the Tralfamadorians who have put them on display. The more time he spends on Tralfamadore, the more he understands the meaning of what is happening to him. —Huggo (from IMDB again) Thoughts: Okay, definitely headache alert! Billy Pilgrim jumps through his own life, back and forth - with not knowing where he ends up. His two kids which he had with his wife are also not easy for him. Robert changing from a delinquent teen to a man who's ready to serve in Vietnam (hello!) but with a sixty hairstyle in between. Barbara turns out to be like her Mom. The great point is the bombing in Dresden, on February 13, 1945 where Billy also ends up. His quiet point is a planet Tralfamadore where he then ends up finally. It's not bad, yet you should be prepared here. It's a very complex movie.

If you like switching around in your life, this movie is for you.

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erstwhile-punk-guerito · 3 months

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#The Late Show #Art Carney #Lily Tomlin #Bill Macy #Eugene Roche #Joanna Cassidy #Robert Benton #1977

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perfettamentechic · 10 months

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28 luglio … ricordiamo …

28 luglio … ricordiamo … #semprevivineiricordi #nomidaricordare #personaggiimportanti #perfettamentechic

2022: Hichem Rostom, attore tunisino formandosi come attore presso il Théâtre National Populaire. Uno degli attori tunisini più rinomati della sua generazione, ha recitato anche in produzioni cinematografiche e televisive in Francia, Italia e Egitto, oltre ad occasionali film hollywoodiani girati in Tunisia, come Il paziente inglese. E’ stato sposato, ed entrambi finiti con un divorzio, con…

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kwebtv · 1 year

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The Juggler of Notre Dame - Syndicated - 1982

Spiritual / Drama

Running Time: 60 minutes

Stars:

Carl Carlsson as Barnaby Stone

Patrick Collins as Sparrow

Melinda Dillon as Dulcy

Merlin Olsen as Jonas

Eugene Roche as Father Delaney

Joel Fluellan as Hank

Jean Le Bouvier as Wealthy Matron

James T. Callahan as Policeman

Henry Proach as Toots

Sherilyn Wolter as Beatrice

#The Juggler of Notre Dame #TV #Drama #1982 #Carl Carsson #Patrick Collins #Melinda Dillon #Merlin Olsen #Eugene Roche #Joel Fluellen

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aloysiavirgata · 9 months

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I love reading other people talking about/observing Mulder and Scully. Please please!

“Gorgeous,” Kinsley says, two tequila shots and an amaretto sour in. “Both of them.”

Stonecypher rolls her eyes. “Weird,” she says. “But nice.”

“Gorgeous,” Kinsley repeats, dreamily. “Fox Mulder smells like an anthropomorphic regatta.”

Simon Trebbins gives him an odd look. “I don’t know what the fuck that means, Mike,” he says.

Kinsley waves his hand vaguely. “Sailboat wax,” he says, without clarifying. “Dry cleaners. Bay rum.”

Trebbins downs his vodka tonic. “I can’t believe we got cheated out of a weekend with the fuckin’ Spookies. Legends abound; I wanted stories for the grandkids one day.”

Stonecypher sniffs over a piña colada. “She’s tiny, I can verify that. You don’t realize it until she’s next to you and you feel like Godzilla in Tokyo. But a great rack. Amazing hair.”

“Lobster rolls,” Kinsley adds, unhelpfully. “Sun dried rope. Clean cotton.”

Stonecypher side-eyes her partner. “Jesus, Mike.”

Liz Clayton props her chin up on her hand. “Mothman,” she chuckles. “They actually believe that shit?”

Stonecypher, pleased to be playing the role of expert, considers this. “He definitely does,” she states. “I think she goes along. She’s got it bad for him but I think he’s got it worse for her. Heard he murdered some poor bastard when she had cancer, fucking hell.”

“Who can blame her?” Kinsley asks, like it’s a Zen koan. “Or him.”

Liz smirks. “I heard she fucked Jack Willis.”

“Good for Jack,” Simon laughs. “She’s really hot.”

Kinsley sighs into a Maker’s Mark on ice. “She really is.”

Simon laughs. “You gotta pick one, Mikey.”

“Why?”

There is no obvious answer to this.

“My husband went through the Academy with Walter Skinner,” Liz says. “Couldn’t pay me enough to have that man’s job. Wrangling the Spookies should come with hazard pay.”

Stonecypher guffaws. “Can you imagine trying to have a serious debriefing with those two? I mean I heard the rumors, everyone has, but Jesus Christ they were eye-fucking while Mike drove. I saw them in the rearview.”

Kinsley sighs deeply. “They really were.”

“Didn’t she shoot him once?” Trebbins asks.

“You gotta be talking about the Spookies,” says Rachel Ward, sidling up with a handful of peanuts. “And yes she did. And they worked with Luther Lee Boggs, and Mulder caught Props to boot. Not to mention John Lee Roche. Eugene Tooms. Donnie Pfaster. Have a little fucking respect.”

There is silence at the table then. A long silence that even Kinsley does not break.

Stonecypher raises her glass after a moment. “I guess I can spot the son of a bitch a Mothman or two,” she sighs.

They all clink their glasses then, respectful.

“Scully smells like jasmine,” Kinsley adds, unhelpfully. Wistfully. “And like an A on a calculus exam.”

#xf fanfic #xfiles fanfic #my fic #prompt #detour

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five-rivers · 7 months

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Ancestral Chapter 20

A shorter chapter today. Written for ectober 2023 day 26: cult.

“What– How? How could you possibly do that?” asked Danny. “How could you even be sure it’d show up on a– In a ghost’s clothing?”

“What?” asked Matthew. “The Key?”

“Yes, the Key,” said Danny. “It’s supposed to do that?”

“Yes,” said Gwensyvyr. “I helped create the enchantment myself. It isn’t the only one on the key.”

“The compass part?” guessed Danny.

Gwensyvyr nodded. “There is already a construct of magic in it, and that makes it so that it stays with the one who carries it, if they should become a ghost, until it is touched by a syvyr of our line.” She shrugged. “I could show you the schematic, but I fear it would not mean much to you.”

“I mean…” Danny trailed off. “Probably not. I guess. But… why? And is it a new key, or–?”

“Oh, we could have done that. In some ways it would have been easier. But, no. This is the same key, brought from a distance.”

“But… why?”

“Because it is in the nature of those who fight to die, and sometimes far from home,” said Gwensyvyr. It would be… ill advised to leave any Key in the hands of the enemy.”

“Danny,” said Jazz. “What are they saying?”

“Oh,” said Danny. “Oops.” He quickly summarized the conversation from the point where he’d stopped acting as a go-between.

“What did they mean by the ‘last Key?’” asked Jazz. She seemed to be the only one put together enough to really ask questions. “Vivian, do you know?”

Vivian shrugged and shook her head. “That’s just what they said.”

“I don’t like that,” said Matthew. “There are other Great Gate Keys, but they should be… they aren’t out and about where anyone could get them.” He bit down on his lip then started typing on his phone.

“So,” said Eugene. “Who were they? The people who…”

“I don’t know,” said Vivian. “Evil bastards.” She blinked tears from her eyes that vanished as they fell.

“I have a thought of who they might be,” said Gwensyvyr. “Or who they might originally have been. It is suspicion, only, mind, and to understand you must learn a history that has been forgotten.”

Everyone leaned in again, as if that would make them hear better, faster. Danny saw hands on knife hilts and fists bunched in clothing.

“You remember, Dannyl, Yazmyn, what I have said before: all kinds of people leave ghosts. The House of Dyrys has old enemies. Enemies as old as I am.”

“The viking kings,” said Lewis. “The ones who killed your husband.”

Gwensyvyr raised a finger. “A little too fast, grandson, but, yes.” She let her finger fall back to the surface of the table with a tap. One that, by the flinches, everyone heard, not just Danny. “It is difficult to speak of even now, and there are rites older even than myself which I have tried to follow, though the years flow like sand in a glass. Needs must.

“You know some of my story. I was born on Myz, near what is now Sy Roch. Then I was called only Gwenn, for my hair was as white then as it is now.” She touched one of her braids, pulling it back behind her ear. “We were not one country, then. Nor were we even nine countries. There were few raiders in those days, and no one desired to be beholden to another. Yet even so, there were things we had in common. Language, names, rites, knowledge, and the knowledge that is beyond knowledge. So when a priestess of the sacred pool came from Myrgyn to seek a successor for one who had passed, it was considered a blessing and an honor.

“There were nine of us. Three for the pool itself. Three for the spring that fed it. Three for the apple tree that grew on its banks. They were wondrous things. Their magic was apparent by sight alone. They glowed with it. Some days, when the stars were right and the correct sacrifices were made, the surface of the pool would glow green, and become a door to the beyond. A drop of the water of the spring in the mouth of the living might cause one to see spirits. A drop in the mouth of a dead body might cause it to seem to live again for a time. A drop in the mouth of a spirit - or mere proximity - might cause them to be seen and heard and other things besides.”

Definitely a portal, then.

“The tree bore red apples and green, as you might see on any tree, but it also grew apples of gold and silver. The silver apples could heal any ailment. The gold granted power.”

Gwensyvyr paused. “It was a matter of great importance that the pool and its gifts be guarded. Some few could be granted to any who asked. But even something as small a bird or a fly that fell into the pool, or a worm that ate of an apple, could become a horror. Evil, vile things would come from the pool as often as the good, or they traveled from elsewhere to seek it out for their own ends.”

“You were doing what I do in Amity,” said Danny, before he could stop himself. “You were guarding a portal.”

“I’m not altogether sure what you are doing in Amity,” said Gwensyvyr, “but it would not surprise me if it were so.”

Danny ducked his head, feeling eyes on the back of it. Everyone was looking at him. He knew it. He was going to have to explain that in more depth before too long.

“But when I was not much older than you, the vikings came. They came with great ships, with weapons, and with their own magic-weavers. And, of course, we fought back. We had our own weapons, we had our magic, and the sacred pool at our backs. For some years, this was enough. And yet even these things could not stall our enemy forever. Not when he had been eying the riches of Myrgyn and the bounty of the sacred pool. One by one, my sister-priestesses were killed, and I ran to the only escape I had available.”

“The portal,” said Danny, starting to see where this was going. He swallowed back nausea.

“Yes. The pool. I was not fast enough. With one foot in the pool and one on the shore, I was felled by an ax. But I fell forward, and that was sacrifice enough. The pool granted me its gifts, and by extension, life. But I was so very weak, and when I crawled from the pool, the raiders were still there.

“They did not recognize me as one they had slain - who would? They had not even truly seen my face. Instead, they took me as a slave for themselves, and took me to the one who had led them. The one who, in those days, thought to make himself a king.”

“He called himself Erik the Dark in those days, though I learned enough of him later to know that had not always been his name. But Erik was a name for kings, and so he took it. In this age, you might know him by another.

“Pariah Dark.”

#danny phantom #ectober #ectoberhaunt #ectoberhaunt 23 #ectoberhaunt23 #ancestral fic #ectober 23 #ectober 2023

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jessicatates · 5 months

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And so, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, on examination of the evidence that the prosecution has presented, one could consider it substantial. But after knowing the defendant, the evidence appears flimsy and inconsequential.

#soap #soapedit #jessica tate #katherine helmond #e ronald mallu #eugene roche #s1 #s1e24

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shiningwizard · 20 days

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Corvette Summer (Matthew Robbins, 1978)

Moral high-ground Mark Hamill talking about power converters and womp rats or talking about manifolds and spoilers - it's all the same nonsense to me. Place some of the greatest supporting bit characters around him (Annie Potts, Eugene Roche, Dick Miller, Brion James, Jonathan Terry, it goes on) and you can hold my interest, but there's a hollowness to the central search for a stolen shop class project that they can only distract from so much. There's barely a car chase in this.

#corvette summer #last movie i saw #B

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georgybutt · 2 years

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Gimme a Break 2x7 “The Chiefs Gay Evening”

#dolph sweet #eugene roche

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nightcourtcaps · 2 years

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#harry stone #jack sullivan #night court #s5 #harry anderson #eugene roche #q

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meta-squash · 1 year

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Squash’s Book Roundup of 2022

This year I read 68 books. My original goal was to match what I read in 2019, which was 60, but I surpassed it with quite a bit of time to spare.

Books Read In 2022:

-The Man Who Would Be King and other stories by Rudyard Kipling -Futz by Rochelle Owens -The Threepenny Opera by Bertolt Brecht -Funeral Rites by Jean Genet -The Grip of It by Jac Jemc -Jules et Jim by Henri-Pierre Roche -Hashish, Wine, Opium by Charles Baudelaire and Theophile Gautier -The Blacks: a clown show by Jean Genet -One, No One, One Hundred Thousand by Luigi Pirandello -Cain’s Book by Alexander Trocchi -The Man with the Golden Arm by Nelson Algren -Three-Line Novels (Illustrated) by Felix Feneon, Illustrated by Joanna Neborsky -Black Box Thrillers: Four Novels (They Shoot Horses Don’t They, Kiss Tomorrow Goodbye, No Pockets in a Shroud, I Should Have Stayed Home) by Horace McCoy -The Dictionary of Accepted Ideas by Gustave Flaubert -The Chairs by Eugene Ionesco -Illusions by Richard Bach -Mole People by Jennifer Toth -The Rainbow Stories by William T Vollmann -Tell Me Everything by Erika Krouse -Equus by Peter Shaffer (reread) -Ghosty Men by Franz Lidz -A Happy Death by Albert Camus -Six Miles to Roadside Business by Michael Doane -Envy by Yury Olesha -The Day of the Locust by Nathaniel West -Thus Spoke Zarathustra by Friedrich Nietzsche -The Riddle of the Labyrinth: The Quest to Crack an Ancient Code by Margalit Fox -The Cat Inside by William S Burroughs -Under The Volcano by Malcolm Lowry -Camino Real by Tennessee Williams (reread) -The Private Memoirs and Confessions of a Justified Sinner by James Hogg -The Quick & The Dead by Joy Williams -Comemadre by Roque Larraquy -The Zoo Story by Edward Albee -The Bridge by Hart Crane -A Likely Lad by Peter Doherty -The Stranger in the Woods: The Extraordinary Story of the Last True Hermit by Michael Finkel -The Law In Shambles by Thomas Geoghegan -The Anti-Christ by Friedrich Nietzche -The Maids and Deathwatch by Jean Genet -Intimate Journals by Charles Baudelaire -The Screens by Jean Genet -Inferno by Dante Alighieri (reread) -The Quarry by Friedrich Durrenmatt -A Season In Hell by Arthur Rimbaud (reread) -Destruction Was My Beatrice: Dada and the Unmaking of the Twentieth Century by Jed Rasula -Pere Ubu by Alfred Jarry -Bitter Fame: A Life of Sylvia Plath by Anne Stevenson -Loot by Joe Orton -Julia And The Bazooka and other stories by Anna Kavan -The Haunting of Lin-Manuel Miranda by Ishmael Reed -If You Were There: Missing People and the Marks They Leave Behind by Francisco Garcia -Detransition, Baby by Torrey Peters -Indelicacy by Amina Cain -Withdrawn Traces by Sara Hawys Roberts (an unfortunate but necessary reread) -Sarah by JT LeRoy (reread) -How Lucky by Will Leitch -Gyo by Junji Ito (reread) -Joe Gould’s Teeth by Jill Lepore -Saint Glinglin by Raymond Queneau -Bakkai by Anne Carson -Reflections in a Golden Eye by Carson McCullers -McGlue by Ottessa Moshfegh -Moby Dick by Herman Melville -The Hour of the Star by Clarice Lispector -In the Forests of the Night by Amelia Atwater-Rhodes (reread from childhood) -Chicago: City on the Make by Nelson Algren -The Medium is the Massage by Malcolm McLuhan

~Superlatives And Thoughts~

Fiction books read: 48 Non-fiction books read: 20

Favorite book: This is so hard! I almost want to three-way tie it between Under The Volcano, The Quick & The Dead, and The Man With The Golden Arm, but I’m not going to. I think my favorite is Under The Volcano by Malcolm Lowry. It’s an absolutely beautiful book with such intense descriptions. The way that it illustrates the vastly different emotional and mental states of its three main characters reminded me of another favorite, Sometimes A Great Notion by Ken Kesey. Lowry is amazing at leaving narrative breadcrumbs, letting the reader find their way through the emotional tangle he’s recording. The way he writes the erratic, confused, crumbling inner monologue of the main character as he grows more and more ill was my favorite part.

Least favorite book: I’d say Withdrawn Traces, but it’s a reread, so I think I’ll have to go with Detransition, Baby by Torrey Peters. I dedicated a whole long post to it already, so I’ll just say that the concept of the book is great. I loved the whole idea of it. But the execution was awful. It’s like the exact opposite of Under The Volcano. The characters didn’t feel like real people, which would have been fine if the book was one written in that kind of surreal or artistic style where characters aren’t expected to speak like everyday people. But the narrative style as well as much of the dialogue was attempting realism, so the lack of realistic humanity of the characters was a big problem. The book didn’t ever give the reader the benefit of the doubt regarding their ability to infer or empathize or figure things out for themselves. Every character’s emotion and reaction was fully explained as it happened, rather than leaving the reader some breathing space to watch characters act or talk and slowly understand what’s going on between them. Points for unique idea and queer literature about actual adults, but massive deduction for the poor execution.

Unexpected/surprising book: The Riddle of the Labyrinth: The Quest to Crack an Ancient Code by Margalit Fox. This is the first book about archaeology I’ve ever read. I picked it up as I was shelving at work, read the inner flap to make sure it was going to the right spot, and then ended up reading the whole thing. It was a fascinating look at the decades-long attempt to crack the ancient Linear B script, the challenges faced by people who tried and the various theories about its origin and what kind of a language/script it was. The book was really engaging, the author was clearly very passionate and emotional about her subjects and it made the whole thing both fascinating and fun to read. And I learned a bunch of new things about history and linguistics and archaeology!

Most fun book: How Lucky by Will Leitch. It was literally just a Fun Book. The main character is a quadriplegic man who witnesses what he thinks is a kidnapping. Because he a wheelchair user and also can’t talk except through typing with one hand, his attempts to figure out and relay to police what he’s seen are hindered, even with the help of his aid and his best friend. But he’s determined to find out what happened and save the victim of the kidnapping. It’s just a fun book, an adventure, the narrative voice is energetic and good-natured and it doesn’t go deeply into symbolism or philosophy or anything.

Book that taught me the most: Destruction Was My Beatrice by Jed Rasula. This book probably isn’t for everyone, but I love Dadaism, so this book was absolutely for me. I had a basic knowledge of the Dadaist art movement before, but I learned so much, and gained a few new favorite artists as well as a lot of general knowledge about the Dada movement and its offshoots and members and context and all sorts of cool stuff.

Most interesting/thought provoking book: Moby Dick by Herman Melville. I annotated my copy like crazy. I never had to read it in school, but I had a blast finally reading it now. There’s just so much going on in it, symbolically and narratively. I think I almost consider it the first Modernist novel, because it felt more Modernist than Romantic to me. I had to do so much googling while reading it because there are so many obscure biblical references that are clear symbolism, and my bible knowledge is severely lacking. This book gave me a lot of thoughts about narrative and the construction of the story, the mechanic of a narrator that’s not supposed to be omniscient but still kind of is, and so many other things. I really love Moby Dick, and I kind of already want to reread it.

Other thoughts/Books I want to mention but don’t have superlatives for: Funeral Rites was the best book by Jean Genet, which I was not expecting compared to how much I loved his other works. It would be hard for me to describe exactly why I liked this one so much to people who don’t know his style and his weird literary tics, because it really is a compounding of all those weird passions and ideals and personal symbols he had, but I really loved it. Reading The Grip Of It by Jac Jemc taught me that House Of Leaves has ruined me for any other horror novel that is specifically environmental. It wasn’t a bad book, just nothing can surpass House Of Leaves for horror novels about buildings. The Man With The Golden Arm by Nelson Algren was absolutely beautiful. I went in expecting a Maltese Falcon-type noir and instead I got a novel that was basically poetry about characters who were flawed and fucked up and sad but totally lovable. Plus it takes place only a few blocks from my workplace! The Rainbow Stories by William T Vollmann was amazing and I totally love his style. I think out of all the stories in that book my favorite was probably The Blue Yonder, the piece about the murderer with a sort of split personality. Scintillant Orange with all its biblical references and weird modernization of bible stories was a blast too. The Quick & The Dead by Joy Williams was amazing and one of my favorites this year. It’s sort of surreal, a deliberately weird novel about three weird girls without mothers. I loved the way Williams plays with her characters like a cat with a mouse, introducing them just to mess with them and then tossing them away -- but always with some sort of odd symbolic intent. All the adult characters talk and act more like teens and all the teenage characters talk and act like adults. It’s a really interesting exploration of the ways to process grief and change and growing up, all with the weirdest characters. Joe Gould’s Teeth was an amazing book, totally fascinating. One of our regulars at work suggested it to me, and he was totally right in saying it was a really cool book. It’s a biography of Joe Gould, a New York author who was acquaintances with EE Cummings and Ezra Pound, among others, who said he was writing an “oral history of our time.” Lepore investigates his life, the (non)existence of said oral history, and Gould’s obsession with a Harlem artist that affected his views of race, culture, and what he said he wanted to write. McGlue by Ottessa Moshfegh was so good, although I only read it because 3 out of my other 5 coworkers had read it and they convinced me to. I had read a bunch of negative reviews of Moshfegh’s other book, so I went in a bit skeptical, but I ended up really enjoying McGlue. The whole time I read it, it did feel a bit like I was reading Les Miserables fanfiction, partly from the literary style and partly just from the traits of the main character. But I did really enjoy it, and the ending was really lovely. In terms of literature that’s extremely unique in style, The Hour Of The Star by Clarice Lispector is probably top of the list this year. Her writing is amazing and so bizarre. It’s almost childlike but also so observant and philosophical, and the intellectual and metaphorical leaps she makes are so fascinating. I read her short piece The Egg And The Chicken a few months ago at the urging of my coworker, and thought it was so cool, and this little novel continues in that same vein of bizarre, charming, half-philosophical and half-mundane (but also totally not mundane at all) musings.

I'm still in the middle of reading The Commitments by Roddy Doyle (my lunch break book) and The Hero With A Thousand Faces by Joseph Campbell, but I'm not going to finish either by the end of the year, so I'm leaving them off the official list.

#squash rambles #reading year in review #book list year in review #book list #reading list #book roundup #reading roundup

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