#and just like the whole film feels so DECADENT in the most delicious way possible | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

remys-lucky-franc · 3 years

Text

Remy x MC (Queen of Thieves) - Kissing Prompt #14

This is the final ‘kiss prompt’ that I have on my request list. I’m sad 😔

I’ve really enjoyed working on these - this wee challenge got me back into the habit of writing regularly which is so nice as I’d been doing ‘sit and stare at a blank page’ thing for months, thank you for inviting me to join in folks.

Prompt #14 - a kiss so desperate that that the two wind around each other, refusing to let go until they are finished - requested by lovely @mcira for lovely Remy

It’s a sort of a ‘good heist goes bad’ alt-version of the ‘first ever kiss on film’ heist from Remy’s S1. Also, I relocated it to Barcelona because Paris is too inland 😂

Written from MC POV.

Word count ~6100 (marked #long fic if anyone wants to filter it away - adding ‘read more’ isn’t reliable - don’t want to clog anyone’s dash x)

TW: drowning / broken bones

—-

[MORE]

[[MORE]]

—-

I curse, scrambling to keep my balance as the yacht lists suddenly to the right; my arms flailing, thrown backwards trying to grip at the doorway to stay upright. I collide with it and stretch my hands out to save myself as I hit the ground awkwardly: the crack from my arm makes me feel sick to my stomach. Furniture shifts. Decor clatters to the floor. Lights overhead flicker violently. What the hell was that noise? Something has gone very, very wrong.

—-24 hours earlier —-

Remy and I have spent well over a month on this con now, establishing and ingratiating ourselves with the obnoxious specimen that is Parker Vos. Ugh, even his name makes my skin crawl. Tonight we’ve met up for some drinks: Parker’s idea. Remy’s positioned himself between Parker and I at the bar of the plush cocktail lounge and I watch on as Parker charges his glass again, loudly laughing, clapping his hand on Remy’s shoulder. Remy clinks glasses with him, smile jovial, eyes full of myrth; swallowing down the liquor to perfectly conceal the bile I know is steadily rising within his throat. If there is anyone who dislikes Parker Vos more than I do, it’s Remy Chevalier.

Watching Remy work a con has been quite an experience. He knows instinctively what people want to see and hear - oftentimes even before they know themselves. He reads their body language with practiced ease and plays his part to meet The Gilded Poppy’s ends: a master of assuaging insecurities or fuelling egos. And I have never known an ego like Parker’s. He’s spent half of the evening acting like Remy’s his long-lost best friend, and the other half undressing me - his buddy’s ‘wife’ - with cold, soulless eyes.

Parker’s on his feet, moving to refill my champagne flute but I move my hand to cover the top, opening my mouth in a half-protest.

He grins at me as I giggle, “I shouldn’t - I’ve had too much already-”

Tutting and moving my hand away from the opening of glass, he pours another generous serving of fizz. I make a big deal out of rolling my eyes at him and exclaiming that’s he’s ‘such a bad influence’. Inside I’m far from smiling - I hate guys who behave like this.

Parker doesn’t seem to want to let go of my hand, his fingertips trace my palm casually, an amused, self-satisfied grin spread over his face. I feel colour rising rapidly from my chest to the tips of my ears and Parker raises an eyebrow at me - clearly delighted that he’s gotten me flustered - but it’s not his touch or his gaze that’s set me alight. It’s the way that Remy’s eyes burn into me from the next seat, flecks of gold and green glitter like fire and the mask he wears is one that I can’t quite decipher, the only clue to his true feelings being the exaggerated bob of his throat as he continues to pretends he’s oblivious to the game Parker’s playing. I simper as I extract my hand from Parker’s to toast our glasses. I know Remy and I aren’t really married, but Parker doesn’t: this guy really has zero shame.

Remy’s seamlessly switched to wearing a playful smirk as he reaches across me, clinking all three of our glasses together, “Ma cherie, the bubbles are going to her head, Parker - look how flushed she is!”

His free hand reaches up affectionately cupping my cheek and I feel myself sink longingly into his gentle touch, his daring wink makes my heart stutter as Parker drones on, boasting about only ordering the very finest champagne for his friends.

A short time later, Remy excuses himself and he hasn’t even reached the bathroom before Parker has slid across to occupy his stool, angling himself into me just a little closer than could be considered appropriate. He’s such a snake, it takes all my energy to fix a sweet, naïve smile on my face when his hand comes to rest on my arm; the way his touch makes me feel compared to Remy’s is so stark in its contrast. He’s watching my face intently as he smirks at me - always bragging about his wealth and possessions, always looking for any sign that he’s impressing me.

He’s acting shocked that this is is the first time I’ve been to this particular bar, given that it’s one of Barcelona’s hot-spots, wondering out loud why my husband never brought me here before now. I sip daintily at my glass as I tell him this sort of place is generally outside of our budget, that it would only ever be somewhere that we’d come for a special occasion. As Parker nods, sacharrine-sweet condescension guising as sympathy, I think about how Remy was absolutely right when he told me he reckoned Parker gets a real kick out of feeling like the Alpha Male in any room and I lean into it. He’s back onto his favourite brand of champagne again - asking me if I ever tried it before tonight. I have, but I play along, feeding the narrative, telling him exactly what he wants to hear: Remy would be proud of me.

I shake my head wistfully, “It’s really delicious, it’s such a lovely treat to have something so decadent. I can understand it being your favourite, Parker - you have really good taste.”

He sighs, looking almost troubled, “You know it makes me sad that a girl like you can’t have everything her heart desires. I’ve got cases galore of the stuff on my yacht. I have it brought in directly from the vineyard just outside Epernay.” He pauses, quirking his head at me, “Say, have you ever been on a yacht?”

I think about what Remy’s always tells me about the best and most convincing cons: they stick as closely to the truth as possible. I feel a genuine smile blossom as I tell Parker about the little sailboat my grandfather had and how I loved spending time on it with him when I was a little girl. I can hear the warmth in my own voice and I know my eyes are sparkling as I think about those happy memories, but rather than ask me anything about my grandfather or my childhood, Parker patronises me and uses it as another opportunity to play ‘The Big I Am’. He chuckles as he tells me that wasn’t a real boat, then reels off what sounds like the manufacturer’s sales pitch for his top-of-the-range, fully customised yacht. Heaven knows, I really want to punch this guy but I nod, maintaining my rapt expression - all wide-eyed and utterly impressed. As he drones on, my brain wanders thinking how the same conversation would have gone sitting here with Remy instead.

Parker’s incessant boasting continues as he drawls about how much he would love to take me out on his yacht, “I think a girl like you would appreciate a boat like mine you know, and you’d look so good on it.”

Such. A. Creep.

I shoot him a rueful smile before biting my lip and looking down at the my hands. My fake wedding ring sparkles up at me under the low lights of the bar. I can feel Parker’s beady eyes on me watching my every move like I’m his prey. I fidget with the golden band and I know I’m working this con just right when he pushes my hair back from my face and tips my chin upward to look at him. A grin slithers across his face - poison hidden just behind the facade.

“Why don’t you come on the yacht with me this weekend, baby? You can have as much of this champagne as you like - I’ll show you how you deserve to be treated.”

I don’t have to fake being a little taken aback: I know it’s been our objective to get on that yacht, and I knew we were reeling him in, but the blatancy of his invite still knocks me off guard!

I glance towards the bathrooms and see that Remy’s making his way back across the bar. I use the shock of the invitation to my advantage, worrying my bottom lip between my teeth as I tell Parker, “Remy’s coming back.” I look up at him through my lashes and breathe, “Parker, I- I don’t know? It sounds amazing, but honestly, I’m not sure I should.”

Parker searches my dark eyes, voice smug, so confident that his charms have me falling for him; that he’s so irresistible I’d be ready to betray my husband with him, “I think you do know. You just don’t want to hurt Remy, because you’re a sweet girl. But I’ll make a deal with you, I’ll send you the directions to where she’s docked - and I’ll be there waiting. If you come...”, his thumb brushes across my lips and I draw in a sharp breath while my stomach lurches. His voice lowers as he stares at my mouth, “I’ll show you, I can give you everything you ever wanted and more besides.” Then he’s gone, quickly slithering back to his own bar stool, duplicitously clasping and shaking Remy’s hand as he returns, as though he didn’t just proposition his wife.

—-

Remy fumed about the audacity of Parker Vos the whole way back to the penthouse last night. And I thought he disliked the guy before... I’d hate to see how Remy would react if someone hit on his real wife because he is the most convincingly jealous fake-husband I’ve ever seen. And his attitude towards our mark got even worse when Parker text me with the coordinates for Port Vell Marina.

When we got back we debriefed Nikolai on all of the night’s events and came to the conclusion that me going to the yacht alone was not an option. I argued that I was more than capable of handling him but Remy was adamant that Parker was an entitled creep and it was too dangerous. Nikolai agreed with Remy, and when I huffed that he would trust Vivienne to fly solo, I have never seen him look more annoyed. He barked at me that he it was his decision, his responsibility and he refused to put any member of his team into that position alone, especially where there was no option for back up if things started to take a wrong turn. As much as I hated to back down, I knew from his tone that he was being completely honest and I should apologise and accept his decision. We spent the rest of the evening coming up with our next move - for Remy and I to arrive at Parker’s yacht together.

—-

We arrive at the beautiful Marina at Port Vell the following afternoon and I don’t have to feign how impressed I am. It is absolutely stunning - the sun dapples the turquoise blue waters while every gleaming yacht is sleeker and grander than the last.

Remy’s holds my hand firmly as we head towards Berth 26 where Parker’s imposing yacht is docked. Our play this afternoon is that I was heading out to meet Parker when Remy asked where I was going and I couldn’t think of any reason for him not to come along that didn’t seem strange or suspicious.

We reach the yacht and I see Parker. The irritate look on his face is replaced in an instant as he wraps us both in a friendly hug, before ushering us onboard. As he takes my hand to help me up the steps, he shoots me a look as though to enquire ‘why the hell aren’t we alone?’ and I drop my head like I’ve never been more deeply disappointed by anything in my life.

Remy has Parker chatting about the spec of the boat and I fear that he may never shut up about it. We spend at least fifteen minutes in the cockpit as Parker regales us with tales about how he got rid of his last captain, how he prefers to sail the yacht himself: bravado, bravado, bla bla bla. My cheeks hurt from the fake grin I have plastered across my face but I really lose the will to live as he places a captain’s hat on my head, cracking a joke to Remy about female drivers and saying that if I felt brave enough, he might even let me steer later. As we walk I ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’ where appropriate, observing the ostentatious gold fixings and over-the-top ornate features and I conclude that no amount of money can buy you class.

When we eventually reach the sun deck, Remy raises an eyebrow at me, “Oh. Ma cherie, I think we may be intruding. Parker, were you expecting other company?”

I cringe as my eyes land on the biggest bunch of roses I’ve ever seen, sat next to a bottle of the same champagne we were drinking in the bar last night. I know Parker is a truly awful person, but I can’t help but feel a little sorry for him. His cheeks colour lightly, clearly having forgotten that he paid someone to set this up for him and his mouth works hard at opening and closing for a few painful seconds before his brain catches up, “Oh! Those? A ‘friend’ of mine was supposed to join me a bit before you both arrived. Then I thought we could have some drinks together, all four of us.”

Remy nods, his expression neutral, but eyes sharp, “I see. And they’re running late?”

Parker shrugs, eyes flicking to look at me as he lies, “She cancelled at the last minute. Something else came up.”

Remy wraps his arm around me making a show of planting a soft kiss on my cheek, his sympathetic words juxtaposed to the smirk apparent in his tone, “How awful, cherie! Good old Parker’s been left in the lurch. And after going to all that trouble too!”

I grimace, “I’m really sorry to hear that, Parker.”

Parker clears his throat, snatching up the champagne bottle, “Yeah. I’ll grab us some glasses.”

As he heads inside, I dig Remy in the ribs with my elbow and hiss, “What the hell was that?!”

Remy grins, his face full of mischief, “It’s obvious that I suspect there’s ‘something going on’ here”, he gestures between me and the roses, “and if he knows I’m willing to fight for you mon couer, it makes you all the more attractive to him...”

Knowing he’s right, but hating it, I pull a face.

He winks at me, “Plus, your Remy wants to have a little fun making him squirm.”

—-

We set sail a little after two-thirty, and as the afternoon progresses, it’s not just Parker who Remy is making squirm. Aside from a variety of vaguely passive aggressive jokes about being stood up and dating disasters - at one point even suggesting that I set Parker up with one of my friends, Remy is possibly the most tactile he’s ever been with me during this con: his hand is either holding mine, on my knee, or touching my face at every given opportunity. And his strategy is working because every single time Remy’s hands are on me, Parker’s eyes follow.

I know it’s all for Parker’s benefit but I just can’t help the way my heart races when Remy touches me. I have to keep telling myself it’s just for the con - all a part of his strategy. I repeat it over and over like a mantra: ‘It’s just for the con. It’s not real. It’s just for the con.’ But it feels so good. So real. And I want him so badly my chest aches.

Part of my role on today’s outing is scouting out the location of the reel of film we’re trying to steal. We’ve long suspected that it’s somewhere on the boat. So while the men continue to drink and chatter, I excuse myself and head to the restroom, getting myself deliberately lost in the labyrinth below deck. I’m fascinated by the amount of cool and interesting stuff that Parker owns despite being an uncultured jerk. I wonder if he has any genuine interest in any of it at all, or if it’s entirely for bragging rights and to impress other people. The further I wander unrestricted, the more I marvel and get to wondering just how rich Parker actually is? It’s so unfair - he deserves pretty much nothing that’s aboard this floating treasure trove... Then I see it - a can of film inside a glass case! Surely that’s got to be it? I quickly check the case, it’s pretty secure and looks like it’s inbuilt to the wall cabinet?! That means... This must be it - the first kiss ever recorded... I beam from ear to ear as I think about how excited Remy is going to be when I tell him!!

Unbeknown to me, upstairs whilst Remy and Parker stand at the railing staring out into the glittering dark blue of the Med, Remy decides to lean a little further into his role of suspicious and jealous spouse. Remy subtly turns the conversation from small talk to a grilling before Parker even realises that he’s walking into a trap, “It’s a shame your friend couldn’t make it, Parker. It would have been lovely to meet the woman who’s caught your eye... You were hoping that the four of us could have drinks together, right?”

Parker nods, sipping at his glass.

“But you didn’t know I was coming?”

Parker laughs, deflecting, “Uh, yeah! I got that wrong, I thought you were otherwise engaged. I’m so glad you could make it, buddy! It’s always great to see you!”

Remy cocks his head to the side, face still open and neutral, like he’s trying to understand, ”Sure, I’m glad I could join. But I’m confused? You were planning on the four of us drinking that champagne, oui?”

Parker clears his throat, suddenly realising that Remy might actually not be as much of a mug as he’s taken him for.

Remy continues, face visibly hardening as he speaks, “From where I’m sitting, there’s no mystery lady, and no Remy? And - well - that just leaves you and my wife sailing around the Mediterranean with a bottle of champagne and a big bunch of roses, Parker.”

Parker waves his hands in the air defensively, “Wow, Remy!! Slow down - I don’t know where you think you’re going with this, but you’ve got it all wrong! You’re putting two and two together and getting five, my friend!”

Remy huffs a bitter laugh, his voice now dripping with sarcasm, “Oh, five? So, I have it all wrong that my wife was halfway out the door to come here, to be with you, alone? Seems convenient that your lady-friend mysteriously couldn’t make it at the last minute? The one I’ve never heard you mention before? Please, explain it to me, Parker. Because it looks to me like you’ve got designs on my wife.”

Parker stutters to find an answer for a second before the yacht jolts violent throwing both men to the ground.

—-

I cradle my arm to my chest and grit my teeth as I clamber back onto my feet, nausea washing over me as I try my best not to move it again. Safe to say I don’t need a medical degree to tell me I’ve broken something.

After that god-awful metallic grinding, groaning noise everything has gone quiet. Eerily quiet. The normal lighting has gone, but the emergency lighting has kicked in casting a sickly green hue all around. I need to get back up to deck, to see what the hell just happened, to make sure Remy is ok!

I move towards the stairwell door and as I wrench it towards me, I’m met with a rush of cold water that makes me gasp. Oh this is bad. This is really, really bad. I stare at the fast-moving seawater spilling in, swirling around my feet: I’m rooted to the spot as panic rises rapidly in my chest. I’m not sure how many seconds have ticked by when I hear the roar of my name. Remy. I can’t see him, but I scramble towards the sound of his voice and call out to him, “I’m down here! Remy! I’m here!”

Water is rapidly filling the space below deck as Remy throws open the door of the opposite stairwell. I lurch towards him, sloshing through it, my limbs twice as heavy and struggling to stay upright against the slippery surface.

Remy wades through the corridor to reach me, calling to me, “I’m coming, cherie, it’ll be ok!” As we meet somewhere near the middle his hands grasp my shoulders as he gives me a quick once over, brows knit together when he sees how I’m holding my quick-swelling arm, “Merde! Is that broken?!”

I wince, nodding. The pain radiates from my wrist making my fingers tingle and my head buzz. Remy’s got one arm around me and he’s gripping at the walls with his free hand, moving us steadily toward the stairwell he came down: the water’s around my waist now. He keeps repeating, ‘it’s ok, it’s going to be ok’, but his usually calm voice jitters and I’m not sure if he’s saying it for my benefit or if he’s trying to make himself believe it. We reach the stairwell and Remy ushers me through the door. The tilt of the yacht makes it hard to climb the steps, but we fight to ascend. Up. Up. Up. We’re around half-way when the yacht jolts unexpectedly again; Remy grabs for the wet handrail. Every muscle in his body strains to keep us in place, to somehow stop us from careering back down the staircase. I feel lightheaded from the way my damaged arm jerks as he catches us, but it’s better than the alternative of plunging back down into the murky water. We resume our climb and make it up the final steps together. Only at the top do I truly appreciate the incongruous angle the yacht lists to, and start to properly grasp just how deadly this situation could be. The sounds of straining metal and hissing water fill the space around us and I’m scared. More scared than I’ve ever been in my life.

 We scramble our way out across the badly-angled yacht, clinging to the side rails for purchase as we move: we need to get off this boat. It can’t end like this. In the time I’ve been below deck, dark clouds have rolled in and the rain pelts down on us. As we reach the side of the yacht, and I suck in a deep lungful of air trying to black out the pain radiating up and down my arm. Trying to steady my nerves, I tell myself, ‘We just need to get on the lifeboat, getting upstairs was the hardest part. Come on, you can do this - you can do this! We’re almost there, it’s going to be-’ But my silent pep talk is cut short and a sense of dread floods through me as I watch Remy surge around and around, a hand raking through his soaking hair as he yells,

“He’s gone! That bastard! He’s left us!”

Remy’s hanging over the side, trying to locate Parker, frantically yelling his name out into the dank, misty distance. But it’s useless - he’s long gone. Fresh panic rises as what that means sinks in: that snake abandoned us and the sinking ship. And he’s taken the only life vessel with him. A storm’s rolling in and visibility is poor. We’re miles from the coast without another boat in sight. The water this far out isn’t frigid but it’s still cool enough to catch hypothermia without the right clothing if you’re in it for a couple of hours - but we’re likely to end up in there because this yacht is going down. I’m not sure how long I could tread water for with a broken arm? I choke back my horror as I realise - I don’t think we can’t make it back. He’s left us out here to die.

Tears silently streak my face, mingling with saltwater and rain as I turn to Remy. I feel like I’m moving in slow motion, but he’s the most animated I’ve ever seen him, his hands shake and he curses as he pulls useless items out of one of the inbuilt storage benches, tossing them onto the wet deck behind him. I tug at his sleeve and rasp, “There’s no way off, is there?”

He refuses to meet my gaze, yanking his arm away from me, rummaging deeper, muttering in frustration. But I refuse to be brushed off, not now. I pull on his sleeve again, “Remy! Just, stop.”

He whirls on me, his usually smiling eyes are wild as they meet mine. And before I know what’s happening, right there on the deck of the part-submerged yacht, Remy pulls my face to his, mouth crashing desperately into mine. I gasp at the sensation of him. Rough. Passion-filled. Real. His lips spill every frenzied confession I ever wanted to hear and I’m losing myself in him; rapt in every disclosure. The surge of emotion between us swells my pounding heart and fills my soul, a choir with one refrain: he loves me, he loves me, he loves me. My body breaks into song - lyrical, a groan against Remy’s supple lips: rejoicing, dancing, dopamine-high. A million melodies, harmonies, symphonies rush through us as we cling to each other against the stormy saltwater spray. His touch is electric, flesh warm against my skin, deft fingers knotted in my hair drawing me close. Closer. So close I feel two heartbeats pulse through me like an orchestra nearing crescendo. I’m soaked, hurt and terrified, but somehow I’ve never felt more alive than I do right now, exalted in his arms. My hand grazes over the stubble of his jaw, the high arc of his cheekbone: my fingertips trace every beautiful feature, mapping every crease, every dimple. If this is our coda, if this is how it all comes to an end, I want to succumb remembering every delicious second of this kiss - every sensation, every caress, every breath, every poetic unspoken word. I want my finale to be us.

Our kiss ends breathlessly, foreheads touching: both unwilling to part. Remy’s lips hover over mine like we’re magnetised. Green eyes search my own as I gaze upon the face I love through dark lashes, trembling. I cover his heart with my palm - I never want to let him go. Seconds tick past that feel like minutes until he finally breaks away and I gulp for air. Bereft, my body aches for him.

Remy’s rifling through the storage benches again, items shoved from side to side, thrown and discarded until he shouts triumphantly, flare gun in hand! Slick hands fumble to load the cartridge, then he steps away from me, pointing the gun above his head, firing high. We watch as a plume of intense fire illuminates the sky above us, a beautiful SOS, hanging in the air before slowing making its descent to the sea.

The stricken vessel below us strains and groans as Remy grips my hand in his, “We aren’t going out like this, cherie.” He says it with such conviction and determination that my heart stutters. My eyes widen as he brandishes a life buoy at me. “There’s only one.”

Why am I not even surprised that a jerk like Parker went for 24-Carat light fittings but scrimped on the most basic of safety features and maintenance? I shake my head at Remy, fear threatens to take over, “We’re not jumping?!”

Remy exclaims, “We have to! We can’t stay on ‘til it sinks, it’s too dangerous! We need to get as far away as we can. We jump together and I promise you - I won’t let go of your hand. Ever.”

A cacophony of glass cracks and metal tears. Engineering crumbles against a backdrop of smoky neon as we huddle together at the edge of semi-capsized yacht. The rain continues to drive against us, and I understand why we have to jump, but I hate that it’s the only option. My hand fits inside Remy’s and he squeezes it tightly, my pulse racing as we count down together from three, two, one...

As we hit the cool water I cry out, pain seers through my busted arm and makes the world seem dull and frayed around the edges. Everything under water is eerily dark and silence rings in my ears as I plunge beneath the surface. In those seconds it feels strangely peaceful. Serene. My mind, so busy moments before, is a blank. An instant sedation - each nerve numb: novocaine static. It’s not until I feel Remy jerk at my hand, still firmly clasped in his, that my brain reconnects. I kick my feet and follow Remy upwards, breaking the waves, choking and gasping for air.

Remy manoeuvres the life buoy between us, urging me to take hold, his hand cupping my cheek, pushing back my sodden hair, eyes raking over me, “Are you ok??”

I cough and splutter as I nod my head at him: I’m fine. Remy doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t argue with me either. He takes charge of getting us away from the yacht and I follow him blindly, feeling dazed, clinging to the buoy. Minutes later, the yacht goes under and the rapid movement of air and water sends pieces of debris swirling perilously to the surface. A watery scrapyard bobs around us.

I feel sick and dizzy and I’m so cold that my teeth chatter. Did anyone see the flare? Is help coming?

Remy repositions himself and wraps both arms around me as we float aimlessly together. I don’t know how long passes, but every so often he says my name and jolts me to keep me awake, and honestly, I’m trying, but it’s so hard to keep my eyes open. I tell him I’m trying, but I feel so weak. Remy says I’m in shock and I mumble, “That kiss was the best shock I ever had.”

I feel the rumble of his laugh roll through me, and then his lips meet mine again. Soft this time. Slow. Tender. His affection washing over me. I feebly smile and sigh into his kiss, his comforting warmth surrounds me. His touch is like a beacon in the bleak dark water, keeping me focussed, keeping me hanging on. The situation is desperate, but at least I’m with Remy.

As time swirls past us, I drift in and out of consciousness, pulled back a final time by Remy shaking me, “Listen!! Do you hear it??”

I startle and try my best to concentrate... Then I hear it, a horn blasting. Someone’s coming! They must have seen our distress signal. Remy’s swimming as fast as he can for both of us, moving our heavy, tired bodies in the direction of the sound until we finally see it. Remy yells until he’s hoarse, waving, whistling - anything to attract their attention. As the vessel approaches, I hear rough, deep voices yelling in Spanish but my head’s too fuzzy and it’s fast for me to understand. Remy is shouting back at them to take me on board first, and before I know what’s happening, I’m being lifted - strong hands grip under my arms as I cry out for Remy. They pay me no heed: saviours in oilskins wrap me in a foil blanket, checking me over, patting my cheek and trying to get me to focus. I struggle to evade them, “Where is Remy?? You have to help him!!”

They won’t let me stand up, won’t let me move! Agitated tears blur my vision - they need to get Remy out of the water. And then I hear his voice and relief consumes me. The fishermen part to let him reach me, he’s dripping all over their deck and he looks so pale, but he’s here and we’re together. He throws his arms around me, clutching me close, face buried in my neck. We cling together, exchanging sweet words, counting our blessings and relishing the feeling of each other. A tall, thin, official-looking man wraps a second blanket around Remy’s shoulders, talking into his ear. Remy nods to him and then suddenly we’re moving below deck, to somewhere warm and dry. My good arm is around Remy’s neck, the other gentleman walks slowly by my other side, hand hovering to support me as my legs wobble. They give me a towel for my hair and large hooded sweatshirt to change into - Remy helps me and the feeling of the clean, dry fabric against my skin makes me want to weep. I sit on a makeshift bed, exhausted and sore, my head buzzing. Remy hasn’t changed into the fresh clothes they’ve left for him yet, he shivers but refuses to let go of my hand - as though he believes I might evaporate if he does.

The sailors tell us the coastguard is on their way and it won’t be long til we’re back on dry land. I can’t wait for my feet to be firmly on the ground. Remy asks the sailors for something to drink, but they refuse telling us not until we’ve seen a doctor. But Remy insists and eventually they relent, giving us both a large brandy. I swallow it down, grimacing at the taste and the burning sensation in my throat. I lie on my side, cheek pressed against a soft cushion, still shivering. I cradle my swollen arm to my chest, rising and falling as I struggle to come to terms with everything that’s happened today. Remy’s finally in dry clothes, and has crawled into the space by my side on the bunk. It’s going to take a while to process all of this, but it feels so nice to lie here with Remy gazing into my eyes, bodies close, to see him smile at me. I feel drained, but calmer now I’m near to him. I reach out and trace his features, just as I did when we kissed on the yacht a short time before; his stubbled jaw, the curve of his cheek, the little dimple that appears when he grins at me. He catches my fingers in his, and presses gentle kisses to my knuckles, to my palm, his other hand smoothing out my damp hair, “I promised you I wouldn’t let you go. We’re safe now. Your Remy’s here, it’ll all be fine mon coeur. ”

—- 24 hours later —-

Leon pats my knee affectionately as I slide into the passenger seat, “Ready to go home?”

I nod and thank him, as Remy reaches over the headrest, squeezing Leon’s shoulder, “Merci, Leon. Thanks for coming back to drive us.”

Leon meets Remy’s eyes in the rear-view mirror, brows tight, looking perplexed, “It’s no problem. I still can’t believe Parker just... Left.”

Remy shrugs, “I can. Proves he was exactly the type of person we steal from.”

I sigh and scrub my hand across my face, “Except we didn’t steal anything from him, Remy. Everything’s gone. The film, lots of really amazing sculptures and artwork - all at the bottom of the sea...”

Remy shrugs, “But you and I aren’t at the bottom of the sea, and that’s what’s really important mon couer.”

And I know he’s right, but it just seems like such a terrible waste, that’s all. I suppose it might be better that no one has all of those treasures, than Parker hoarding them all and appreciating none of them. It was all just ‘stuff’ to him, for bragging rights, nothing more. Someone so shallow didn’t deserve any of-

Leon makes me jump, chuckling while reaching across me to clip my seatbelt in, exclaiming, “What’s this?!”

I glance down and see black Sharpie ink on my plaster cast. I lift my reset arm, and tilt my head to see it properly, there are two doodled little stick-people, one with my initials, one with ‘RC’, surrounded by sweet little hearts and the words ‘je t’aime, toujours ’ scrolled below. I feel my heart leap as I take it in. My cheeks start to colour as I stammer, “I don’t know- I- When-?”

Leon’s sporting a knowing smirk at Remy’s reflection, “To commemorate your fake marriage? Because there’s no need for you two to pretend anymore, right?”

I twist round in my seat to look at Remy who simply leans forward and cups my face in his palms. His eyes gaze into mine, face open and honest - no mask in sight. He meets my lips with a warm kiss as he confirms, “I’m done with pretending.”

#long fic #queen of thieves #remy chevalier #lovestruck #tw: drowning #tw: broken bones

18 notes · View notes

theradioghost · 4 years

Note

I don't know if you're still doing podcast recs, but if you are, I really like dramas, horror, sci-fi, honestly anything that gives you the feels (especially if it has lgbtq+ rep). I am not much of a comedy person though unfortunately. The only podcast I finished was tma and I really loved it.

The recommendations are always on tap here, whenever my askbox is open! You might wanna check out:

Archive 81, for a found-footage horror about mysterious archives of tapes full of encounters with otherworldly horror, dark rituals, cults, and a long-suffering archivist with the same name as the show creator who plays him, which despite all that could not possibly be more different from TMA and yet easily matches it as one of the best horror stories I have ever enjoyed. The sound design on this show is basically unparalleled – where TMA has fairly minimalist sound design, A81 goes all out. Quite a few lgbtqa+ folk also.

I Am In Eskew, for a surreal, Lynchian horror about the city of Eskew, where it’s always raining and the streets are never the same twice, as narrated by a man who is trapped there and the woman hired to find him. Take the most viscerally disturbing episodes of TMA as a baseline for how intense this show is, then imagine the Spiral built a city and invited all the other fears over for a party. Also right up there as one of my favorite horror things ever, and recently ended, so you can listen to the whole thing right now.

Within The Wires, for a found-footage scifi dystopia, telling stories from an alternate-history world. Three of the four seasons focus on lgbtqa+ leads, and the first season, a set of instructional meditation tapes provided to a prisoner in a shadowy government institution, is still some of my absolute favorite creative use of medium and framing device ever.

Kane and Feels, for a surreal noir-flavored urban fantasy/horror hybrid, about a magically-inclined academic (and sarcastic little bastard man) named Lucifer Kane and his demon-punching partner with a heart of gold, Brutus Feels. They share a flat in London, they bicker like an old married couple, and they fight supernatural evil. This show WILL confuse the hell out of you and you will enjoy every second of it.

Alice Isn’t Dead, for a weird Americana horror story about a long-distance truck driver, criss-crossing the US in search of her missing wife. Along the way she discovers that both of them have been drawn into a dangerous secret war that seethes in the empty and abandoned expanses of America, and that inhuman hunters have begun to follow her. Also finished! And as the title kind of gives away, the lesbians do not die!

Janus Descending, for a sci-fi horror miniseries about two scientists sent to survey the remains of a dead alien civilization on a distant planet, only to learn all too well why the original inhabitants have disappeared. You hear one character’s story in chronological order and the other in reverse, with their perspectives alternating, which is done in an incredibly clever way so that even technically knowing what will happen it still holds you in suspense right to the end. Also, it made me cry, a lot.

SAYER, for a sci-fi horror with a touch of dark comedy, and probably the single best use of the “evil AI” trope I have ever seen. Tells the story of employees of tech corporation Aerolith Dynamics living on Earth’s artificial second moon, Typhon, in the form of messages from their AI overseer SAYER. The first season is great, the second season is okay, and the third and fourth seasons are fucking amazing.

Tides, for a really interesting sci-fi about a lone biologist trapped on an alien world shaped by deadly tidal forces. It’s different from just about any other sci-fi I know, focusing more on the main character’s interactions with and observations of this strange new world, where she’s very aware that she is the alien invader. (Also I don’t think any of the characters are straight.)

Station to Station, for a thrilling sci-fi mystery where a group of scientists and spies on a research ship (the ocean kind) discover that the time-warping anomaly they’re studying might be causing people to vanish from existence. Corporate espionage and high-stakes heartbreak abound. (And once again I’m not sure anyone is straight.)

The Strange Case of Starship Iris, for Being Gay And Doing Crime IN SPACE! Or, decades after a war with an alien species leaves humanity decimated and under the control of totalitarian leaders, the lone survivor of a research mission joins up with a ragtag crew of rebels and smugglers to figure out why the very government she worked for tried to kill her, and to stop them from inciting a second war. 100% lgbtqa+ found family in space heist action and it’s glorious in every way.

Unwell, for the horror-ish Midwestern gothic story of a young woman who returns to her hometown to help her estranged mother after an injury, and discovers that there is something just a little bit wrong, not just with her mother, but with her mother’s house, and with the whole town. Subtle and creepy. The protagonist is a biracial lesbian, one of the other major characters is nonbinary, the cast in general is super diverse.

The Blood Crow Stories, for an lgbtqa+ focused horror anthology! The four seasons so far have been the stories of an ancient evil stalking the passengers of a WWI-era utopian cruise ship, a dark Western mystery about a group of allies trying to stop the mysterious killer known only as the Savior, a 911 operator in a cyberpunk dystopia who starts getting terrifying phone calls from demons, and strange and deadly goings-on at a film studio in the golden age of Hollywood. Everyone is Very Gay and anyone can die, especially in season 1.

The Tower, for a melancholy experimental miniseries about a young woman who decides she’s going to climb the mysterious Tower, from which no one has ever returned. Quite short and very, very good.

Palimpsest, for a creepy, heartbreakingly sad and yet incredibly beautiful anthology series. Season one is the story of a woman who suspects her new home is haunted, season two is a turn-of-the-century urban fantasy about a girl who falls in love with the imprisoned fae princess she’s been hired to care for, and season three is about a WWII codebreaker who begins seeing ghosts on the streets of London during the Blitz.

Mabel, for a part-horror, part-love story, the kind of faerie tale where you feel obliged to spell it with an E because these are the kind of faeries that are utterly inhuman, and beautiful, and dangerous. Anna, the new caretaker for an elderly woman, leaves messages for her client’s mysteriously absent granddaughter Mabel. An old house in Ireland has a life and desires of its own, few of them friendly. Two women fall in love and set out for vengeance against the King Under The Hill. Creepy, strange, and gorgeously poetic.

Ars Paradoxica, for a sci-fi time travel Cold War espionage thriller. Physicist Dr. Sally Grissom accidentally invents time travel, landing herself – and her invention – in the middle of a classified government experiment during WWII. As the course of history utterly changes around them, she and what friends she can find in this new time must struggle with the ethics of what they’ve done, and the choices they’ll have to make. An aroace protagonist, Black secret agents, time-traveling Latina assassins, Jewish lesbian mathematicians, two men of color whose love changes the course of time itself, this show says a big fuck you to the idea that there’s anything hard about having a diverse cast in a period piece and it will break your heart, multiple times. Also finished!

The Far Meridian, for a genre-bending, poetic, at-times-heartwarming-at-times-heartbreaking story about an agoraphobic woman named Peri who decides to begin a search for her long-missing brother Ace after the lighthouse in which she lives begins mysteriously transporting to different places every day. I can never forget an early review that described this show as “the audio equivalent of a Van Gogh painting.” Suffice to say it is beautiful, and fantastically written and put together.

What’s the Frequency?, for a Surrealist noir horror mystery set in mid-20th-century LA. I’ll be honest, I’m not sure I can really explain what goes on in this show, but it features a detective named Walter “Troubles” Mix and his partner Whitney searching for a missing writer. Meanwhile, the only thing that seems to be playing on the radio is that writer’s show Love, Honor, and Decay, which also seems to be driving people to murder. Fantastically weird, deliciously creepy.

Directive, for a short sci-fi miniseries about a man hired to spend a very, very long trip through space alone, which doesn’t seem all that sad until suddenly it hits you with Every Feel You’ve Ever Had, seriously I don’t want to spoil it so I won’t say anything more but listen to this and then never feel the same way about Tuesdays again.

Wolf 359, for honestly one of the best podcasts out there, containing all of the drama and feels, seriously this show ended over two years ago and I still cry literal tears thinking about it sometimes. It has definite comedic leanings, especially in the first season which reads a bit more like a wacky office comedy set in space, but it takes a sharp turn towards high stakes, action, and feelings and that roller coaster never stops. Take four clashing personalities alone on a constantly-malfunctioning space station eight light years from earth, add some mysterious transmissions from the depths of space, toss in some seriously Jonah-Magnus-level manipulative evil bosses, and get ready to cry.

or, may I suggest Midnight Radio? It’s a lesbian-romance-slash-ghost-story completed miniseries about a late-night 1950s radio host in a small town who begins receiving mysterious letters from one of her listeners, and I have been assured by many people and occasionally their all-caps tweets that it provides ample Feelings! (also I wrote it.)

#holy fuck when did this answer get that long?#anyway I uh. hope at least one of these sounds good to you!#podcast recs #bobbie recommends things #Anonymous #asks #my posts

265 notes · View notes

overthinkingkdrama · 4 years

Text

The Jona Awards: Kdrama 2019

Favorite Heroine

Jang Man Wol from Hotel Del Luna

***

There were other great heroines this year who were in much better dramas than HDL, but nobody who so completely defined and carried the whole drama as Man Wol. IU’s Ji An was my favorite of heroine, and this year feels like the natural continuation of her arc as a lead actress. It wouldn’t break my heart if IU occupied this space every year.

Runners Up: Cha Woo Kyung from Children of Nobody, Eun Dan Ho from Extraordinary You, Lee Eun Jung from Be Melodramatic, Kim Hye Ja from The Light In Your Eyes

Favorite Hero

Go Ji Seok from Catch the Ghost

***

For all the issues I ended up having with this drama in the last few weeks of its run, none of them had to do with Kim “Dimples” Sun Ho or the character of Ji Seok who hit the sweet spot of competent, righteous police officer and soft, affectionate boyfriend goals. His acting is on point. I really hope we see more lead roles from Kim Sun Ho in the future and his star keeps rising, rather than being forced to watch him descend back into second lead hell.

Runners Up: Hwi from My Country, Kang Ji Heon from Children of Nobody

Favorite OST

youtube

“Your Shampoo Scent in the Flowers” by Jang Beom June from Be Melodramatic

***

There was a lot of great music in dramas this year, but even if it’s kind of an expected pick I’ve just listened to this song so many times, and went so far as to write the lyrics out on my fridge so I could practice singing along. I love the original version best, but the ballad and actor sung versions are great too. It’s just a great tune and a real earworm.

Runners Up: “The Street You Left” by Liver and Gallbladder from When the Devil Calls Your Name; Basic the whole OST from When the Devil Calls Your Name actually; “WOW” by Mamamoo from Search: WWW

Guiltiest Pleasure

The Last Empress

***

I can’t believe this drama finished airing in February. It feels like a long time ago in another life that I watched this with my roommate, cringing and laughing myself sick all the way through. Maybe it’s because this drama feels like it was ripped from a different decade. Jang Na Ra seems to be in a different drama than everyone else, one that’s way better than this one. There’s something just so absurd and delicious about this drama. Good for watching with friends and booze on hand.

Bitterest Disappointment

Catch The Ghost

***

I became totally obsessed with this drama during the first half of the run. It didn’t get picked up by any of the major streaming sites I use and it didn’t have a big following, but I was all over social media trying to find content and conversation about this show. After the first 6 episodes or so I really thought this one was going to end up in my top 10 this year, if not my top 5. Alas, it didn’t turn out that way. This drama has major writing problems. The central couple and their arcs are solid and well acted by the leads. However, what passes for the murder mystery is so thin and convoluted, and it completely takes over the drama for much of the last two weeks, rendering episodes 14 and 15 nearly unwatchable. I still adore the lead couple and think they have amazing chemistry, overall they saved the drama for me. That’s why it didn’t make it onto my worst list. It’s really sad, though, to have to rate down a drama you really liked because major writing flaws meant it couldn’t stick the ending.

Runners Up: The Lies Within, Arthdal Chronicles, Memories of the Alhambra

Best Friendship

Eun Jung, Jin Joo and Han Joo in Be Melodramatic

***

Of all the dramas I watched this year, this one made me feel the best, made me feel genuine joy whenever I watched it. I found the three leads delightfully funny, inspiring, and relatable. Easily one of the best portrayals of female friendship this year, and my personal favorite.

Runner Up: Dong Baek and Hyang Mi in When the Camellia Blooms

Best Kiss

youtube

Ja In and Yi Kang in Nokdu Flower

***

There were a lot of good kisses this year, and many of them were much flashier and steamier than this one. But the reason this one stuck out in my mind was because of the conviction with which the actors pulled it off. It came at the perfect moment of tension for the characters and the story, and it’s just beautifully shot.

Runners Up: Park Bench Kiss from One Spring Night; 11th Hour Kiss from Catch the Ghost

Most Cathartically Makjang

SKY Castle

It took me a while to get around to this one, and I thought I might just skip it. I didn’t expect it to blow up as much as it did in Korea, nor to have such a positive reception in the West. When I did watch it I watched it fast, this drama is very addictive. Though the ending was a bit of an anticlimax in my opinion, I’m sorry I waited so long to try it. Also, as someone who loves a while variety of twisted psychos in her fiction, this drama has one of the most unique and fascinating villains I’ve run across.

Runner Up: The Last Empress

Villain I Most Loved To Hate

Nam Jeon from My Country

***

Not a lot to add here. Ahn Nae Sang is incredible, and he made me seriously contemplate stabbing a fictional character every time he was on screen.

Messiest Plot

When the Devil Calls Your Name

***

This drama had ambition, and I respect that. However, I don’t think it was well enough thought out or well enough executed to pull off what it was attempting. That’s a shame, because it could have been a really interesting Faust-type story if it could have remained a little more focused and really fleshed out Ha Rip and the central relationships rather than running hither and yon with all that confusing world building.

Runner Up: Memories of the Alhambra, Catch the Ghost

Please Make Another Drama Together

Jeon Yeo Bin and Seon Seok Ku

***

These two beautiful weirdos play off each other so very well in Be Melodramatic, even though their scenes were sparse and only started deep into the drama’s run, they left a huge impact on me. I could have easily watched a whole drama just about them, and I would love to see them work on a project together again someday.

Runners Up: Kim Sun Ho and Moon Geun Young, Seo Kang Joon and Kim Hyun Joo

Best Korean Movie

Parasite

***

I didn’t watch a lot of films this year, but I made it a point see this one. Probably the least controversial pick I could have possibly made. I’m glad this movie has blown up internationally, and the 6 Oscar nominations it got are so very deserved. I feel like I need to rewatch this 6 or 7 times to really appreciate it.

Best Screen Couple

Yang Se Jang and Woo Do Hwan in My Country

***

I agonized about this pick for a number of reasons. There were a lot of romantic couples that I felt for strongly this year, and I nearly gave this pick to one of them, but none of them quite had the gut-punch intensity of these two. Though this is technically not a canon pairing, this drama has a palpable underlying homoeroticism throughout. Emotionally and structurally this plays out like a lurid, tragic romance between these two and the leads carry it off so perfectly I find it impossible to believe that that’s unintentional.

Runners Up: Moon Geun Young and Kim Sun Ho in Catch The Ghost; Jung Hae In and Han Ji Min in One Spring Night

#year end reviews #jona awards #kdramas 2019 #slightly different categories than last year #hope you enjoyed it anyway #it was fun to make #happy 2020 everyone

37 notes · View notes

letterboxd · 4 years

Photo

Milking It.

Peerless American filmmaker Kelly Reichardt talks to Ella Kemp about her new film, First Cow, her favorite animal performers, and getting down to the nitty gritty of things.

We’re resharing this post to mark the arrival of ‘First Cow’ on VOD. The interview took place timed to the original release of the film in March, prior to the coronavirus pandemic.

With little fuss, Kelly Reichardt has been making some of the most tender and thoughtful films about American loneliness for decades. The quietly acclaimed director, writer and film lecturer began her feature career in 1994 with River of Grass, a runaway story of a couple caught in a tragedy, and now celebrates her ten-title milestone as a filmmaker by gifting the world the peaceful and moving portrait of another pair of nomads in First Cow.

Reichardt has earned her reputation as one of the most impressive and reliable American filmmakers with knockouts including the stripped-back heartbreaker, Wendy and Lucy and the stunning portrait of feminine isolation and frustration, Certain Women. There is always a common thread—and there is often Michelle Williams—but then, also, each film is a rich, vivid new tale that feels like it belongs to you and no one else.

Based on the 2004 novel The Half-Life, written by Reichardt’s frequent collaborator Jonathan Raymond, First Cow has been coming together for over a decade, and feels like the culmination of Reichardt’s finest skills and sensibilities. The story follows Cookie (John Magaro) a taciturn cook travelling alongside fur trappers in 19th-century Oregon, whose ambition comes into focus when he meets King Lu (Orion Lee), a Chinese immigrant. Together, they develop not only an essential friendship, but also a delicious business model, which involves slyly stealing milk from a cow owned by a wealthy landowner. It’s a film of subtle gestures, of deeply tender attentions, with a sharp eye across endless landscapes, and already has devoted fans on Letterboxd.

“I have never felt so well cared for by a movie,” writes Liz Shannon Miller in her Letterboxd review. Zachary Panozzo appreciates the way the film tackles American capitalism as a system, writing that “First Cow, in the most pleasant and honest way, calls bullshit on that.” And Phil Wiedenheft observes: “It feels—like all her work—so simple and elegant that it’s a wonder how [many] histrionics so many other filmmakers have to perform to end up saying less.” And, everyone wants those butter-honey biscuits.

First Cow premiered at the Telluride Film Festival last year and went on to the New York Film Festival shortly after, before impressing European audiences last month in competition at the 2020 Berlinale.

Sharing memories of the writers who shaped her movies, the first film that proved that cinema could show a different view of the world, and the greatest animal performers of all time, Reichardt chats with our London correspondent, Ella Kemp.

Orion Lee as King-Lu and John Magaro as Cookie in ‘First Cow’.

How did you choose where to strip The Half-Life back, to get to a film-sized story? Kelly Reichardt: The novel goes through four decades and they sail to China, so it was way outside the realm of what we could do. It also has a contemporary thread, and that just became a prologue and we settled into the 1820s. We found the main mechanism, the cow, which doesn’t exist in the novel—in the novel they’re selling the oil from beaver glands to China. So once we had the narrative element of the cow, we could work our own way into the script while still using a lot of the themes and stories from John’s novel. And the other thing John did, which was great, was to combine two characters from the novel. King Lu is actually a fusion of two people in the novel.

On paper, First Cow might seem like a straightforward Western but in practice it feels much softer. How do you see it in terms of genre? I didn’t feel any limits by a genre, and I wasn’t really thinking of it as a ‘big W’ Western. I actually see it as a heist film if anything. When I made Meek’s Cutoff, we were dealing with bonnets and wagons and the desert and people crossing West. That felt like having to deal with the whole history of the Western while we set up the camera, but I didn’t feel like that at all here. I just felt like we were telling an intimate story about two people. We were in the minutiae of trying to find out as much as we could about the Multnomah tribes that lived on the Columbia river, and we had fashioned Toby Jones’ character—the Chief Factor—after John McLoughlin in the [retail business group] Hudson’s Bay Company. It was more about researching the beaver trade and definitely taking artistic liberties, while also really trying to stay pretty true in the details to the period. It was such a little world we were building, I didn’t really have the feeling that I was confined in a genre at all.

Kelly Reichardt. / Photo by Jens Koch courtesy Berlinale

You work with outdoor landscapes a lot, particularly in Oregon. There are similarities with Meek’s Cutoff but also with Wendy and Lucy—the nomadic loners, the animal companion… What keeps you coming back to these places? I’ve actually worked outdoors much more than I’ve worked indoors. It’s really the indoors which was really fun to shoot here, because with Tony Gasparro, who was the production designer on First Cow, he and I were able to design these cottages and interiors and build around what [we] wanted to shoot, which is really great and a first for me. But outdoors is where I’m usually mostly shooting. It was recognizable to me at different points in the film that we were recalling Old Joy and Meek’s Cutoff and Wendy and Lucy. It was like the ‘Best Of’ of my movies.

There were some echoes of the other films for sure. It’s interesting to think how that’s happened. Because really, John’s novel The Half-Life is the first thing I ever read of his, and I wrote to him asking if he had any short stories—because I knew the novel was too big back in 2004—and he sent me Old Joy, the short story, which became the first thing we did together. But in between all that we’d been musing together for a decade, whenever there’s a lull in whatever we’re working on, we’d ask ourselves how we could do The Half-Life. It’s been cooking on the back burner for a long time, so maybe it’s bled into other films along the way.

Would you ever consider working in the city? I’m definitely ready to do something contemporary. It could be anything. I will just say on the practical side I do enjoy going away with a crew and feeling somewhat off the grid while making a film, separate from everyday life. When you say a city, I immediately think of New York. Never say never, but it’s just the practicalities of it… even if you can hire the crew you want, it doesn’t jump out at me as the most inviting thing.

In First Cow, your central characters are two men. Did you encounter different things in delving into male psychology after shaping so many rich female characters across your filmography? I don’t think of it in terms of gender, more in terms of personality. Maile Meloy’s short stories that I was working off for Certain Women focus on isolated women, a theme in some of her writing. But it’s really more about getting down to details on all levels of filmmaking for me. You have at some point the bigger picture, but I like to get down to the nitty gritty of things, in the story I’m telling and the people I’m making the story about and not worry about what gender anybody is. It’s more about who are these characters. A big draw to The Half-Life was that the Cookie character was so great. King Lu was totally fascinating as well. So it was more about keeping track of what they wanted, what they were to each other in the minute-by-minute, more even than in the big sense.

Lucy, the very good girl in Reichardt’s ‘Old Joy’.

Evie, the titular cow, is a terrific performer. What is your favorite animal performance on film? Oh god… Lucy! My own beautiful dog in Old Joy (2006), actually. No, of course there’s others. The animal that probably made the biggest impression on me as a kid was in Mike Nichols’ The Day of the Dolphin (1973). That dolphin was everything. You’re always afraid the animals are going to come to some demise. There’s [Vincente] Minnelli’s Home from the Hill (1960), which has the tragic hunting dog there. But it’s such a beautiful film. Whenever a film is named after the animal, you know it’s bad news for the animal.

Do you have a favorite film to teach your students? I’ve been teaching since 1998 so I wouldn’t call anything a favorite, but one film I’ve used in a sound class a lot is the opening scene of McCabe & Mrs. Miller (1971), where we’re just listening to the sound, and we turn off the image and the students describe the space. And so by doing that over the years I have René Auberjonois’ voice so firmly planted in my head, as he’s the bartender in the opening scene. I had the great pleasure of working with him on Certain Women and we wrote a little part for him [in] First Cow where he’s the cranky guy in town with the raven.

What is the film that made you want to be a filmmaker? When I was a kid and I saw Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? (1962) on TV, and there was a scene on a beach at night that happened in black and white. It was the first time I’d seen the ocean in black and white—I grew up in Miami. It was the first time I became aware that people could do something as far as film went. I think when I was in art school, Stranger Than Paradise (1984) came out, and it probably opened the door to a lot of people’s minds—like a lot of people who saw the first band who played their own music and not cover tunes, like, ‘maybe I could tell my own story on film’. It made something seem possible, for myself anyway.

‘First Cow’ is in US cinemas now. An international release is yet to be confirmed. Kelly Reichardt’s films ‘First Cow’ and ‘Wendy and Lucy’ feature in Letterboxd’s Official Top 100 Narrative Feature Films Directed by Women.

#kelly reichardt #first cow #american film #american cinema #capitalism #animal performers #hollywood animals #female filmmakers #directed by women #52 films by women #female director #letterboxd #interview #q&a

6 notes · View notes

sabraeal · 5 years

Text

The Call Which Carries You Home

He Who Fell in the Sea | Previous Selkie AU

Obiyuki Week, Day 3 Gluttony | Charity

He’s not used to the lights in Lyrias, not anymore.

Sereg may be shoved into the furthest, most godforsaken corner of the country, but it was a military installation, funded for by the crown and kept in the best condition. It would not do for the men on its walls to think more of the contents of their stomach or the lumps of their mattress than what lurked in the dark. It has been a decade since Clarines went to war, but no one has forgotten what they learned. A single flinch could change the tide, when brother fought against brother.

The lamps were always full at the knights’ circle, each sconce blaring like its own sun, every hall lit up like daybreak. But here in Lyrias --

Well, most scholars don’t want to spent their budget on things like candles and lamp oil, not when they only use the dorms for sleeping.

Miss’s back treads before him in the dim, the black of her cloak making her little more than a shape glimpsed through dark waters, a swimmer lost in the fog. Each time they pass a lamp, her gold stitching glitters, outlining the proud set of her shoulders with St. Elmo’s fire. She cuts through shadow as a hull cuts through a swell, never a moment’s hesitation.

He ducks his chin, smothering a smile. Of course. No matter what tricks his eyes play on him, Miss has never truly been adrift in her life. She’s got a compass where her heart should be, and it always points her home.

Welcome home.

A breath rasps out of his lungs, ugly and awkward; a seal’s groan from a human throat. Goosebumps pimple his arms, his legs, and, ah, even his scalp tingles, so tight he’s sure his hair must be on end, trying to figure out which way is up.

If Miss hears, she doesn’t give a sign of it, just forging on through each twist and turn. The slope of her shoulders before him is as familiar to Obi as the ache in his chest, as the beat of his heart. He’d been half-lost at the castle, each step taken on the wrong foot, but he’s hardly been back an hour and already he’s back on course. It’s so much easier to find himself when his north star is just above him.

Welcome home.

She’s right before him and his palms itch, his pelt growing heavier by the step. Obi’s not supposed to touch her, not supposed to get in the way, but he’d seen her in the street, had met eyes with her through the press, raised his hand and --

And he had not known until her gaze hooked his, until her eyes lit with recognition and she took that first trembling step toward him, how long he had been holding his breath. Each one at Sereg had been like gulping down seawater, drowning so slowly he hadn’t even noticed, hadn’t even felt it until he looked at her and took his first pull of air in weeks.

Welcome home.

She had said that to him, to him. His wrists still burn where she held them, and he cannot forget the way his hands felt wrapped around her hips, how light she had felt in his arms --

He shakes his head. Ah, he thought he might be used to her touch by now, but -- her hands in his fur and her hands on his skin are two different things, and though it was muted through the leather of his gloves he still -- still--

He wants her to do it again.

The castle’s sconces set her hair ablaze each time they pass, and he’s sharply reminded of the last time he walked these halls. He had been alone then, dressed for bed, breathless, and she -- she had answered her door the same way, his pelt clutched to her chest.

She couldn’t have known what she’d done, what he’d done, but she’d looked up at him with dark eyes and --

He shouldn’t think about that. The guilt had practically eaten him alive when he was with Master, those thoughts creeping up on him in the silent moments between. They’d snuck in while he traveled to Sereg, while he’d waited for Master to make his decision, while he’d laid in bed with physicians fussing over him, telling him he’d best stay there another week.

Obi had tried, at least. But idle hands did him no good when he had thoughts like these waiting to overtake him.

Miss might scold, but it was worth it to be free of -- of that. Save that here they are again with her right here before him and --

“Your hair got long.”

He blinks, but Miss is already pinking up quite nicely, her hand hesitating over her door. “I mean, longer.”

This, he can deal with. His teeth peek between his lips. “It’s only been a month, Miss.”

“I know that!” She fusses with the knob, flush creeping up the pale skin of her neck. “I just...noticed it. Now.”

He hums, eyeing where her own hair falls on her back. “Yours looks longer too.”

Her hand flies up, fingering the ends of her hair, and though her back is to him, he sees her cheeks round in a soft grin. “It’s only been a month.”

“Well,” he murmurs, far too close, the spice of her soap tickling his nose. “I only just noticed.”

“Go sit on the bed,” she tells him, opening the door. “I still want to take a look at that cut.”

“It’s all healed,” he protests, even though his side tweaks the moment he lifts his arm to fuss at the buckle for his cape. “Clean bill of health.”

Mostly.

The looks she turns on him is dubious. “That’s not what Mitsuhide’s letter said.”

He should have known Sir would tattle. “Well, Sir is not exactly the best judge of...”

Words desert him as he slips tongue though buckle and allows his pelt to slither down his side, and Miss --

Her gaze follows it, heavy and dark, until it hits the mattress with a slump. Even when he starts in on his coat, her eyes are on it, breath coming out in a labored rasp, body unnaturally still. If he didn’t know any better --

Well, he’d say she was holding back. That the look in her eye might be something like hunger.

She blinks, dragging her gaze back up to his, and flushes under the question in it.

“You should...” She takes a moment to shut the door behind her, and once again she hesitates before turning back, before taking a few more fluttering steps into the room. “You should lay down. It’s on your side, isn’t it?”

He lets out a huff, annoyed, but drops himself to the mattress, rucking up his shirt until it’s up under his armpits. “I should have known he’d tell you.”

Miss hums, buzzing in close, fingers brushing over his skin. His breath catches, tingling where her fingers press, but if she notices, she gives no sign. “It wasn’t him.”

A laugh barks out of him, incredulous. “Then who--?”

“You did.” She flicks him out of those sly glances that makes him want to kiss her. “Outside. Remember? A-tt-tt, my side!”

She’s far too proud of herself. “I don’t sound like that.”

“Mm.” Obi knows every flavor of Miss’s mms, and this one is distinctly not an agreement. “You’ve taken good care of this.”

Praise cuts straight through his annoyance, and he can’t help but preen. “I did promise Miss I would be more careful.”

Her mouth quirks, just the slightest bit. “And I promised I would never let you scar.”

Her hand presses softly to the wound -- one that almost certainly will leave a mark -- and lets out a sigh. Against his skin, he could swear he feels her heart beating its swift tattoo.

“Is it different now?”

He can only stare at her, unsure of what she could possibly mean.

“You hair,” she clarifies. “Is it different, now that you’ve let it grown out?”

It’s a whole new world. He’d thought himself sensitive before, but now colors are brighter, smells are sharper, and he moves as if the world has gained another dimension.

“I don’t need so much spice in my food,” he says instead, because anything else feels too intimate with so little space between them. “And I don’t get myself stuck in tight places.”

She lets out a grunt of a giggle. “You never did before.”

“Ah, didn’t I?” He waggles his eyebrows. “Or did you never catch me?”

Miss smiles, but suddenly her touch is gone, only a memory of her warmth lingering against his skin.

“All right,” she sighs, taking a step back. “You can get up, if you like.”

He doesn’t like; he wants to stay right here, breathing in the soft lilac of her sheets, but Obi also knows a dismissal when he hears one. Doubtlessly Miss has a hundred other things she would rather be taking care of than him.

He levers himself up, rolling the film of his shirt back over his stomach. Next to him, his pelt lays crumpled on the bed, smooth and sable as always, and --

He could keep it. He could wear it every day, a choice he continues to not make, hold his own reins --

“This is yours.” His hand is already outstretched, fur spilling over his fingers, holding it like a small child might hold out a favorite blanket. Miss stares down at it with eyes so wide he can almost see the whites around them.

She won’t take it, he knows. Miss has never liked keeping it away, never liked forcing him to stay when he longed to be elsewhere, longed to be home -- but his home is right here, and if he doesn’t give it to her, if he keeps it and catches the song of his sisters --

Sparks shoot up his spine, his knees nearly going out from underneath him as her hand closes around the edge of it and rubs. A cry tears from his chest, hungry and inhuman, and she can’t possibly have missed it, can’t possibly --

“Obi?” She’s never said his name this way, so thoughtful and yet...more. “You seem tense.”

A breath raggedly escapes from his lungs, and -- what can he say, when all his world had melted away to where her fingers idly trace patterns into his fur, like nails scraping down his back in the most delicious way.

“Would you like me to help you?”

He’s so turned around that he almost thinks she’s offering something else, something Master’s Mistress has no right offering, but then he remembers -- relaxation. Just what they have always done, her hands on his pelt and him laying near, feeling safe in her company.

Or near enough, save for that last time, the night before he left--

“Yes,” he chokes around the knot in his throat. “That...yes.”

It’s been a month, he knows, but somehow it’s too long; the moment she kneels on the bed, pelt spread over her knees and not even touching, he just -- whines. Like a mutt who’s seen a lamb chop through a window.

Miss doesn’t raise her gaze, but her eyelashes flutter and her mouth curves, and he knows she heard.

“You should sit,” she says, and there is far too much amusement her tone for his comfort. “I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”

He sniffs disdainfully, and for the entire circuitous route he takes to her bed, he refuses to look at her. In a fair and just world, she would be seared by his scathing disdain, be entirely repentant --

Instead, her shoulders shake. She’s laughing.

With a huff, he settles himself by the footboard, legs hanging off so the balls of his feet still brace on the floor. It’s a safe distance; any closer and he might smell her, might touch her -- and with the memories of before haunting him, with the way she welcomed him home --

He’s already reading far too much into this. She’s just -- offering comfort, as she always has.

Neither of them speak, but when his weight dips the mattress her lips curl at the corner, and her palms stretch flat on the fur.

He sighs into it, the phantom pressure of her hands warm over the curve of his back. When she moves them, stroking slowly, surely, his head tips back. He’s never felt a touch like hers; every other hand to hold his pelt has set his teeth on edge, but with Miss it’s nearly a massage, working out all the tension beneath his skin.

Perhaps this is the way of it, for his kind. He was stolen from his sisters too young to know, and now --

Well, if he ever saw them again, he certainly wouldn’t let them touch him like this.

Her hands are halfway down his spine when she laughs, and he jolts, nearly topping over. He’d been half asleep, listing where he sat.

“Obi.” Her voice slips over him like her hands do, too warm and inviting. “Why don’t you lay down?”

She pats her lap -- tap tap, just over his kidneys -- and it’s not the first time she’s offered, nor even the first time he’s taken, but --

It feels dangerous, with all these thoughts rattling around in his head, making the air feel heavy with more. Still, it doesn’t stop him; she pats her lap again and he just tips, settling with his head pillowed by her thigh, pelt soft under his cheek.

She starts again, running a hand right along his shoulders, making him sink further into her, face nuzzled right against her belly. It’s better like this, with both his skin and her scent so close to him, more lulling, and she’s barely stroked him twice before he’s drifting again, the siren call of sleep luring him under --

Until he jolts, fingers clutching at the duvet, heart pounding in his chest. Her hands hover, uncertain, as he gasps hard against her belly.

“O-Obi?” Her voice is small, worried. “Did I--?”

“No. Just -- my hair,” he manages. “It’s..sensitive.”

An understatement. If whiskers feel like this naturally, then he’s sorry for every cat he’s ever touched.

“Oh.” It’s hardly more than a breath, her palms settling flat against her thighs. Their phantom warmth presses against his back, and -- that helps, at least, even if he’s still strung tight like a bowstring. “Hm.”

That’s his only warning -- one thoughtful hum, and then her fingers drag deep furrows into his pelt, down and down, towards her knees and --

He arches off the bed with a gasp, writhing as he feels the warmth of her hands around the base of his cock. His breath rasps out of him, humid where he’s pressed himself into her belly, and it takes everything in him not to grind his hips into the mattress, not to get some relief from the way her fingers have sunk into his belly fur --

Her hand lifts, burying itself deep into his hair, nails scraping his scalp, and --

Her grabs her, fingers wrapped tight, purposeful around her wrist.

“Miss,” he rumbles, peeking up at her with a gaze he knows says too much. “Either keep your hand on the pelt, or lay on it.”

Her jaw drops as wide as her eyes, and for a moment he thinks he’s made his point, that she will balk and retreat to the safer boundaries of touch, but -- but --

Haah, no. It’s not in his Miss to retreat. Her lip takes a determined just, and with barely a moment of hesitation she plunges both hands deep into his hair, every nerve in him alight as he bolts upright, meaning to close the space between them as she spills back --

“Obi!”

He leaps back just before the door bursts open, Suzu collapsing breathlessly over his knees. He must have run all the way here. It would have been touching, if, well...

“You’re alive!” Suzu cries out between gasps, hand pressed to his chest.

“I am,” Obi agrees, maybe a little terse.

“What did you expect? I told you I saw him,” Yuzuri complains, tucking herself between Suzu’s arm and the door. Her bright gaze fixes on him, smile curling her mouth, and she opens her mouth --

Only for her eyes to flick to Miss, and then to him, and then to the entire room between them.

“Well, you’ve seen him, Suzu,” she says brusquely, practically shoving him out the door. “You can work easy now.

If anything, this only makes him struggle harder. “But--”

“I think Obi and Shirayuki have things to talk about. Important things!” she says, with the sort of strident, pointed tone that implies he knows exactly what those things are, and he better not ruin it. If only she knew just how well Obi had done that, all on his.

“But--!”

Yuzuri shoves him the last little bit out of the room. “Good, glad we understand each other.” She leans back, smile bright and too-knowing. “Glad to see you’re alive, Obi.”

“Thanks,” he grits out, but it’s covered by the slam of the door. And then once again, he’s alone with Miss.

Only it’s different this time. Tense.

“Obi--”

“Master is looking forward to seeing you,” he says, because he’s never met a good thing he deserved.

“Oh.” her face crumples with confusions. “Did he say that?”

Obi hesitates, before forcing the smile on his face. “He doesn’t need to, Miss.”

Her mouth pulls thin. “He might try, once in a while.”

It’s dangerous being here when she says things like that. Hearing his own thoughts from her lips is too intoxicating.

“I should get going.” The words come out far to breathless. “If you don’t think I’m going to die, His Lordship will want to hear my report.”

“Oh.” She steps back from him. “Right. Of course. Yes. You look..fine. Very healthy.”

“Yeah, I feel it,” he lies. “I should--”

“Take this.” Miss’s arm thrusts out, pelt dangling from the end of it. “You should really...keep it.”

He should, he should.

“No.” His hand curls over hers, clasping it tighter around his pelt. “It’s where it’s supposed to be.”

He can’t bring himself to say what he means, but she pulls it to her chest, looking up at him with such bright eyes, that he wonders if she can hear it.

Home.

27 notes · View notes

hellzyeahthewebwieldingavenger · 5 years

Text

Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (semi-stream of consciousness) Thoughts Part 2: A Superior Spider-Miles

Lets talk about how this movie handled its primary protagonist, Miles Morales. SPOILERS ahead.

Look I could just go on for ages listing off specific examples of how this movie is hilarious, action packed, emotional and so on, but I think you can take that as a given. It’s all round great okay, so let’s maybe talk in more specifics.

Miles Morales is of course the primary character in this movie.

As I began to get at in the last part of my thoughts on this film, there is a distinction to be made between the primary protagonist and the sole or main protagonist.

In Spider-Man movies of the past there has been one main character, one protagonist, one lead character, Peter Parker of course.

This movie doesn’t simply switch that focus to Miles because that would mean the other characters who get play are supporting players in Miles’ story and that is not the case.

This is an ensemble/team story with Miles as the central focus of that team.

I suppose the most apt comparison would be that in Lord of the Rings Frodo might be the primary character but Sam, Merry, Pippin, Aragorn, Legolas, Gandalf and Gimli are more than merely supporting players in the story, they are vital and integral protagonists along with Frodo, even if the story belongs more to Frodo than to them.

So Miles in this movie = Frodo, even right down to having his mentor die and his uncle be semi-nasty.

As such most of the characters featured in the movie are filtered through the lens of serving the story wherein Miles is the heart and soul of the piece.

We will discuss the other characters a bit more in a future instalment, but broadly speaking their roles in relation to Miles is to serve as a barometer of how far he has to come to truly become a Spider-Hero among their ranks. This is after all his origin story and unlike the Maguire or Garfield Spider-Men he lacks the benefit of a montage sequence or time skip to herald in his experience.

The film follows his origin very linearly across the space of what at best is a few weeks thus we truly see Miles clear progression from unable to control even his wall-crawling to fully fledged Spider-Hero. Albeit one who still has much to learn and stumbles from time to time.

It is a beautifully executed arc that allows Miles to far more earnestly earn the mantle of Spider-Man compared to his comic book counterpart.

Indeed this version of Miles and his origin is for the most part grossly superior to how Bendis did it in the Ultimate Universe.

The singular drawback of the film’s take on Miles’ origin is that it is comparatively less grounded than Miles’ in the comics due to the presence of parallel universes, global/universal stakes and things of that nature.

However the film perfectly justifies this as a more faithful rendition of Miles origin simply would never have worked.

I’ve said countless times before in defiance of those foolishly insisting that Miles Morales should have been the Spider-Man of the MCU that this was utterly impractical.

And one the biggest reasons for this is the fact that Miles simply doesn’t have enough source material upon which to base a trilogy of movies.

This is owed to his being created as recently as 2011, his adventures being frequently derailed by crossovers and tie-ins with other characters (thus defeating the purpose of stories focussed upon him) and his stories playing out under the ‘written for the trade’ format. This means that whilst there were around 24 stories about Peter Parker in the first 28 issues of ASM’s publication (excluding annuals, but including his entire high school career) there was in truth just 7 in Miles’ first 28 issues. And not all 7 of those would have been useable in a film adaptation.

In fact if we consider just the first two (and most critically acclaimed) live action Spider-Man movies we can see that they combined elements from across Spider-Man’s then 40+ year history.

Spider-Man one combined elements of Spider-Man’s origin, the retelling of said origin from Ultimate Spider-Man, The Death of Gwen Stacy, ASM Annual #39, ASM Annual #9 and multiple other smaller elements from Spider-Man’s wider history, such as his job at the Bugle, his relationship with Mary Jane, etc.

Spider-Man 2, whilst chiefly based upon Spider-Man No More (ASM #50), also combined elements from ASM Annual #1, the broader concept of Doctor Octopus from his decades of history, ASM volume 2 #38 and other things I’m sure I am forgetting.

Again, not every Spider-Man story unto itself was particularly friendly towards being adapted into film but such a rich history made cherry picking workable elements to form a movie possible.

Miles possessing a shorter, more linear and decompressed history makes this much harder. Compounding the problem was that in order to introduce Miles to wider audiences necessitated doing an origin movie for him.

In 2018 superhero origin movies are something of a touchy subject in the wake of in excess of two decades worth of them, and for there to have been a less that 20 years a THIRD film presenting a story about a scientifically gifted NYC dwelling teenager to be bitten by a spider, gain super powers that he does not immediately use altruistically, thus generating guilt that propels him to wear web spandex and become a hero was never ever going to fly.

Unfortunately Miles’ origin is one of his relatively few reliably ‘filmic’ storylines. In fact this movie combines his origin story with elements from the second Miles story arc featuring his uncle the Prowler as well as the Spider-Men mini-series and the crossover between him and Spider-Gwen.

Oh and the Spider-Verse crossover (though in truth I think the movie owes more to the grand finale of the 1994 Spidey cartoon).

Oh and technically elements from every individual Spider-Hero they adapt into the movie, so Spider-Man: Noir, Spider-Gwen’s SP//dr’s origins from Edge of Spider-Verse (which were both anthology one shots) and Marvel Tails (Spider-Ham’s origin). And let’s not forget tiny elements from Peter’s history, including his marriage to Mary Jane, the Death of Spider-Man arc from Ultimate, etc.

There is after all a reason this movie isn’t called ‘Spider-Man: Miles Morales’ or something like that and rather ‘Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse’.

Sony Animation wisely realized they had to /out of necessity had to overlay Miles’ origin with a whole other story and then emebellish both by cherry picking from the wider Spider-Man franchise.

Because Miles on his own, especially if you just did his origin, wasn’t going to be enough.

What is to be praised though is how organically the film makers weave (no pun intended) the different storylines together and improve upon the source material.

Much like Captain America: Civil War and Spider-Man PS4 before them, they recognized certain weaknesses in said source material (Miles’ origin and the Spider-Verse crossover) and turned the subpar lemons they got into delicious lemonade.

In this movie Miles has only recently begun attending the Brooklyn Visions Academy and the film first and foremost focuses upon his home life and as a consequence this mitigates Miles attendance to a school the likes of which most teens do not attend, making him more relatable.

Also appreciated is the de-emphasis upon his being ‘just a good kid’ and science skills.

In the comics these are aspects that respectively undermine the idea of him as a flawed hero and make him too similar to Peter Parker.

Peter Parker was founded upon the basis of being both a hero with problems and an imperfect person. When Miles uses his powers to risk his life and save people from a burning building within a few days of getting them, it makes him come across as a good, nice and admirable person for sure. But that’s not exactly the right philosophical approach to Spider-Man. Peter Parker was selfish and irresponsible with his abilities and nursed pent up frustration when he got his powers. He was a good person but far from immediately altruistic.

Miles in this movie has an artistic side and employs that to make stylized stickers he slaps around the city and at times engaging in graffiti. He also finds studying an incredible burden and purposefully tries to fail his classes in order to get kicked out of the school he feels is elitist and doesn’t fit in at.

Miles is a million miles away from a criminal or a vandal of course, but these minor bits of misbehaviour do much to sell the idea of Miles as more well rounded and flawed like Peter was, but in a very different way. Similarly his artistic side gives him a unique interest distinct from Peter’s passion for science, whilst the movie still sells him as intelligent (but not the science whiz Peter is). His artistic side is also used beautifully in the third act of the movie where he uses spray cans to customize one of Spider-Man’s classic red and blue costumes and turn it into his black and red comic book costume, or at least a version close enough to it.

As far as making Miles a legacy character is concerned this is perhaps an absolute stroke of genius.

The symbolism of it is just delicious isn’t it?

Miles the inheritor of Peter’s legacy literally wears Peter’s suit then uses his own special skills to make it his own. He does however leave the fingers of the gloves unchanged thus the costume incorporates a clear visual signifier that beneath it lies the original costume, thus the original Spider-Man will always be beneath Miles helping to be the basis of who he is as a hero.

The transformation is made all the more compelling when we consider that there is a clear visual progression for Miles throughout the movie.

In the first third or so of the movie he is simply in his regular clothes. Then in the second third when he adopts a cheap high street Spider-Man costume. Then in the last act he adopts his comic book suit covered up by street clothes as the posters for the movie make clear, before shedding the clothes and unveiling the finished costume.

Its one of those things you just feel frustrated wasn’t in the original comics version of the story

Miles goes from a normal person, to someone trying and failing to be Spider-Man, to being someone ready to take the leap and become Spider-Man (symbolized by his wearing his costume under normal clothes, in other words infusing Spider-Man as part of his normal life) to finally BEING his own Spider-Man.

This new approach to the costume isn’t just superior to how the comics handled it, it highlights part of the problem with how Miles adopted his suit in the comics. There Miles was simply handed his costume courtesy of Nick Fury. This again undermined Miles as a successor Spider-Man because it meant Miles, unlike Peter didn’t make his own suit (or at least stylize it himself, like Ultimate Peter did) and thus undermined his sense of independence.

In this version of the story Miles might not have literally sewn together his costume but he also wasn’t just handed the suit. He actively seeks it out and is permitted to have it by Aunt May before taking it and literally making it his own. This accentuates the idea of Miles as his own man as much as it does him being a legacy to Peter.

Speaking of which the movie also alters Miles relation to Peter’s death. In the original story Miles saves a family from a burning building then resolves to never use his powers again. Awhile after he learns Spider-Man has been shot as part of his final battle with the Green Goblin and heads over to the battlefield just in time to witness Peter’s death. He blames himself for not using his abilities thinking that if he had this would have led to him befriending Peter and being in the loop, allowing him to help him when the time came. His BFF Ganke dissuades him of this notion. Whilst Miles can still be interpreted to hold guilt over Peter’s death his role in it is far more tenuous than Peter’s role in Uncle Ben’s death and the personal pain Miles feels is somewhat questionable.

But in the movie, Miles is present for the final battle as it happens, he interacts with Spider-Man. First by him saving Miles, then promising to train him and finally imploring him to destroy the Kingpin’s machine to ensure the city’s safety. Miles considers helping Spider-Man but is too scared to do so, he witnesses Kingpin murdering him and fails to destroy the machine as he promised. Then he goes home somewhat traumatized and very clearly deeply upset by Spider-Man’s death.

This makes Peter’s death cut much, much deeper for Miles than in the comics, adds a layer of guilt to him and drive to become Spider-Man and truly save the city so he can live up to the promise he made to a dying hero. So again, like a perfect legacy character, the movie renders Miles similar yet different to the original hero.

Other improvements made to Miles himself includes the way the movie handled his powers. Rather than having Miles easily have access to all his abilities the film unveils them gradually and doesn’t give him particular control over them.

Whilst by the end of the movie Miles is mostly fighting and web-swinging like a pro, he spends most of the movie bumbling around. Usually I hate this in Spider-Man media but here it works. Unlike in Homecoming where we are expected to believe Spider-Man after nearly a year is still a jackass, Miles has literally only had his powers for maybe a few weeks at the absolute most has had little chance to practice or refine them (even comic book Peter did a little bit via his show business career). Moreover whilst most versions of Peter make him relatively competent very quickly (presumably a biproduct of his scientific acumen) having Miles NOT be like that again works for his character.

Having Miles be less competent than Peter was off the bat again makes him more distinct than Peter and frankly is a better way to handle most legacy characters. When a legacy character is actively removed so as to allow for a replacement to fill their role one of the worst things you can do is have the replacement measure up to the skill of their predecessor particularly quickly. You want them to earn that role and begin with a major skill gap that they gradually improve upon. Case in point in the excellent Batman Beyond TV show, Terry McGinnis did not in his first season have anywhere near the competency of Bruce Wayne in his prime. He had talent but it grew over time.

In the comics whilst one could argue Miles either wasn’t truly as skilled as Peter was in the same amount of time (or if he was then it was sufficiently justified) a lot of that went out the window when you factor in his invisibility and venom blast powers.

These particular abilities opened up two problems with Miles character. They both over powered him or alternatively made him look foolish.

With the Venom Blast alone Miles could deliver extremely potent finishing moves to various opponents, even electrically powered ones with there being for the most part little limit on the effectiveness of the power. Similarly his invisibility doesn’t seem in my experience to be a power with many drawbacks meaning that between those two abilities alone (let alone his other powers) Miles could simply sneak up on and zap any opponent into submission, even immensely powerful foes like Blackheart.

This creates a Superman problem for Miles where there is either no drama because he could easily end most conflicts or else there is false drama because the stories must wilfully ignore his ability to easily end most conflicts.

The movie side steps these problems by simply making Miles incapable of using these abilities (or his wall crawling) on command until the third act climax, thus Miles isn’t over powered and his mastery of these abilities exists in tandem with his acceptance and transformation into Spider-Man. This is beautifully illustrated by him taking a literal leap of faith from atop a high building and demonstrating he is now fully capable of engaging his wall crawling powers (perhaps Spidey’s most iconic ability) at will.

Whether his invisibility and venom blast powers will be problematic going forward remains to be seen but within the context of this self contained movie, relegating mastery of them to the climax mitigates the problem of potential false drama.

The last bit of improvement this movie made was in his relationship with his ‘Uncle Ben analogues’.

Of course Peter Parker is to Miles what Uncle Ben was to Peter. But Miles also has a literal uncle, Aaron Davis a.k.a. the Prowler.

I already spoke of how the movie greatly improves Miles relationship to Peter’s death, but the movie’s nature as being about parallel universes allows it to have it’s cake and eat it.

Because of course there is another Peter Parker who can function as Miles’ mentor. It is by the way very, very telling that the most acclaimed and beloved versions of Miles (both of whom have come out in 2018) both have Peter Parker as a mentor baked into their origin stories, as the PS4 game did the same thing in a very different way.

Whilst PS4 Peter and Miles are akin to an older and younger brother, movie Peter and Miles are more like father and son or uncle and nephew or perhaps yet more appropriately Peter is the Mr Miyagi/Phil from Disney’s Hercules to Miles’ Daniel LaRusso/Hercules.

Pretty much EVERY Miles fan and a large number of Peter fans love this dynamic. They LOVE seeing Peter as a mentor and Miles as his student.

Even those, like me, who feel that comic book Miles should exist in his own universe independent of Peter Parker, acknowledge there is fertile ground from that dynamic that should be cultivated.

And yet frustratingly in spite of crossovers when they lived in different dimensions and guest appearances when they lived in the same one, this well of potential has remained untapped. As much as the comics pay lip service to Peter as Miles’ mentor the truth is it is simply not a thing in the comic books, Peter Parker has never truly trained Miles.

This movie gives us some training scenes but more poignantly interpersonal bonding scenes where both characters grow and improve via their relationship with one another.

Then you get to Uncle Aaron. In the Ultimate comics Aaron was a super villain thief who sought to use his nephew for his own gain, was willing to kill him and then presumably died. Then crazy shit happened because of Secret Wars but that isn’t important.

In the movie though, Uncle Aaron starts off as the cool uncle and rogue to Miles as in the comics, and is changed from merely a thief to also hired (and very deadly) muscle. However unlike the comic he never uses Miles and his attempts to kill him only occur when he does not know who he is. Arguably the most dramatic and engaging scene in the movie is when he finally learns who Miles is and we see him make a fateful choice...to protect his nephew. And immediately die at the hands of Kingpin for it.

Instantly Aaron is transformed into a more compelling, nuanced and realistic character. Frankly the vast majority of uncles really WOULD protect their nieces or nephews rather than harm them, and this juxtaposed with his role in Spider-Man’s death makes Aaron a more grey and sympathetic character than his comic counterpart.

His death is arguably overly derivative of Miles but this is offset by the presence of Miles’ still very much alive parents. After all there is a critical difference between being motivated by a fallen hero and/or your uncle vs. your father figure as Uncle Ben was to Peter. The scene is then touchingly used as a springboard to showcase how each of the Spider-Heroes has lost someone and been driven by this and for the arguably OTHER most compelling scene in the movie. Jefferson and Miles’ conversation through the door, which then leads into Miles final transformation into Spider-Man.

Finally the conceit of the parallel universe idea allows for the movie to once again have it’s cake and eat it in regards to Miles’ role as Spider-Man within his universe.

Miles gets to transform into Spider-Man due to the direct involvement of Spider-Man, but he also gets to be the Spider-Man who picked up a fallen hero’s mantle and become THE Spider-Man of his world, meaning he isn’t over shadowed by the presence of another Spider-Man simultaneously. Plus he has access to all of Peter’s villains most of whom are unique to their more mainstream counter parts, with special attention going to Olivia Octopus.

However you slice it, Sony punched up Miles’ source material and just leaves me abjectly miffed that this version of Miles isn’t the one we got in the comics.

#Miles Morales #spider-man #Ultimate Spider-Man #Brian Michael Bendis #Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse #Into the Spider-Verse #Peter Parker #Uncle Ben #Ben Parker #the prowler #prowler #Aaron Davis #Sony Animation #Marvel #Marvel Comics #Ultimate Marvel

81 notes · View notes

endlessmoonrise · 6 years

Text

A Quiet Moment

Notes: Well @kitsunewingstar I think I'm officially the worse @csficformal gifter ever :’) Not only was I unable to contact you through this entire event, but I'm also posting a day late. I’m sorry you didn't get a say in what you were gifted, I really did try to get in touch, but I'm not the best with tumblr. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this little oneshot, its a fluffy moment that’s been in my head since the S6 finale. I started a little drawing to go with it but you seem to be a much superior artist and I didn't want to embarrass myself :’). Enjoy!!!

Summary: Emma and Killian take a few much needed quiet moments alone after the final battle.

Rating: T

Emma was perched on a stool in front of her dressing table hitching the sleeves of the pink satin dress she wore on their first date up her arms and peering over her opposite shoulder towards her husband. “Killian? Can you zip me up?” She pulled her damp hair to one side and grinned at the view of the brief covered backside that she was greeted with before he managed to pull his jeans over his hips.

“Course, Love.” He turned and made his way over, fly still undone, and ran his hand gently across her shoulder, thumb dipping beneath the strap of her dress to knead at the tense muscles there, the shower and the heat of the water had eased it somewhat, but she was still stiff from wielding that sword just hours before. She leaned into the touch and let herself fall back against his chest. “You sure, you’re up to entertaining?” He murmured pressing his lips to her hair.

They had guests downstairs, her parents, Henry, Regina and Zelena had all come back to their place, still in all their wedding finery, for a makeshift wedding reception. Her mom had insisted, and even though all Emma felt like doing was curling up in her husband’s arms and staying there for weeks… She guessed that further down the line, after a good night’s sleep and a few of those much needed quiet moments, she might look back and thank her for it.

“Hmmm.” She hummed the affirmative and turned her cheek against the bare skin of his stomach. “I love you.”

Killian smiled softly, in awe with the ease of which she told him that now, and carded his fingers lightly through her hair, which was still slightly damp from her shower. “I love you too.” Emma turned her head further against him, pressing her lips to his skin and nipping at it lightly with her teeth.

He grunted in surprise, clenching his jaw to hide his grin and she giggled against him. Killian lowered himself slowly down to his knees behind the stool she’d perched herself on, pressing his lips to her neck, her shoulders, her spine, stubble scratching deliciously across her skin, as he went.

He stopped just below her shoulder blades, where the back of her bra rested, deep wine coloured lace against milky pale skin. “This is new.” He nosed at the fabric, running his lips over her ribs as he did.

“Killian.” She laughed, a little breathlessly a little giddily, but she couldn’t help herself, there was a lot that was getting to her at the moment, things that she only now let herself indulge in, now that the threat of the Black Fairy and her imminent death were no longer a concern.

She had her whole life ahead of her again, one that she was going to spend with her husband, her family, the fact that she could now call Killian her husband, excited her only slightly less than the fact that he’d now call her his wife.

Then there were the little things, like the fact that she could call herself ‘Emma Jones’ or ‘Emma Swan-Jones’ she hadn’t quite decided. She liked that Swan was a name she gave herself, and even now she liked her ten year old self’s reasoning behind it, but she also like the idea of having a name that was legally hers, hers and Killian’s.

The whole engagement, non-engagement, portal jumping, re-engagement, top speed wedding planning business, hadn’t exactly given her much time to think about it, but either way she’d have to change her signature… the name on all her mail would start changing… and where as a year ago… hell maybe even six months ago, that would have scared the shit out of her, all she could feel right now was excitement.

Then there was the fact that she also now seemed to be at a point her relationship where said husband had such intimate knowledge of her underwear selection that he knew and appreciated when she splurged on new stuff… it was a stupid, insignificant thing, but she realised that she actually kinda liked it. “It is technically my wedding night, the panties match… figured I’d really go all out.” She whispered coyly in way of reply.

She could feel his smirk and his hot breath against her skin. “I shall make sure to thoroughly enjoy tearing them off you later then.” He murmured, making her jump and gasp when the cold metal of his hook came into contact with her side as he slipped it beneath her dress.

“Not a chance.” She hissed, biting her lip and waiting for the metal warm against her skin. “I don’t think I've ever spent this much on underwear in my life.” She’d bought some new stuff when they’d started getting intimate, something she’d never bothered with for one night stands… but this particular set was more than an Emma that wasn’t high on dress shopping ever would have spent on underwear.

“Hmmm.” Killian hummed, a little dejectedly and Emma laughed, but the laugh died in her throat and heat flared deep in her abdomen as he kissed lower down her back, then lower still, tongue darting out against her skin… before pulling her zip up with his teeth. Emma groaned, cause God dammit, the black fairy hadn’t succeeded, but if he carried on like this, that mouth was going to be the end of her. He chuckled and kissed her neck before standing up. “There you go, Love.”

She huffed out a breath “Why do I feel like we’re doing this whole wedding night thing in reverse.”

He laughed quietly and murmured huskily against her lips. “Trust me, Darling, I’d much rather be undressing you.”

Emma wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back just as enthusiastically, pressing herself flush against his chest in an attempt to get closer, but the muscles in his shoulders were stiff and he winced when she hugged him a little too tight, so she loosened her hold and ran a hand up her chest. “Sore?”

“Aye.” He huffed out. “Apparently I’m not as young as I used to be.”

She grinned mischievously. “What? You mean like two hundred?”

“Ha ha.” He deadpanned, rolling his left shoulder back to try and ease the ache there.

She brushed his shirt to the side and tried to ease her fingers beneath the straps of his brace and failing. They both winced, him in pain and her in sympathy, the skin around it was an angry shade of red and rubbed raw, ideally he should have taken it off, but she knew he wouldn’t, even around friends and family.

“You’ve got this far too tight, babe.” She pulled on the worn leather strap that circled his shoulder, undoing the buckle and loosening it a couple of notches, before moving onto the one on his bicep. “Better?”

“Better.” He smiled down at her tenderly, tucking her hair behind her ear. She ran her hands over his chest, and raked her nails through his chest hair as she did, before giving him a taste of his own medicine and pulling both sides of his shirt together to button it up

He groaned in protest, turning his face into her neck, and she laughed, cradling the back of his head in her hand and rocking with him side to side.

There was a flash of light, and both Emma and Killian turned to find Snow, camera in hand and pulled up to her face. She smiled guiltily at them, winding on the film in her camera, and pointing it back at them. “Cuddle up you two. I need to catch up on wedding photos ”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Mom.” She laughed, but gave in to the tug of Killian’s hand on her waist. He pulled her to his side, and wrapped his arm around her, posing for the photo with his lips pressed to her temple.

One photo became two, and then a third and a forth, but Emma humoured her, smiling until her cheeks ached, all the while trying not to react as Killian ran a hand over her ass and squeezed.

She gripped the offending hand in her own and pulled it back up to her waist, watching out of the corner of her eye as his lips turned up in a devilish smirk. “Jackass.” She muttered through her teeth, just loud enough for him to hear, and smiling as her mom took another photo.

He chuckled, spinning her around and dipping her low the way he had at their wedding and she squealed, scrambling to grip the back of his neck, as he muffled the sound with his lips.

Another flash, another photo, and Emma tucked her chin up and pulled her lips away, batting his chest playfully and pulling herself upright. “Alright.” She laughed. “That’s enough.” She felt giddy, almost drunk on happiness and relief.

She was safe, and the final battle was won.

She wasn’t naive enough to think life would be plain sailing from now on, this was Storybrooke, there was always going to be some drama or another. But right now she was feeling more optimistic than she ever had. This most recent alternate reality (Damn, she really needed to start labelling these things) had given her some clarity.

Her life was so different than it was when Henry first brought her to Storybrooke, she could hardly remember a time when having family dinner with Snow White and Prince Charming, and kissing Captain Hook had sounded crazy… but it wasn’t just the fairy tales that had been beyond her imagination.

The simple things, like having a family, a dad that made her breakfast and a mom that made up wedding binders. Her son, her little boy, who’d she’d resigned herself over a decade ago to never see again, coming over and playing video games on her couch and eating her Pop tarts.

Her boyfriend… No, Husband, god was she ever gonna get used to that? Who supported and loved her, in a way she’d never even thought was possible. Her loveable dork, who still couldn’t figure out how to work the ‘picture box.’ Who took her on dates, held open doors for her and brought her flowers, just because.

She’d never believed she’d have any of this. She’d lived her life so long, alone, walls up and never letting anyone close. She wasn’t sure how she’d thought her life would pan out, but being a mother, a daughter, a wife, had certainly never been a part of it.

One thing was for sure though; she wouldn’t have it any other way.

#csficformal #Captain Swan #cs fanfic #captain swan ff

38 notes · View notes

aion-rsa · 3 years

Text

Best Star Wars Trading Card Sets to Celebrate Lucasfilm’s 50th Anniversary

https://ift.tt/eA8V8J

This article is part of our Collector’s Digest content series powered by:

This year marks the 50th anniversary of Lucasfilm. To say the corporation that George Lucas founded as a way to realize his artistic vision forever altered popular culture is akin to understating the heat of the sun. Indeed, it is incomprehensible to think of a world without Lucasfilm and the wonders it has given us over the course of the past half century.

What initially began as a way for Lucas to pursue his creativity outside of the auspices of the Hollywood machine is a fascinating story in and of itself – one whose irony is impossible to overlook given how the independent filmmaking ideologies held by the company eventually gave way to the biggest film franchise in history. And that’s not to overlook the significant artistic and technological achievements Lucasfilm unleashed, Ark of the Covenant style, with the Indiana Jones franchise.

Lucasfilm is an embedded part of the mainstream fifty years later. Yet the company has never strayed far from its initial mission statement of creating works that elicit genuine wonder. The fact that Lucasfilm productions often offer profound commentary on the human condition – even when a huge chunk of the characters who populate the Star Wars universe aren’t human – is just another example of the creative alchemy they continue to conjure.

As we celebrate this milestone anniversary, we wanted to share with you some of our favorite merchandise spawned by the company’s releases, namely Topps trading cards. (Besides, Lucasfilm and its consumer output has an ouroboros-like relationship at this point). Below you’ll find an assortment of trading cards lines that Topps has issued inspired by the various Star Wars films and television shows.

All of these offerings represent not only how Lucas and Lucasfilm deconstructed and rebuilt science fiction into a far-reaching phenomenon but also the simple ways that collectibles are a part of our shared history. Maybe you have fond memories of buying a pack of The Empire Strike Back cards off of your local ice cream truck, or warm reflections about schoolyard discussions about Jabba the Hutt spawned by trading Return of the Jedi trading cards. These memories are a part of why the Star Wars saga is so meaningful to fans the world over, and we have Lucasfilm and Topps to thank for this. And thankful, we truly are. Here now, is a look at some of Lucasfilm and Topps’ greatest collaborations.

Topps Star Wars Unopened Trading Card Box

Price: $2,000 – $4,000

Impossible though it may seem from a 2021 perspective, there was a time when Star Wars collectibles were downright difficult to find. Kenner’s infamous Early Bird Certificate issued for Christmas of 1977 was essentially an empty cardboard sleeve that promised action figures that didn’t technically exist yet. Other quickly produced merchandise like inflatable lightsabers (which, admittedly are kinda badass), puzzles, and a board game helped temporarily quell the desire for all things related to a galaxy far, far away.

Of the initial products, the one that has endured the longest is Topps’ various trading cards. For a mere 15 cents, would-be Star Warriors could get several cards with full color images from the film, a dazzling sticker – you’d feel like royalty if you’d score a Darth Vader one – and a stick of gum. These were inexpensive, highly collectible, and super cool. Not only did they help introduce a generation to trading cards, but the five different colored lines that make up the series remain some of the most desired Star Wars collectibles ever. Which is why an unopened box of these cards will set you back a pretty penny. The bragging rights owning one will give you though? Priceless.

Buy a Topps Star Wars Unopened Trading Card Box on eBay here

The Empire Strikes Back Series 3 Unopened Pack

Price: $5 – $30

When it came time for Topps to release card sets for The Empire Strikes Back, the company ramped up the excitement in a manner befitting the source material. There were three separate sets released for the sequel, with the 88-card set in the third series being arguably the most exciting. Why? The third series offered everything from comic styled depictions of characters like Boba Fett and “Probot” to jaw-dropping art from visionary Ralph McQuarrie to deliciously melodramatic captions like “Threepio in a Jam!” and “Dodging Deadly Laserblasts!” Recreating the action of the film on a trading card feels like an impossible task, one Topps was somehow able to achieve.

Buy a The Empire Strikes Back Series 3 Unopened Pack on eBay here

The Empire Strikes Back Full Color Giant Photocards Unopened Pack

Price: $5.99 to $14.99

Back in 1980, Topps pulled off the impressive feat of selling a single Star Wars card for 20 cents. Yes, they really had some cojones to attempt to pull off such a stunt, but this move was about way more than milking the Star Wars cash cow. Each of these 30 “Giant Photocards” from The Empire Strikes Back was a behemoth suitable for locker display and/or framing. Unfortunately, consumers weren’t buying the whole less-is-more thing, and the line evaporated quicker than Luke’s snowy vision of Ben Kenobi.

Buy a The Empire Strikes Back Full Color Giant Photocards Unopened Pack on eBay here

Return of the Jedi Trading Cards Unopened Box

Price: $300 – $500

Let’s be honest, Return of the Jedi was a bittersweet affair. It marked the end of the original Star Wars trilogy, and some viewers found it to be a disappointing wrap up. Add to that the uncertainty of when we would see these characters again, and you’ve got a recipe for some complicated feelings. Not that you’d know any of this galactic ennui from the movie’s merchandise, which paints it as a fun-packed — if somewhat underwritten — conclusion to the Skywalker story. (What little we knew back in 1983, huh?)

The corresponding card line from Topps tended to focus on the film’s biggest moments. In the process, it presented a clear image of what Return of the Jedi truly was: inspired pop entertainment for a galaxy of moviegoers.

Buy a Return of the Jedi Trading Cards Unopened Box on eBay here

Star Wars 3Di Widevision Card Set

Price: $50 – $75

Topps is consistently at the forefront of trading card technology, and this is exemplified by their 1996 3Di Widevision Card set. Building on the Widevision style they premiered the previous year, these cards featured images from Star Wars that replicated their original aspect ratio. More than that though, each entry in the series recounted the film’s story through lenticular images that seemed to pop off of the card. More than a mere novelty, this felt like the evolution of trading cards.

Buy the Star Wars 3Di Widevision Card Set on eBay here

1993 Star Wars Galaxy Unopened Box

Price: $80 – $100

After what seemed to be an eternity but was actually just about a decade, Star Wars started to roar back to life in the early 1990s due to Expanded Universe material like Timothy Zahn’s Thrawn novels and Topps’ Star Wars Galaxy card lines. Enlisting the aid of a diverse array of artists that included Mad Magazine’s Sergio Aragones and poster art legend Drew Struzan, this set – punctuated by rare foil etched chase cards – expanded the parameters of the Star Wars universe in richly inventive ways.

Ever wonder what Chewie did in his off hours? Or how various artists interpreted the Droids? This line answered those questions, and many more. The Galaxy line was such a success that it spawned several sequel lines as well as a 2018 reboot. As amazing as these subsequent lines have been, they don’t have the sheer magic of the 1993 original, which reminded us of how the possibilities of Star Wars were as infinite as the universe itself.

Buy the 1993 Star Wars Galaxy Unopened Box on eBay here

Journey to Star Wars: The Force Awakens Set

Price: $40 – $160

The Star Wars saga is rich with repeating motifs and characters whose paths echo in unexpected and exciting ways. In 2015, Topps released the Journey to Star Wars: The Force Awakens card set to show how the franchise’s past influenced its future. The Force may not always be in balance, but Star Wars merchandising is!

Buy Journey to Star Wars: The Force Awakens Sets on eBay here

The Mandalorian eBay Exclusive Topps Card Set

Price: $50 – $85

If you’ll allow us to get meta for a moment, we’d be remiss if we didn’t mention this release from The Mandalorian that was available last year as an eBay exclusive. Topps gave this 10-card set a retro feel by utilizing a Mars Attacks-esque font and gorgeous retro art that really drives the whole galaxy far, far away point home.

Buy The Mandalorian eBay Exclusive Topps Card Set on eBay here

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

The post Best Star Wars Trading Card Sets to Celebrate Lucasfilm’s 50th Anniversary appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/3xOCmLV

#aion-rsa #Den of Geek

0 notes

imaginemiharie · 7 years

Text

Sometimes she wonders what it would be like to kiss her new co-star. What it would be like to have those big-ass hands of his slip around her waist and pull her towards him as those playful eyes of his darkened with desire for her.

Most times she just shakes it off. After what happened with Michael, she’d promised herself she’d stay strictly professional on set at all times. She grimaces at the quick memory of her ex, not knowing whether the pang in her chest is pain, relief, or regret.

“That’s over,” she sternly reminds herself as she flips through the script for the scene for tomorrow.

But this whole thing with Tom isn’t. It feels disturbingly--excitingly--like a beginning. And she can’t deny he’s been a huge help with the getting over Michael in the first place. He’s almost annoyingly charming, always looking for a way to make her laugh. And the way he played his role… He’s good. He’s real good.

There were a few moments filming the pilot last week where she could’ve sworn he wasn’t even playing Crane, but himself. Giving her smoldering looks that she’s sure were supposed to be a lot more subtle than they were.

And the way he kept talking to and about her around other people was...seductive. She’s only human, after all, and being the subject of such intense focus is bound to have anyone feeling a little drunk on possibilities.

The fact is, she sighs as she pushes herself off the couch and heads to the kitchen for a glass of wine, she wants him to want her.

A lot.

At least as much as she wants him, if not more.

“That white boy is dangerous.”

She takes a sip of her Cabernet, savoring the dry, tart taste on her tongue and wondering again what it would be like to reach up, grab his face, and just shove her tongue into his mouth. Would he groan and kiss her back? Would he squeeze her ass and rub his crotch into her? Would he--

She startles at the knock on her front door, spilling a little wine on her hand.

“That must be God coming to judge me early,” she mutters, making her way to the door after quickly wiping up the small spill.

“Coming!” she yells as the knock comes again.

“Without me?” pouts the subject of her fantasies when she opens the door.

He grins cheekily at her when she raises an eyebrow.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“I was lonely, and it’s almost dinner time, and I figured that you’d be overjoyed to spend some time with your handsome and debonair co-star tonight.”

He clambers inside with various bags that she eyes curiously.

“Oh, you brought Nick with you?” she can’t resist teasing.

She giggles when he gasps in mock offense.

“How very dare you!”

“Okay, so,” she begins, following him as he dumps the bags on her dining room table, “what’s all this?”

He winks at her before rummaging through one of the bags and producing a pack of playing cards, a few DVDs, and Monopoly.

“Entertainment,” he says. “Have you eaten?”

She shakes her head.

He raises his finger in a very Crane-like manner, as if to say I’ve just the thing!

“Never let it be said that I am not a considerate and thorough date,” he says when he pulls out a few takeout containers from the rest of the bags.

“I have brought you, my dear Miss Beharie, the finest soul food in all of Atlanta.”

She can’t help but smile when he puffs up his chest like a little boy who knows he’s made his momma proud.

“And what do you know about soul food?” she asks skeptically.

“I’ll have you know that I have a fantastic palate, and am a bit of an amateur gourmet,” he sniffs.

“OJ taught you?”

“OJ taught me,” he concedes, unashamed. He grins at her and starts uncovering the food containers and arranging them.

She studies the spread and feels her mouth water as she notices a truly decadent-looking mac and cheese, some buttermilk fried chicken, and some greens that look just like the ones her mama makes.

“All that’s missing is some cornbread,” she says.

“Ah!” His finger is back in the air before he produces yet another container from another bag, uncovering it to reveal a cornbread so golden and gigantic that she can’t stop a small moan from escaping.

“Considerate and thorough,” he reminds her in a dark purr, eyes heating up briefly before he gestures for her to take a seat at her table in her own home.

“So,” he leans down to whisper in her ear, making her shiver deliciously. “Be my date for the night?”

This white boy is dangerous

, she thinks as she nods eagerly.

#fic #imagining

21 notes · View notes

karlosharrison-blog · 5 years

Photo

Over the past few decades, Poland has risen to take its rightful place as one of the premier tourist and traveler destinations in Europe. This is no mean feat considering how it was left after the Second World War, and now its vibrant cities and stunning countryside are attracting visitors from far and wide.

Scenic Krakow city.

Poland’s landscape draws many outdoor enthusiasts, while places like Krakow, Gdansk, Wroclaw, and Warsaw are cultural and culinary hubs with a buzzing nightlife scene. The fact that it’s considerably cheaper than its western counterparts only adds to the charm.

And yet there are so many more destinations to explore here that perhaps don’t get the same attention as those aforementioned cities. One such place is my hometown of Zagan in the southwest of the country – where I was born and raised. It might not be on everyone’s bucket list, but it is most certainly worth a look – not least for its Polish culinary excellence and history, and great Polish Christmas traditions. Read on to discover what you can see, do and – of course – eat in the region.

Where is Zagan?

My hometown is located in the southwest of Poland on the Bóbr river, some 60 kilometers from the German border and 160 kilometers from Wroclaw. It has a small population of just over 26,000 inhabitants and is the capital of the Zagan administrative district in the historic region of Silesia. Interestingly, it is thought that the name of the town means “place of the burnt forest,” referring to the removal of woodland by the early settlers here.

The town was first mentioned in records dating back to 1202, while the whole Silesia region has seen its fair share of ups and downs through the years, a culturally rich part of the world with corners in the Czech Republic and Germany. With its position on the Bóbr, Zagan was an important trade route, and the area is blessed with many natural resources. But it is perhaps most famous for being the location of Stalag Luft III – the German prisoner of war camp that housed allied airmen during the Second World War.

Colourful townhouses in Zagan

We shall return to this fascinating story momentarily.

How to Get to Zagan

The nearest major airport to Zagan is located in Wroclaw, but you might also consider flying into Dresden in Germany – which isn’t that much further away at 169 kilometers. Flights depart regularly from most international airports. At the time of writing, trains from Wroclaw run four times a day and it will take you anywhere between two to three hours to arrive. Check the schedules before departing. Buses are possible but they don’t stop in the town center and can be irregular.

I and Cez visiting Zagan by car. We went to explore my neighbourhood together.

The best way to get to Zagan is by car, as having your own mode of transport will afford you the ability to explore the surrounding area and visit the sights with ease. Failing that, don’t forget that Poland is a very hitchhiking friendly country and ridesharing is also extremely popular. Points of interest in the region are often a distance apart, so having your own wheels is highly recommended.

Getting Around

Even if you do have your own vehicle, I would most definitely suggest exploring the town by bicycle. Zagan is a very bike-friendly town given its relatively small layout, and you can rent one from the tourist information office right next door to the Ducal Palace.

What to See in Zagan

While having its own particular charm, the town itself doesn’t have many sights to speak of – certainly not when compared to Wroclaw or Dresden for that matter. But what it lacks in physical attractions, it more than makes up for in history, food and hospitality. That and its number one tourist draw – Stalag Luft III POW camp and museum.

Stalag Luft III Prisoner Camp Museum

The regions undeniable highlight is, quite rightly, extremely popular. So much so that people flock to the town from all corners of the globe just to see the former POW camp, with many visitors being inspired to come because they had family members or friends imprisoned here. It was constructed in March 1942, and it became an infamous detention center for captured airmen. But it was the daring escape attempt by 200 men in 1944 that really captured the world’s attention, and most notably Hollywood’s, when they released the 1963 film The Great Escape.

youtube

Although the Steve McQueen flick is a stone-cold classic, it’s quite different from how events actually unfolded here. The camp today is a faithful reconstruction of what it would have been like for those who were “guests” during the war. 76 airmen managed to break out through the famous “Harry” tunnel – a mock-up of which you can visit. Of those, only three actually made it back behind friendly lines. The rest were either recaptured or executed on Hitler’s orders. The camp is a sombre but fascinating memorial to those brave men and should not be missed during a visit to Zagan.

When in Zagan, you can’t skip visiting Stalag Luft III Prisoner Camp Museum.

The Ducal Palace and Park

Located in the center of the town is the beautiful baroque Ducal Palace, built on the site of Piast Castle in the 15th Century. The palace has an eclectic history, changing hands several times during its existence and at one time being one of the most famous palaces in Europe being visited by a great number of dignitaries. Designed by Italian architect Vincenzo Boccacci, it has been adapted and improved down the years and has a year-round program of events and exhibitions on site.

The pride of Zagan – the Ducal Palace and Park.

It’s set close to the leafy, serene and relaxing Prince’s Park – which is where you’ll find many a local hanging out when the weather is good. Tickets for entry to the palace need to be bought in advance at the tourist information office at the entrance.

The Abbey of St Augustine

With roots back in the 13th Century, this monastery complex is an especially sacred site in Poland and is named as an official national historic monument. It has remained almost intact since it was built, making it a very interesting and noteworthy attraction in our little town. It has this really cool feature called the whispered vault, where the acoustics are just so that even if you speak a whisper, someone will still hear you across space.

When in Zagan, go for a stroll across the city centre. It’s so much to see and do there.

The church itself is very beautiful and the library and museum are well worth a visit. Be advised though – you need to book a sightseeing tour a day in advance if you want to see it, but that means its real advantage is that it’s never overrun with tourists.

11th Armoured Cavalry Division Exhibition

If you haven’t already guessed, Zagan has a long-standing military history, and today it is home to the 11th Armoured Cavalry Division – which traces its roots back to operations in 1945. There is a small museum at the barracks, including a display of tanks and armoured vehicles, uniforms and documents and other interesting exhibits. American tank divisions are also stationed here and are on constant rotation through the town. Located a short drive out of the center, the exhibition is a must for anyone interested in the subject.

What to Eat in Zagan

Ahhhh, now we come to a topic that is very dear to my heart. Polish food! As far and wide as I’ve traveled, I always love to return home for some traditional, hearty and comforting cuisine – usually cooked by my mom! Zagan has some wonderful places to sample Polish delicacies, but we’ll get to that in a moment. First, let’s take a look at just a taste of what you should be ordering here.

Rosół

A delicious yet simple chicken soup that’s famous in these parts, we would usually have it as part of our Sunday dinner. It’s perfect for colder weather or any time you’re not feeling well.

What’s for Sunday dinner in Zagan? Rosol!

Polish chicken soup is simply the best in the world – but I might be a little bit biased.

Bigos

This is a mouthwatering dish made from shredded sauerkraut and cabbage, mixed with mushrooms and diced sausage. It’s the kind of meal where the only downside is that it will have to end at some point.

A plate of delicious bigos is waiting for you!

If this is on the menu (and it will be) you need to give it a try – it is our national dish after all.

Pierogi

Perhaps one of Poland’s most famous dishes internationally, pierogi are thick dumplings that come with a variety of fillings.

A plate of Pierogi (Polish dumplings).

You can take your pick from beef, sauerkraut and mushrooms, cottage cheese and boiled potatoes, or even seasonal fruits, such as strawberries and blueberries. They’re often imitated around the world, but there really is no taste like home.

Łazanki

Another hearty and filling dish (most Polish food is), this is made from homemade pasta, fried cabbage, shredded carrots and onions, and well-done diced pork.

Yummy lazanki – you must try them in Zagan!

Sour cream is often served as an accompaniment and it’s also a popular dish in Belarus and Lithuania.

Polish Croissant Cookies

For those with a sweet tooth and something for dessert, try these puff-pastry cookies. They’re usually filled with jam and they’re really easy to make. Perfect as an after dinner treat – or a treat anytime!

Where to Eat in Zagan

My hometown is teeming with awesome restaurants for you to try all the culinary delights that this region offers. International cuisine is also available if you would prefer, but you really must try the local dishes to get the full experience here.

Domowe Obiady

This is a great place for cheap eats as it’s more of a takeaway vendor. Still, the food is delicious and very traditional. All the usual dishes are on offer, and you can even buy produce to cook for yourselves at home. The name of the establishment literally translates as “home cooked lunches”. I want to order myself some pierogi right now!

Kepler

If you’re looking for sit-down eats but still want to sample traditional Polish cuisine, head to Kepler – which is actually the number one rated restaurant in the town. Conveniently located in the heart of Zagan, this place serves a full menu of Polish classics, as well as delicious apple pie and ice cream (jabłecznik z lodami) which – although available the world over – is also a Polish speciality. The waiting staff speak very good English here, too.

Antonio Pizza

If you’re going to eat Italian while you’re here, you might as well head to Antonio’s Pizza.

Pizza time!

There are a lot of pizzerias in Zagan – Polish people love making and eating the Italian dish just as well, but they can often be hit and miss. This one is probably the best in the town.

Bar U-Waga Smak

Don’t be confused with the exterior of this place – it’s not actually a “bar” as you might know it. U-Waga Smak is one of the famous Polish “milk bars,” where many Poles will go to dine on hearty, traditional food that doesn’t cost the earth. Set in a cafeteria style, you’ll be rubbing shoulders with the locals – which can be an entertainment in itself. A milk bar is a must visit when you’re exploring Poland – it’s an institution.

Take Me Home Country Roads!

My old stomping ground of Zagan is a very special place for me as it holds a lot of cherished memories. I always love returning to visit after great lengths of time trotting the globe. There is nothing quite like visiting mom for some home cooked Polish treats, and although the town doesn’t have the tourist draw of other cities in the country, it has a certain charm that I would still recommend experiencing. There is, after all, no place like home.

Would you pay Zagan a short or a long visit? And what would be your favorite thing to do there?

The post Things to do in Zagan, Poland appeared first on Etramping Travel Blog.

0 notes

lynchgirl90 · 7 years

Photo

Ep. 8 Of #TwinPeaks Is David Lynch's Purest Marriage Of Television And Video Art

Adam Lehrer , CONTRIBUTOR

It’s hard to describe how inestimable an impact David Lynch had over me when I first saw Mulholland Drive as a 14-year-old. Something I’ve been discussing with fellow artist friends of mine is the fact that the art that changed our lives the most and still carries the most weight over our own sensibilities is the art that we were exposed to very young, maybe even too young to fully understand what it is exactly that you’re viewing. I developed a taste for disturbing aesthetics at a very young age; when I was about five or six-years-old, my cinephile father would have “movie nights with dad” when my mom would go out with her girlfriends, and he would let my brother and I watch watch Ridley Scott’s Alien, James Cameron’s Terminator, and/or Paul Verhoeven’s Robocop when I still should have been reading children’s books (and boy am I thankful for that).

That early exposure to art, whether it be John Carpenter films, or Brian DePalma films, or Bret Easton Ellis novels, or my favorite music (Wu Tang, Lou Reed, or Marilyn Manson), is still the art that I think about and gravitate back towards even after decades of being exposed to just about everything contemporary art, cinema, literature, poetry, and popular music has to offer. But watching Lynch’s Mulholland Drive for the first time feels like a monumental point of epiphany in my life. A point where I thought to myself, “Maybe I want to create stuff when I grow up.” I had no idea what Mulholland Drive’s fractured plot meant, but its images left me confounded, and fascinated. I loved the dreamy, hallucinatory Los Angeles Neo-noir stylizations of its setting. I had never felt more terrified than when I first glimpsed that monster lurking behind the Winkie’s diner.

That film made me blissfully aware that cinema and art could be a simultaneously erotic, horrific, and thrilling experience. I knew how powerful art could be, but Mulholland Drive gave me my first taste of the sublime. Since then, I’ve been a David Lynch fanatic. I’ve watched all of his earlier films, binge watched Twin Peaks over and over (finding myself asking new questions each time), wrote college essays on Eraserhead and David Foster Wallace’s article that documented Lynch’s process on the set of Lost Highway, have searched out all his early forays into video art, have found merits in his more oft-overlooked output in advertising (his 2009 commercial for Dior is Lynch at his funniest), and have read countless analyses on the man himself and his cinematic language.

So, when you read what I’m about to say, know that I do so with much hesitance, consideration, and ponderousness: the eighth episode of Twin Peaks: The Return is the piece of filmmaking that Lynch has been building towards for his entire career. It is a singular cinematic and artistic achievement, and the purest distillation of the multitude of ideas and concepts that live and breathe in the Lynchian universe. I believe that years from now we will be looking upon this single episode as one of, if not the single most, defining artistic achievements of Lynch’s unimpeachable career. Bare with me.

Aesthetically, episode 8 would leave a powerful impression on even the most half-hazard of David Lynch converts. A hallucinatory, nightmarishly kaleidoscopic consortium of images of blood, flames, fluids, and demonic figures spews towards the viewer while Krystof Pendrecki’s tortuously atmospheric soundscapes underline the episode’s inescapable atmosphere of existential dread. Episode 8 is an hour long work of experimental video art, no doubt. But if you have been paying attention to this season of Twin Peaks and you know enough about the mythology of the show and know even more about Lynch’s artistic interests and visual touchstones, then you know that this episode was no mere act of meaningless artistic overindulgence. In fact, this was Lynch telling the origin story that set the entire series of Twin Peaks into place.

This was the origin story of BOB, the demonic force that forced Leland Palmer to rape his daughter for years and eventually murder her in Twin Peaks’ initial 1990s run. BOB, we learn in episode 8, was forged from the the United States' earliest forays into nuclear bomb testing. BOB was already the perfect metaphor for mankind’s capacity for cruelty, depravity and evil, and becomes an even more powerful metaphor now that we know his nuclear genesis. Any Lynchian fanatic will rave to you how delicious this notion is. What David Lynch has done, and in many ways has always been trying to do, is to create a piece of pure atmospheric video art that also works as a classic piece of narrative storytelling. In this episode, Lynch has perfectly located a zone in which vague and aesthetically menacing imagery also serve as clear and precise storytelling and, like the best cinema and storytelling, illustrates a metaphor for modern human existence. While Eraserhead, Mulholland Drive and Inland Empire, Lost Highway and Blue Velvet utilize video art aesthetics, they are also pieces of storytelling with easily identifiable stories if you look for them (well, maybe not Inland Empire). Episode 8 of the return of Twin Peaks is a mostly dialog-less piece of distorted, haunting images. It is art. But it also still tells a story. The story of a television series no less! This is all the more impressive in that television as a storytelling medium is the most reliant on expository dialog and over-crammed storyboarding.

David Lynch pays heed to the form while mainly utilizing the language of pure image. Who needs a script, and who needs dialog, when you can see that delectably menacing, fascinating and torturous world of Twin Peaks from inside the actual head of David Lynch? Episode 8 was the truest portal to the imagination of Lynch that has yet been put to screen.

I’m sure there are more casual David Lynch fans that are growing impatient with the restrained, at times glacial pace of this new season of Twin Peaks. I however have understood what he’s been doing this whole time. He hasn’t just been making a television season, he has been commenting on the current importance of television in our culture. Television has replaced cinema at the heart of cultural conversation for many reasons. Partly, this has been a result of the groundbreaking work that has been done in television over the last two decades: Twin Peaks, The Sopranos, Mad Men, The Wire, and more recently, The Leftovers have all expanded the possibilities of what people believe can be done with the form. There are also financial concerns: as major film studios continue to spend their whole wads on sure thing blockbuster action and superhero films, auteur filmmakers have had harder times getting their films properly funded. Cable and streaming television services like HBO or Amazon however have the means to give filmmakers the funds they need to realize a vision, and indie filmmakers have resultantly flocked towards the small screen.

Television’s prevalence has had connotations both positive and negative on culture. The negative, in my opinion, stems from its causing people to no longer be able to get lost in a pure, imagistic cinematic experience. Even the best shows are still mainly concerned with story and dialog, whereas cinema is about mood, atmosphere, and aesthetics. When Twin Peaks premiered in 1990, Lynch and co-creator Mark Frost (a television veteran) were very much interested in marrying the Lynchian world with the conventional tropes of television: serial drama, mystery, and even soap opera. Throughout its first season, it worked beautifully. Both Lynch aficionado cinephiles and mainstream television viewers alike were captivated, and the series was one of the year’s top-rated. But after the second season revealed Laura Palmer’s killer to be her demonic entity-inhabited father Leland far too early during its run, Lynch’s boredom with the constraints of television grew apparent. The show starts to feel like a standard nineties television show, albeit one with a quirky plot and wildly eccentric characters. Lynch mostly dropped primary showrunner duties to focus on his film Wild at Heart only to come back for Twin Peaks’ stunner of a series finale, when the show’s protagonist FBI Agent Dale Cooper travels to the mystical red velvet draped alternate universe of the Black Lodge, and eventually becomes trapped inside that Lynchian hellscape while his body is replaced with a doppelgänger inhabited by the demonic entity Killer BOB and set out into the world.

In the Black Lodge, Laura Palmer tells Cooper that she’ll see him in 25 years, and that's exactly where Twin Peaks: the Return starts off. It was apparent from the premiere episode of this new season of Twin Peaks that Lynch is benefitting from a new TV landscape in which Showtimes has awarded him full creative control over his product, and he’s directing all 16 episodes of this new season. Also, it’s quite obvious that the technological advancements over the last two decades have enabled Lynch to fulfill the fullest extent of his vision. Twin Peaks: The Return is a much purer marriage between narrative driven television melodrama and Lynch’s hallucinatory experimental video cinematic language. That first episode barely spends any time in Twin Peaks, but spends plenty of time with Cooper in The Lodge. There are some truly unforgettable images in that first episode: a demonic entity appears out of thin air in a cylindrical orb and viciously attacks a young couple having sex, a woman’s corpse is found on a hotel bed with most of her head missing, and who can forget Matthew Lilard, perhaps the newest victim to be inhabited by Killer BOB, in a jail cell accused of murder while Lynch moves the camera from cell to cell until we see the horrifying silhouette of BOB himself in high contrast red and black ghoulishly smiling? But at the same time, Lynch is able to move the plot forward in ways that should be familiar to all television viewers; through procedure, dialog, and plot device. Lynch is still working within the confines of television, but has peppered the narrative scenes with unforgettable imagery. It’s been almost as if he’s been subtly preparing us, the viewers, to not just respond to what we normally respond to in television: story, story, and story and dialog, dialog, and dialog. And to slowly reacquaint us with the thrilling experience that can be derived from watching a set of shocking, beautiful, erotic and terrifying images move along in a sequence on a screen.

And episode 8 of this new series is the pinnacle of this new body of work, and very possibly of Lynch’s career at large. The episode begins similarly enough, with evil Cooper escaping from jail only for his escape driver to attempt to murder him out in the woods. And that is when Lynch kicks it into overdrive. As evil Cooper’s body is bleeding out, a group of dirtied and horrific men called 'The Woodsmen' start picking over his body and smearing themselves in his blood, with Killer BOB himself appearing and apparently resuscitating Cooper’s lifeless body. And then, Lynch proceeds to tell BOB’s, and quite possibly Laura’s, origin stories through a 45-minute nightmarish experimental video art piece. The NY Times has called this episode “David Lynch emptying out his subconscious unabated.” That is totally accurate, and there has never been and most likely never will be an episode of television like this ever again. This episode was video art, but it was also still television, and it also served as a piece of and critique of cinematic and television languages. Allow me to explain.

Episode 8 functions in a way similar to that of the video art of Janie Geiser. Without any knowledge of the world of Twin Peaks or the themes of the Lynchian universe, one could admire this piece similarly to how they would admire the experimental video art of Janie Geiser, and in particular Episode 8 recalls Geiser’s film The Fourth Watch in which the artist superimposed horror film stills within the setting of an antique doll house. Episode 8 uses that same nightmare logic, but empowers it with the budget of a major Cable series. There are also similarities to scenes in Jonathan Glazer’s brilliant Under the Skin when the alien portrayed by Scarlet Johannson devours her male prey in a grotesque nether realm. And perhaps its greatest antecedent is Kubrick’s Big Bang sequence in 2001: A Spade Oydyssey, and in many ways Episode 8 is the hellish inverse of that epic sequence. Like the Big Bang, episode 8 tells an origin story of a world created by an explosion, but instead of a galactic explosion, Killer BOB and his world of evil were born of a nuclear explosion. Brilliantly, Lynch believes that Killer BOB was birthed by man made horrors, going back to something FBA Agent Albert Rosenfield said in the original series about BOB being a “manifestation of the evil men do.” Indeed, in Episode 8 Lynch brings us inside an atomic mushroom cloud set off during the first nuclear bomb test explosion in White Sands, New Mexico in 1945. As the camera enters the chaos and giving view to one horrid abstraction of flames and matter after another, we eventually see a humanoid creature floating in the distance. The humanoid eventually shoots tiny particles of matter out of a phallic attachment. One of those particles carries the face of none other than Killer BOB. The imagery is clear in its meaning: once humans created technology that could kill of its own planet, a new kind of evil had emerged into the world. Killer BOB is that evil imagined as a singular demonic entity.

But enough about the content, or the plot of the episode. There have already been plenty of recaps documenting its various thrilling enigmas: The Giant seemingly manifesting Laura’s spirit as a mutant bug that crawled into a young girl’s mouth via her bedroom window, or the horrific drifter walking around asking people for a light before he crushed their skulls with his bare hands and delivered a terrifying and poetic sermon over a radio airwave, or the impromptu Nine Inch Nails performance that preceded the madness. What is more important to note is the fact that there is a strong case to be made arguing that this episode was the pinnacle of all that David Lynch has ever tried to achieve. Lynch has always been a kind of pop artist. He comes from a background in abstract painting and sculpture, but he also has a deep and profound love for cinema that eventually influenced him to sit in a director’s chair. All kinds of cinema, from the kind of abstract cinematic geniuses you’d expect like Werner Herzog and Federico Fellini, to rigorously formalist filmmakers like Billy Wilder. From Eraserhead on, Lynch has tried to marry the formal conventions of cinema (plot, narrative, tension, juxtaposition, conclusion, etc..) with abstract and surrealist contemporary art. Twin Peaks was initially birthed of his interest in marrying conventional TV tropes, like soap opera and mystery, with that sense of terror art that he got famous for. But nevertheless, the constrictions of TV in the early nineties exhausted, and eventually bored, Lynch and he moved on. But now, he has been able to bend the conventions of television at will in this new season of Twin Peaks, and episode 8 was when he blew them up entirely. This hour of TV finds him drawing on all of his cinematic language and themes, from the surrealist ethos of his subconscious dream logic to origins of evil to the concept of dual identity (as this episode alludes too, Bob and Laura might be each other’s opposites, two side of one coin, if you will), while still working as a plot building episode within a contained, albeit sprawling, television narrative. There is no doubt that this episode will make the broad and at times confusing plot of the new season of Twin Peaks come into focus as it continues.

It was also the most mind-blowing cinematic experience I’ve had in years. And I watch everything. By successfully pulling off this episode, Lynch has also reminded viewers of the overwhelming potency that cinema and moving images can have that other mediums just don’t come close to. There is a lot of great stuff on TV right now, and one could even argue that something like Damon Lindelof’s The Leftovers had some jaw-dropping moments of pure cinema. But after watching Episode 8 of Twin Peaks: The Return, even the best shows feel like hour long scenes of conversation between people without much cinematic impact (on his podcast, American Psycho author and famed cinephile Bret Easton Ellis argues that television can’t do what cinema does visually because the writer is the one in charge, not the director, but that’s for another think-piece). Episode 8 is a reminder of the power of cinema, art and images. But it also still works as plot device for the over-arching narrative of the show. More than ever before, Lynch has pulled off a piece of work that indulges his wildest artistic dreams while still paying heed to the kind of formalism that television production necessitates. I don’t know about you, but when Twin Peaks: The Return returns for its second round of its 18 episode run this Saturday, I can’t wait to see what Lynch does next. We are witnessing something that will be written about by art historians as much as it will be by academics of pop culture. This is thrilling.

Link (TP)

#Twin Peaks #David Lynch #Mark Frost #Forbes

21 notes · View notes

hendrikwaehner-blog · 5 years

Photo

Jess, aged 15, writes: We have just returned from a break in Toronto, Canada, where we spent four days discovering the city. We did everything from bus tours to cycling, and really loved our time in the city. There was a lot to see and do, the people were friendly, it was unusually clean for such a big city, and the attractions were very well done. Here are our highlights of the trip and what we’d recommend:

What to do

Jess writes: My favourite part of our trip to Toronto had to be the island cycling tour. We met our friendly and knowledgeable guide Mina early in the morning and were quickly armed with bikes and helmets. Soon, we found ourselves cycling downtown to the port, where we took a ferry to the Toronto Islands. We spent the morning cycling around the islands, and learning about their history. I particularly enjoyed visiting the beach, listening to ghost stories, and seeing the lighthouse. This was especially interesting as it was only built six metres away from the seafront, but sediment deposition means that it is now inland. We all had an excellent time – the islands were gorgeous, the stories were fascinating, and the cycling wasn’t too strenuous. Despite not being used to cycling on roads, we all felt very safe. It was a wonderfully tranquil morning.

Casa Loma was spectacular

Brian says: One of the highlights of our trip was visiting Casa Loma, a huge medieval looking mansion surrounded by beautiful gardens and a fountain. The gothic exterior with its two towers in completely different styles makes it look a bit like a fairy tale castle. We began our visit with the very interesting 20 minute newsreel type film about the life of Sir Henry Pellatt, the financier who spent millions building Casa Loma then was forced to leave in 1923 after going bankrupt. We really enjoyed looking at the film posters on the walls downstairs showing the many movies shot there, and there was also a TV screen showing some clips (e.g. X-men, Chicago, Cocktail etc) with captions letting you know which room had been used for that scene. We then took an excellent audio guide of the nearly hundred rooms, the most beautiful ones for me being the Round Room and the Conservatory. We then climbed up the narrow steps to the Norman tower, which gave stunning views of the city in the distance. We were there for about two and a half hours, and hadn’t seen everything we would have liked to (especially the secret tunnels) as we just ran out of time. It might be a tourist trap, but Casa Loma is definitely a must-see when you come to Toronto.

Read more about Casa Loma here, in a full blog post by Sarah.

Ripleys Aquarium was a must-visit!

Robert, aged 12, writes: Ripley’s Aquarium is one of the most popular, if not the most popular, tourist attraction in Toronto with so much to see and do for both kids and adults. There are loads of different creatures to look at including jellyfish, sharks, turtles and an octopus. Throughout the aquarium were loads of interactive things to play or touch. There was a section when you could feel how cold the water is for the fish, customise your own jellyfish or even feel some baby sharks. Some of the creatures were incredible to look at especially the ones in the tunnel – I loved watching the sharks swim over my head. Over all I had a really fun time and there was really something for everyone. There’s even a play area for younger kids.

If you like shopping, you need to visit the Eaton Centre!

Jess says: The Eaton Centre is the busiest shopping centre in North America, so we knew we had to give it a try. The Centre contains a range of shops (varying from high end to ones you may see on the high street) and we enjoyed walking around and finding chains which we don’t have in the UK. We exited the complex with books, t-shirts, and trousers, and generally had a nice, relaxing time traipsing the stores.

Robert writes: One of the tallest, most symbolic buildings in Canada is the CN tower which can be seen from nearly all the city and even further away.

View from the CN Tower

Classified as one of the modern wonders of the world, the tower stands at 1,815 feet so the views are amazing. We went up the first viewing point which was great, you could see the whole city. You could pay extra to go up a few extra floors but it seemed pointless to me as it is the same view. One floor down were two glass walkways on which you could sit, jump or even lie on while looking down at the roads directly under your feet.

Robert on the glass floor at the CN Tower

I found the whole experience very enjoyable, but it was just another view which I’ve seen a lot of – and there were so many great things to do in Toronto that it wasn’t my favourite.

The spectacular Horseshoe Falls

Sarah writes: It’s hard to tell you how wonderful our visit to Niagara Falls was without referring you to our full post on it (which you can see here!). It was, honestly, the most fantastic day and we cannot recommend it enough – it’s unlike anything else we’ve ever done.

The Falls are majestic and beautiful, a real wonder of the world. And it doesn’t mater that Niagara is really busy, because all the people who are there simply want to enjoy what you do – extraordinary waterfalls! I have never seen The Falls from the US side, but my husband assures me that the Canadian side, with the Horseshoe Falls, is far better. I can believe it. We experienced our trip from different angles – a helicopter above, a boat riding on and going down to see the Falls at the level at which they gush past. All were well worth doing. We hired a car to get to Niagara and it took around two hours. We left early in the morning and would recommend that. It really was a wonderful day.

What to see

The views from the islands were amazing!

Jess writes: Aside from Niagara, the best views on this holiday had to be on the ferry from Downtown Toronto to the Toronto Islands. During our cycling tour, we took a ferry from the port to Hanlan’s Point, and the view was simply stunning. We had a clear, close up view of the Toronto skyline, the water shone in the sun, and there was a small breeze in our hair. It was truly lovely; very serene and tranquil. It made our visit to the islands even more special.

The City Sightseeing Toronto bus tour is another way to see the sights. The two hour journey takes you all around the sights of Toronto, giving lots of information. There was also a real guide, as opposed to listening through headphones and hearing the same annoying music again and again! The only negative of this was it could be difficult to hear the guide due to the microphone static. The trip was very pleasant, though traffic meant we moved quite slowly.

Where to eat

The food at Eva’s was so delicious!

Brian says: We ate some delicious food on our Canadian holiday, but Eva’s Original was one of the standouts. My sweet toothed daughter had found out about this before our visit, and it took us about 20 minutes to get there from our hotel downtown, but it was really worth it. Eva’s bake traditional Hungarian chimney cakes fresh on the premises. They look delicious enough all by themselves, but we added some extra calories by each having chimney cones which are filled with delicious vanilla soft serve ice-cream. I chose a cone that had been baked with coconut flakes, and a chocolate sauce topping. It was huge, but delicious, so I managed to finish it. We then saw that a couple at the table next to us were sharing one. Eva’s Original was a real treat, and I would love to go back again one day.

Jess writes: Kensington Market is very different to the rest of Toronto, as it is filled with vintage clothes stores and hipster places to eat. I would have loved to explore had we had more time, as there was lots to see and do. We had lunch at a waffle shop which was a bit of a let down, but I know that there were many other places to go to which looked nicer.

The Beavers Tails were so delicious!

Sarah says: We found the BeaverTails stall down by the waterfront in Toronto. Quite honestly they were utterly delicious and it is lucky they don’t seem possible to get in London, as I would galumph my way through them and become far too vast! Put it this way, we got one each and the couple sitting opposite us, shared theirs… They are basically pastries with toppings on, but that doesn’t sell them well enough! They are huge, the pastry (fried!) is delicious and the toppings – whether chocolate hazelnut or nutella are utterly decadent. A real holiday food!

Jess writes: In conclusion, we all had a lovely time in Toronto. Paired with an excursion to Niagara, it was a holiday with something for all the family. The atmosphere was friendly, it was easy to navigate, and there was lots to do. I definitely recommend a visit.

Disclosure: We were fortunate enough to be given a CityPass to try out when we were in Toronto. This meant we got free entry into a number of attractions and, as importantly, that we skipped the queue – particularly brilliant for the CN Tower and Aquarium! We genuinely thought the CityPass was fantastic as it gave you freedom to do what you wanted, when you wanted – but the company had no input into our decisions of what to do, or what we wrote in this post. The CityPASS costs around £55 per adult and £37 per child. We were also very fortunate that Toronto Bicycle Tours provided us with the bicycle tour of the Islands, including bike hire and ferry crossing, on a complimentary basis. This usually costs around CAD 90 per person (around £54). However, they also had no input into this post and all our thoughts, as usual, are our own.

The post Four days in Toronto with kids appeared first on Family Travel Times.

0 notes

its-just-like-the-movies · 7 years

Text

The Letter (1940, A)

There is something wonderful about how the best Old Hollywood, big studio melodramas so deliciously inhabit a space between the visual beauty of their wealthy protagonists (and producers), the bigness of their emotions, and the sincerity of their realization. It’s almost funny watching Dark Victory, which fervently tugs on the heartstrings through its magnificent score, every element working in tandem to make you feel sympathetic for a dying Bette Davis. And yet, in spite of how overtly the whole thing is working to get to you, in spite of how much you can see the wires, it still works. Then again, being able to see the way these pictures are constructed isn’t because they’re poorly made, the methods of filmmaking are just more resplendently obvious than a comparable picture might be today. Then again, would a modern version of The Letter be able to be as compelling, given today’s filmmaking practices? There’s no tinkling score or over-reliance on actors to shape the material, no juggling between close-ups to film a scene, no affectation around the wealth of its protagonists, no cleaning up of the politics around it. Would it feel the need to do that, even if it set in a pre-WWII rubber farm in Singapore? What would a contemporary setting even be for this project?

But why fret about the movies of the never when we can gush about the movies of the almost eighty years ago, and how well they hold up? Even if some of why The Letter’s combined elements are so noticeable is because of the era in filmmaking it resides in, as much of it is because the film is so virtuosically assembled that you cannot help but notice the quality of the whole and how wonderfully constructed each of the parts are. Yes, there is the Hays Code ending that is so obviously tacked on, and how an oddly cast, imperiously framed Gale Sondergaard somehow turns in a bad performance despite never saying a word in English. But these are two minor perforations in an impressive vehicle, stuffed to the brim with peak contributions from almost literally everyone involved. Rare is the film with seven Academy Award nominations that I can happily stand by every single one of them, and in fact wonder where its Costume Design and Adapted Screenplay nominations, perhaps even Production Design. Even rarer is for a women’s picture of any kind to get that kind of recognition this day in age. Bette Davis is the sole, unabashed lead of this Best Picture nominee, and it’s practically impossible to attach that kind of Oscar heat to any recent Best Actress nominee that doesn’t have an accompanying Best Actor nominee waiting in the wings. Technical juggernaut Gravity is the only exception to the rule in this decade, throw in The Hours, Chicago, and Moulin Rouge! and we’ve got the millennium covered. It’s dispiriting to realize how many Best Actress nominees are the sole representatives of their films, and even more dispiriting to wonder if the same fate would’ve befallen The Letter. So let’s rejoice again that it was made in an era where women’s pictures were known as a valuable commodity at the box office and to those all-valuable awards bodies, and let me get down to actually talking about it.

You could hardly ask for a more galvanizing opening to The Letter, as the tranquil roll of the credits over workers luxuriating in their barracks in the moonlight is broken by the sound of a gunshot. Out bursts an unknown, wounded man who becomes even more doomed once we see that the person shooting him is Bette Davis. The steeliness of her posture, the rigidity of her arm, the hardness of her expression, everything about the way Leslie Crosbie kills the man she says tried to rape her is the only thing that feels like it contradicts her later recounting that she doesn’t remember killing Geoff Hammond. Her presence, her rage, is simply too potent to match her description - no, her recreation - of a frightened woman desperately fighting for her life. Not that Leslie’s retelling of the killing to her husband Robert and her lawyer Howard Joyce isn’t completely convincing. In fact, what sets off Joyce’s antennae is how perfectly she tells this story of fighting for her honor against a drunk acquaintance, how composed she is until she suddenly isn’t, how there’s something that’s just off about her otherwise spot-on description of events. These suspicions are given even greater weight once he learns from his assistant about the existence of a letter from Leslie, suggesting a relationship with Hammond and asking for a meeting the night he died, albeit threateningly. An explanation that Leslie wanted to corroborate on buying her husband a birthday gun doesn’t quite stick, but she tells it like a woman trying to save her life and get back to her husband, not a scheming murderess furious she isn’t being believed, though her rage is still palpable.

And yet, because the letter is not public knowledge, the idea of Leslie being in any legal trouble is a joke to the wealthy whites of Singapore. Yes, she did kill a man, but because he died how he died, it’s not as though anyone thinks Leslie committed a crime. She defended herself from a drunk attacker, already ostracized for marrying a Eurasian local. Mrs. Hammond, who does not get get a first name, is the woman in possession on the titular, scandalous letter, and most of the film is devoted to Leslie and Mr. Joyce trying to get it from her, fulfilling her requests and meeting her in the ethnic part of Singapore to make the trade. The actual trade-off is perhaps the film’s second-weakest sequence, though one wonders how much this could’ve been elevated even a little had Gale Sondergaard decided to pick an expression other than Imperious Anger. Eyes lit by moonlight through window shades, the sheer electricity of her anger feels oddly one-note, though Mrs. Hammond being scripted only in unsubtitled Chinese denies us any way of understanding why she would give Leslie the only evidence that could possibly bring her husband’s killer to justice. It’s still as tense as any other scene in the film, though it’s just too obvious that Wyler doesn’t know what to do with Mrs. Hammond aside from framing her as a narrative obstacle, not a human person. As it stands, the central conflict of The Letter is not about the trial or the letter so much as it is the accruing of tensions around its main characters as these events come hurtling towards them. What is the state of Joyce’s ethics, his soul, as he commits himself to taking this letter away from the eyes of the prosecution and the hands of a widow to save his friends? What shall become of doting Robert once he finds out the letter exists, and what has been done to acquire it? What’s to make of Leslie’s soul as it is, and who is she really? A long-standing lover or a rattled wife, both perhaps responding a little too insouciantly after killing a man on front steps of her bungalow.

Still, say this for Wyler, Mrs. Hammond is by far the exception to the rule of quality in The Letter. All three of its tech Oscars are richly deserved; Georgy Amy and Warren Low make this is a fleetly edited yarn that knows when best to deploy a close-up, a two-shot, to jump to an insert of an important item. Max Steiner’s score is roiling, emotive, and malleable enough to fit into any emotion Bette Davis is telegraphing for us, even if her face isn’t quite saying it. And Tony Gaudio’s cinematography is a tremendous, nimble asset to The Letter, doing great work with moonlight coming in through window screens, with the blocking of actors, with finding the right angles to get a pang of unrest at an empty porch, a bedside confession, a shadow traveling on the lawn. . Much like the first hour of Malcolm X, Gaudio’s cinematography in the film’s lowest moments - the tradeoff with Mrs. Hammond and the tacked-on finale - creates a feast for the eyes and an interesting mood that almost takes away from how disinterested the director is in these moments. To hop off Oscar’s bandwagon for a quick moment, let’s not deny ourselves how scrumptious each and every one of Leslie’s outfits are, how well Joyce’s and Robert’s suits fit their bodies, how intimidatingly styled Mrs. Hammond is.

But let's not bury the lede here. The Letter lives and dies by how Wyler and Davis navigate the role of Leslie Crosbie, and they do incomparable work filling out this woman without betraying her. The first real genius of Davis’ performance is that Leslie’s responses to new information are in the basis on emotion and intellect without flaunting if these reactions are coming from an innocent or guilty mind. The questions of Leslie Crosbie’s innocence or guilt, steel and vulnerability, who she does and doesn’t believe in, is handled with remarkable subtlety and depth by Wyler and Bette Davis. The genius of her performance specifically is that she does not sell out Leslie, navigating her emotional and intellectual arcs without playing innocent or guilty outright. This isn’t John Carroll Lynch’s squirrelly prevarication in Zodiac, actively playing the perceptions of the audience or her fellow characters, but nor is this Rooney Mara’s shell-shocked, impenetrable innocence in the first half of Side Effects. Davis’ choices are compelling in the moment and hold up once every truth has been laid bare, every letter read and confession given. It is the way that Davis responds to new pieces of evidence, to questions, to statements of affirmation from friends, from her husband, from Joyce, emotionally and intellectually, in how she moves her eyes and cocks her head. Even if we doubt the honesty of what Leslie is saying, we never doubt the emotional Davis is an actress who knows how to use her entire body in a performance, not just those electric eyes but her posture and her physicality - the different ways she grabs her husband, her posture as she shoots Geoff Hammond, her unease with Mrs. Hammond - and that theatricality, on top of the bigness of her emotions and the subtlety of her playing, fits perfectly with The Letter’s tone, Wyler’s ambitions, and Leslie’s truths.

James Stephenson as Howard Joyce gives the film’s other great performance, and in contrast to Davis his greatness is based in stillness, the variants and degradations of commonalities in a decent, hardworking man. Joyce’s willingness to go along with obtaining the letter goes against everything Joyce believes in, yet he cannot seem to understand why he’s putting his career in jeopardy, even if he is friends with the Crosbies. Stephenson finds the tremors in Joyce’s faux-cool exterior, seemingly taking the whole thing in stride as becomes increasingly fraught by his own actions. His closing statement to the jury of Leslie’s trial, the outcome so assured the prosecution doesn’t even bother to present their own finisher, betrays so many emotional conflicts while still functioning perfectly as an impassioned statement on behalf of his client. Herbert Marshall is very much the third wheel narratively and in terms of performance, though his turn is still poignantly sympathetic to this basically decent man being kept from the truth about his wife until he stumbles into it.

Robert’s stumbling happens almost immediately after the trial concludes, where a getaway plan is dashed once he learns about the letter, and what was done to acquire it. The truth about the night Geoff Hammond died, what prompted him to arrive and what he did to make Leslie shoot her, is finally revealed by Leslie herself. The final half hour is essentially a series of reckonings between Leslie and her husband as the two realize what their marriage can and cannot withstand, culminating in the film’s saddest confession as Leslie howls in the face of a failed reconciliation that she is still in love with the man she killed. It’s here that the tacked-on ending of the Hays Code takes hold, as an eye is exchanged for an eye on Leslie’s front lawn. A getaway stroll is immediately foiled by a police officer the killer stumbles into, an arrest seemingly made through a series of silent glances. It’s palpably odd, unlike a similar tacked-on comeuppance in The Bad Seed, where its ethics-code assigned bit of karmic justice fits the film’s cray-cray style. I suppose The Letter chooses the proper minor character to dole out vengeance, but the sudden resolution of the killing feels bizarrely enacted. As mentioned early, the sheer beauty of certain moments in the sequence feels as though Wyler is trying to find something to be interested in, and its truncated presentation suggests he’s trying to get through it as quickly as possible. The sheer distance Wyler stages us from the killing is odd considering how close we are to Leslie’s killing of Hammond at the beginning, how he does nothing to skimp on the violence of the moment and the responses it creates in Leslie, in the panicked workers. Yes, this killing is done in almost complete isolation, but even the audience is isolated from it, and the poignancy of the moment suffers for it.

If I’ve had a difficult time balancing between what’s inevitable about The Letter and keeping some of the mysteries intact, forgive me, but it’s hard to call the narrative trajectory the film’s most compelling feature. It’s a character study with the trappings of a film noir. The Letter is a deep plumbing of Leslie Crosbie by Wyler and Davis, and they do so with astonishing success and syncopation. There’s no distance between Leslie and Bette, even if the performance is so remarkably realized you can’t help but notice how good she is in the role. The diminished returns of the final minute is nothing compared to the preceding 93 minutes, and I’m amazed that in all my ramblings I’ve barely devoted a paragraph to Wyler’s direction. To be fair, Wyler credited himself totally with the success of The Letter once it was realized, though the fact that the man is perfectly willing to speak for himself is no excuse not to give my own praise. Wyler makes the film sing, coordinating perfectly not just with Davis but with Stephenson, with Steiner, with Gaudio, with Amy and Law. His is the hand that guides the whole thing to triumph, and he’s as worth crediting as Bette Davis is for making The Letter such a vivid, singular experience. Even if the trial is seen as a joke by many of the characters, Wyler’s investment in the trial is enough that the incriminating letter has real weight on him and on Leslie. The stakes of the whole thing, and how those stakes are different for Leslie and for Joyce, is never lost on him.

Have I said enough to convince you to go and watch The Letter? Frankly, I’ve run out of nice things to say about the film. Taking into account the two quibbles I’ve made about Mrs. Hammond and the odd ending, it’s not enough to matter compared to the virtuosity that the rest of the film exerts. There’s no moment when the picture isn’t completely compelling, and if the sputtering disorganization of this paper indicates anything, it’s that my enthusiasm for the film far outweighs my interest in giving an organized testimony about it. You could never get a corker this finely tuned and psychologically rich made this day in age, let alone one starring a platinum-class actress operating in perfect sync with an equally invaluable director. The Letter has a gargantuan amount to offer, from the fascination of the central mystery to how marvelously it’s realized on every level. You could barely ask for a better version of the film, certainly not one with the Hays Code in play. I’d encourage anyone with an interest in top-tier actressing, sordid 40’s mysteries, stylized lighting, spiritual crises, all guided by a genius director, to rent this film as soon as you possibly can. Hell, buy it. Every choice in The Letter is carried out with finesse, fulfilling its duty to the moment and to the ultimate finale. At 95 minutes it’s built like a steel watch, endlessly rewatchable and sturdy enough to withstand multiple viewings. So go, my pretties. Find The Letter. Give it the attention that it deserves. Anything that has the hutzpah to open with a woman killing a man at the dead of night knows exactly what it’s doing from the start, and believe me, anything this confident and charismatic deserves more shots at our love and attention than the six that Geoff Hammond got.

#my posts #my reviews #the letter #1940 #i get it you guys it's a mess but I started this got lost and powered through it #by making the piece insanely long and poorly structured #at least to me it seems unstructured #ah well #enjoy it guys!

1 note · View note