the fact that shakespeare was a playwright is sometimes so funny to me. just the concept of the "greatest writer of the English language" being a random 450-year-old entertainer, a 16th cent pop cultural sensation (thanks in large part to puns & dirty jokes & verbiage & a long-running appeal to commoners). and his work was made to be watched not read, but in the classroom teachers just hand us his scripts and say "that's literature"
just...imagine it's 2450 A.D. and English Lit students are regularly going into 100k debt writing postdoc theses on The Simpsons screenplays. the original animation hasn't even been preserved, it's literally just scripts and the occasional SDH subtitles.txt. they've been republished more times than the Bible
So the deep lore apparently suggests that Marcille is Italian, but the basis is her surname (Donato) and spaghetti and meatballs being an exemplar of the local cuisine... but in our world spaghetti and meatballs is more of a fusion cuisine that got its start in Italoamerican enclaves, so I'm going to go ahead and claim her for Elf South Philly.
Never forget that Echo is an ARC trooper. Never forget that Echo is a badass. Never forget that Echo is a capable and experienced soldier and strategist. Never forget that Echo is impressive as fuck and an incredibly skilled man who can hold his own and never backs down from a fight.
*bracing myself on my knees and trying to breath, nursing a cramp*
I got here as fast as I can. I just wanted to point out that THIS…
Is one of the gayest fucking lines of television I’ve heard in my life.
Even if the presence of the song itself somehow wasn’t a flashing spotlight enough, the literal voice of God directly draws attention to it. Telling us that in universe, a nightingale really is in fact singing in Barkley square, and to know its music is sweet regardless of if we can hear it. Just like there are really in fact angels (one fallen but we’ll let it slide) dining at the ritz, and they’ve been falling in love regardless of if they’ve been allowed to openly pursue that feeling.
And hell, maybe it’s BECAUSE of the traffic that the nightingale finally sings. Perhaps it wasn’t ready until it was sure no one else could listen.
When I tell you I am still so speechless over this episode.
When I tell you I am thinking about Mark who we know really ingrained Nolan's speech back in s1, only see that Nolan looks like he meant every word. That Mark was replaceable, his mother was just a pet. When I tell you I'm constantly thinking about Mark, who only saw his father cry over a planet he's only known for months, and not the family he's had for years. When I tell you I'm thinking about Mark finally calling Nolan 'dad' again only to be immediately choked and yelled at. When I think about the parallels of s1's fight and this one.
it’s so bonkers to me that generation loss’s commentary is regarding the toxicity surrounding streaming and the “show must go on” mentality and doing anything for viewers when you have the meta-context that during the first episode ranboo was getting actively injured by a malfunctioning wire, but continued on anyway
i’ve really enjoyed how they opened the first two episodes not focused on our main characters at all, and showing us just how terrifying the cordyceps infection is.
the scientists at the beginning of the pilot on the talk show, and at first there’s that good-natured talk show feel, but the longer the scientist goes on explaining the cordyceps and how it would be possible for it to survive in humans and imagine thousands upon thousands being controlled, and the whole auditorium goes still and silent, and it ends with just two words, “we lose.”
and then in this episode, with the mycologist and her complete fear after examining the body. the shaking of her hands and the quiet terror in the way she says that there is no cure, no medicine. that the only solution is to bomb the city with everyone in it. and can someone take her home so she can be with her family, because she understands what the scientist said from the first episode. we lose.