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aion-rsa · 2 years

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The Beatles: Get Back – Do Beatlemaniacs Get What They’re Looking For?

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There’s no mania like Beatlemania, and Peter Jackson’s The Beatles: Get Back is both proof of that, and a direct consequence of it. A lot of the reviews said it was an overlong and unnecessary affair. Well, Disney+ let Jackson include swearing in the documentary, so, fuck them. He prefers his own 18-hour cut to this just-under-eight-hour documentary series, and he’s “right and will be proved right,” to paraphrase John Lennon.

Is it an important document? Yes. Does it give Beatlemaniacs everything they want? Of course not, nothing will.

For one thing, he doesn’t give us a full version of Paul McCartney’s “Teddy Boy,” which came close to making the playlist. We also don’t get the satisfaction of hearing entire versions of “The Long and Winding Road,” “Let It Be,” or any of the other final album songs not performed on the roof. We get two versions of each of those. The rest we get to see unfold in slow motion, like one of the films Lennon made with Yoko Ono during this period.

Sure, he could have cut it into a precise race-against-the-clock musical comedy like A Hard Day’s Night. He even gets in the “Who’s that little old man/He’s very clean, though” joke. But to be honest, even if this wasn’t halfway this pristine, Beatle aficionados would be satisfied.

Yes, not enough can be said about the cleanup. There is a clip from the Cavern club which has been so cleaned up, you can see individual beads of sweat on the band, and on the walls. This clip was in Anthology and the Malcolm McDowell-narrated The Compleat Beatles, and it always looks like it was shot through a dirty lens on used film stock from across the street. Jackson makes it look like yesterday’s news, not 52-year-old footage. But some of us would watch eight hours of the crappy footage, especially cut right. Remember, most of us have only seen and heard this on shitty board mix bootlegs.

Which brings us to the audio, which is equally superb. Forget the songs we all know, the ones on the album and which were given on the Anthology compilations. The snippets of covers the band plays have never been this clear and fully produced. Most of what’s gotten out to the public sounds like the original film is reputed to make people feel, but the sonic redemption here is a wonderful tease of fun performances. Jackson only doles out the best bits, but with the cleanup, his 18-hour director’s cut becomes a must-do. You already cut it, Mr. Jackson, there is an audience for it. Give with it.

THE COVERS

The snippets of the band running through Bob Dylan’s “Mighty Quinn” and “I Shall Be Released” should be released, in full, or as far as the Beatles got into it. The other thing the bootlegs made clear is the band might jump into a number for a few bars, and either merge it into something else or just drop it outright. What the documentary does show, however, is how much they were listening to the music which was going on at the time. During several segments we see Lennon holding The Rolling Stones’ Beggar’s Banquet album.

The Beatles jam through quite a few unexpected popular contemporary and traditional numbers. They perform “You Are My Sunshine,” “Queen of the Hop,” revisit Jerry Leiber, Mike Stoller and Richie Barrett’s “Some Other Guy,” and even their own “Help!.” Jackson skips the wonderful rendition of Mario Lanza’s hit “Besame Mucho,” which is a shame, especially since we’ve only seen Lennon’s happy reaction to it. Paul is an expert vocal mimic, and besides his standard Elvis turn, gives spot on impressions of Canned Heat, down to the country feel, and up to vaudevillian voices. He and Lennon fall easily into some of the harmonies of their favorite teenage pop platters.

Lennon and McCartney obviously remember every single Everly Brothers harmony they probably sang to each other on tour buses to pass the time. They do a lot of wop bop a loo bop, but dip into enough diversity of the rock and roll and rhythm and blues covers to let us know they were serious students of the music, and avid listeners.

Lennon always bent a knee to Chuck Berry, co-leading with George on “Johnny B. Goode,” taking “30 Days” all to himself, and performing “Rock and Roll Music” at the same tempo as their performance at Budokan, and yes, I know this Beatlemaniac wrote it was overlaid to Shea Stadium, but it was eight hours after I saw it, it hit the proper emotional note better, and I was on a deadline. Jackson’s entire film is about deadlines, and The Beatles show how musical mistakes can be capitalized on and added to the mix. There’s a rushed guitar on “Dig a Pony” which made the final cut. The Beatles also know when to skim well-worked-out arrangements that get too busy, as they do with the “all I want is” intro and outro of the song.

THE ABBEY ROAD WORKS-IN-PROGRESS

Jackson gives us both, in equal and almost satisfying measure. Again, obsessives will point to still other examples. The classic scat Lennon sings when he forgets a line in “Don’t Let Me Down” is well known, but his improvisations about a guitar going out of tune, Band-Aids on his playing finger, and “40 days in the desert and he couldn’t find his balls” are a great add to the mix. On a related note, “cauliflower,” the word he throws out as a placeholder word to Harrison’s “Something,” does sound phonetically closer to “like no other lover” than any of the fillers George was riffing. Hey, he paid a ton of money for unconsciously tributing “He’s So Fine” on “My Sweet Lord,” so we know he is a sponge to musical influence.

The Beatles: Get Back Review – Peter Jackson Presents A Crystal Clear Story of Legendary Band

By Tony Sokol

Comics

The Doctor Strange and Pink Floyd Connection

By Mike Cecchini

It warms a Beatle fan’s heart to see how encouraging Lennon and McCartney are on some of Harrison’s songs, even before the walkout. In Episode 1, Jackson finds the take of Harrison’s “All Things Must Pass,” which sounds most like a Beatles’ rendition. Lennon and McCartney’s harmonies aren’t quite there in the early attempt, but we can already imagine how it would sound as a Beatles song. The band gives a very nice early sounding performance of “Something,” along with a few other songs which will work their way on Abbey Road.

McCartney introduces “Maxwell’s Silver Hammer” and “Oh Darling.” Lennon’s “Across the Universe” gets a full band treatment. We hear “Golden Slumbers” just waking up. We learn that the song “Carry that Weight” was originally written for Ringo to sing and already has the recognizable chorus, but also includes verses about “normal kinds of troubles everyone has,” as Paul puts it, which are later cut. Starr brings out “Octopus’ Garden,” which gets a full chordal resolution treatment from George, free of charge.

Quite a few of Lennon’s medley songs are almost finished here already, and it’s good to see the fingers match the notes. Plus, we hear an early, fully musically worked out version of “I Want You (She’s So Heavy),” envisioned as a civil rights riff. This is a musical, and emotional highlight. In the documentary, Lennon’s already called Martin Luther King, Jr. a poet who should have been president, which foretells his future commitment to radical change, and then we get a radical change. Billy Preston sings lead on one of the verses.

This is appealing to Beatle fans on so many levels. A non-Beatle singing with the Beatles on a song which will become a staple, it also reinforces Lennon’s enthusiastic revelation that the band found its “fifth Beatle.” Preston is a friend from the Hamburg days who’d backed up Little Richard, while the Beatles were an opening act. Each individual Beatle has said the first time Ringo sat in for Pete Best on drums in a Hamburg club, they could feel the magic. This gives us a taste of what that moment must have been like. It doesn’t take but a few bars for Lennon to nominate Preston for full-time membership. George overdoes it by bringing up Bob Dylan, Paul says four Beatles are hard enough to deal with, and we have a classic film and musical moment.

We’ve always heard it was George who brought Preston into the sessions because it would ease the tension, like Eric Clapton made everyone behave during the recording of “While My Gently Weeps,” and he does mention he saw Preston backing Ray Charles in an earlier sequence, and how Charles lets this young organist shine. Then he does the same for the sound, and work progresses at an intense pace. Preston brings so much promise, the band dips into the future to whip out songs that won’t see release until the solo years.

THE EARLY SOLO MATERIAL

Day 1 opens with Lennon playing the song which will become “Jealous Guy,” and his guitar fills are amazingly textured, all naked there by themselves in the huge film studio rehearsal space. Now called “Child of Nature,” it gets reintroduced as “The Road to Marrakesh” later. Episode 1 closes on a delicate version of George Harrison’s “Isn’t It a Pity” which grows slowly, occasionally the only backing is Harrison’s guitar and a single bass note from Paul, and it’s perfect, while still distinguishable in character from the final release.

We also get a version of the band working on “Gimme Some Truth,” where McCartney knows the words better than Lennon. McCartney is playing “Another Day,” which will be one of his first solo singles, on the day he brings Linda into the studio. It is also a treat to hear McCartney playing “Martha, My Dear” exactly as it sounded on The White Album, while talking about the instrument itself. “That’s the great thing about the piano,” he enthuses. “There it all is. There’s all the music ever. All that’s ever been written ever.” There’s a reason Ringo Starr says he can watch Paul play piano all day.

It is fun to see the two lefties join in on the piano for a positively giddy version of “I Bought a Piano the Other Day.” It’s even a bigger kick to see them switch instruments in a later jam. Ringo plays bass while Paul’s on drums. But their most satisfying scene, for fans of the musical process, happens during the section where Paul writes “The Long and Winding Road.” He doesn’t only write it in front of Ringo, who throws out lyrical fill-ins just to keep it going, but he does it in front of the camera. Jackson tightly highlights the transitions so the song’s birth has a recognizable story, but he also tickles fans with a glimpse into the comradery of the Beatles inner circle.

THE SONGWRITING PROCESS

We actually see Paul almost raise an eyebrow at the Beatles’ most trusted and beloved employee, Mal Evans. The road manager/personal assistant/best mate-since-Liddypool asks Paul how some Beatle business went, just as the songwriter is deciding between two chord changes. The eyebrow goes halfway up in annoyance, and McCartney’s mind recognizes Mal as, well, good old Mal, smiles until the chat ends naturally, letting Paul get back to those two chords. They each have possibilities, and it is just fun to watch him hearing them all in his own head.

We also see Ringo keep time to the great Lennon-McCartney writing team in action. John used the phrase “eyeball-to-eyeball” when describing in interviews how he and Paul wrote, and it comes as a happy jolt to hear Lennon throw suggestions to McCartney as he works on the words to “Get Back,” which goes from an inspirational kickstart to a protest song against white nationalism and ends up as the album and event’s first single. It’s also just fun to know Paul set the song in Tucson, Arizona, because “that’s where they film High Chaparral,” a western TV series which was popular at the time.

THE NEW RARITIES

We are also gifted with snippets of songs which have never seen the light of day, even on bootlegs. Ringo plays a song he wrote called “Taking a Trip to Carolina,” accompanying himself on piano. McCartney and the band bash through a number called “You Wear Your Women Out,” and we get a snippet of a song called “My Imagination.” But it is extremely satisfying to see the group’s process, and the ear for perfection which is really at the bottom of most of their arguments and their reconciliations. They fully work out harmonies on “Don’t Let Me Down,” including a call-and-response which merges the combined feel of their backups on “Twist and Shout” and “Happiness is a Warm Gun.” It is on the verge of veering into something they are known for and excel in.

After it’s arranged, George casually mentions, if they heard it back on tape, they wouldn’t like it, and the whole part is dropped. He’s right, of course, McCartney’s harmony on the final version does with one voice what the whole harmony part works too hard at.

BEHIND-THE-SCENES REVELATIONS

We also hear the band discuss what every fan has read about in books and seen in documentaries: their lack of access to the latest audio technology. They note the Beach Boys have an 8-track because they’re American, and they have to make do with what they got, which isn’t much at the moment, and takes twice as much work to do with limited facilities. For fans of extreme trivia, we get a taste of Magic Alex’s inaction in action. If you know his reputation and the story behind what he always promises but never delivers, the non-functioning recording console and the bass/rhythm guitar combo with the revolving neck are satisfying real-life representations, and if you don’t, tell me to write an article on it.

On another personal note, it’s nice to hear George tell Paul his beard suits him, but nowhere near how good it is to overhear the true empathy John and Paul feel for the underserved guitar-playing songwriter which gets caught on the hidden mic. It’s also comforting to hear Paul call John boss, and complain how he’s miffed about having to take the lead so often, but also be understanding enough to know “obviously if it’s a push between Yoko and the Beatles,” John would choose her. He fully supports the “young lovers.” And while it’s a shame that any song he writes when Yoko is in the room has to do with “white walls,” Paul does not want history to say the Beatles broke up because “Yoko sat on an amplifier.” Jackson’s film also shows why people compare Ono to the B-52s, and reminds us Linda Eastman was a master rock photographer long before she changed her name to McCartney and joined Wings.

The running gag Lennon makes out of his introduction to the Rolling Stones’ performance in their Rock and Roll Circus is also a satisfying nugget. Like watching him attempt juggling with Ringo or singing “my rock and roll finger is bleeding,” it captures the throwaway humor fans of “the witty Beatle” want to see. Not that the others don’t get in their share of the quick one-liners which made them favorites with the press corps.

Regarding the actual time frame of the film itself, the most satisfying moment of The Beatles: Get Back is when it appears Jackson unearths the exact frame which captures the precise moment Lindsay-Hogg and Glyn Johns tell Paul the perfect venue for the project, and he goes through the roof.

The Beatles are mostly known as a recording act, but Lennon, McCartney, Harrison, and Starr got famous by playing live. It was how they were trained. Even when they had Stu Sutcliff on bass and Pete Best on drums, the band knew the importance of grabbing and keeping an audience. When someone walked into a ballroom while The Beatles were on stage, they were there to stay. The Beatles worked hard to keep them there. Here we get closeups of each Beatle making contact with an audience member. The most satisfying thing to come out of The Beatles: Get Back, is a reminder they could still pull it off.

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Now, about that 18-hour cut. When, Mr. Jackson?

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alexmitas · 3 years

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Why I’m Just Like Crime & Punishment’s Raskolnikov and so Are You: A Brief Analysis of Dostoevsky’s Most Famous Novel

Just last night I finished Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment. After mulling it over for a day (likely not nearly long enough to have substantiated a complete analysis, but with my memory I risk forgetting things if I move on to another book before writing about one that I’ve just finished), I’ve decided to get some of my thoughts down. Firstly, I will say that I am struck. While I’m clearly neither the first nor last person to be amazed by this novel, a work as significant as this one still deserves its praise where it’s due. People will often preface praise based on their interpretation of a creative endeavor by stating that its imperfection is obvious, even though that it’s also the best-est or their favorite, or one of the best-est or their favorite creative works that they have ever encountered, or something of the sort. I won’t be so bold to as to make that statement. That’s because, without a doubt, this was a perfect novel. After all, if something is so close to approaching a spade, by all reasonable measures, and only becomes better and better, and more and more like a spade, with age, then why not call it a spade?

Since the beginning I had a certain kind of resonance with Raskolnikov, the novel’s main character. But just as you can’t fully judge a story unless you consider it as a single, coherent piece (that is, until you have read from beginning to end), so too did I not understand the reason for my resonance with Raskolnikov until I finished reading his full tale. He’s young, he’s handsome, he’s intelligent: check, check, check; these things all apply to me, at least to some minor degree - that much was obvious from the very beginning - but while this superficial resonance was my first impression upon dining, it paled in comparison to the impression I had after the final bite of desert; to say nothing of the pleasant after dinner conversation among friends, the latter of which, of course, I use as a metaphor for the epilogue[1]. Every flaw I see in Raskolnikov, I also see in myself; for every action he takes, I can imagine a world in which I could be drawn down a path that would lead me to make the very same decisions, and to take the very same actions. I don’t know what could possibly be a better model than that for a main character.

Perhaps Raskolnikov’s biggest flaw is his overinflated ego, which is hardly out of the ordinary for someone his age, and isn’t entirely unjustified - as I said, he has three of the most promising traits one could hope for: intelligence, youth, and good-looks – but which does, in his case, lead him down an ideological rabbit hole of naivete, a hole which he creates for himself by dropping out of school, refusing work when it’s offered to him, and letting his resentment for the world grow as he lives off of a handful of meager sums sent to him by his mother and sister as a debt ridden fool in a poor Russian city during the eighteen-hundreds. This ideological thinking, which we shall not confuse with illogical thinking, for it is very much logical, brings Raskolnikov to the thought that, yes, it would in fact be a good idea to murder and rob the wealthy old pawnbroker whom is commonly considered amongst his peers as a mean-ol’ crone, holder of many a promissory note, rumored to have left her wealth to the building of a statue in her image through her will, rather than to her own children, whilst also being a generally unsightly and disagreeable woman, and, having done this, could aim to put her money to a more just cause, perhaps distributing it to others, or perhaps using it to further his own career which he would certainly payback in the form of greater value to society later on. And it isn’t such a crazy sounding idea, is it? After all, what is but one crime if the outcome provides a much greater net good? I’ve known many people, including myself, who’ve had thoughts not so unlike this one, and I suspect you are no different, dear reader. So having rationalized this to himself, Raskolnikov goes through with it, and thereby provides us a story of his Crime, which occupies only about one-fifth of the length of the novel, and his Punishment, which nearly occupies the novel’s entirety; with these proportions themselves giving us an idea of the many-fold burden of consequences for actions, as well as foreshadowing what is to come. And this rationalization runs deep. It isn’t until later, that we learn of truer reasons for Raskolnikov’s action, beginning with the discovery of an article he was able to have published while still enrolled in school, and ending with a true confession of his deepest motives to Sonya, to be discussed later.

This article that he wrote sometime before the crime, “On Crime,” reveals deeper rationale for his decision to commit the murder: and that is that he does it as a way to become something more than he is; to break down the cultural and religious structures around him, and more than that to supersede them; to rise above his fellow man as a type of “superman” or Napoleon, as he puts it, becoming someone who is able to “step over” the line which divides who is ordinary and who is great, a line that’s substance consists of rules for the hoi polloi only; ultimately inferring this idea – which, from what I understand was prevalent in Russia during the mid 1800’s – that the best way to view the world is through the lens of nihilism, which employs utilitarianism – the tenet which proposes that actions should be considered just insofar as they help the greatest number of people overall, and where acts of evil may be balanced properly, without the need for consequence, in the face of equal or greater acts of righteousness, especially if that person can prove themselves of some sort of higher value – as a central axiom. Pulling back to a macroscopic view of the novel, this sense that Dostoevsky had to instill within his characters arguments for what at the time was – and still in some sense very well are – contemporary issues, and eternal ideological and philosophical battlegrounds, rather than thrusting his own opinions through the narrator, is something I found to be brilliant and endearing, not only for the sake of keeping the author’s own bias more subdued than would otherwise be the case, but also just as a means to see what happens; to let the characters in the story have the fight, leaving both author and reader alike to extrapolate what hypotheses or conclusions they may as a consequence. In this regard, other characters – including Raskolnikov’s friend, Razumikhin, and state magistrate, Porfiry Petrovich – have the chance to debate with the nihilistic ideology of Raskolnikov after interacting with “On Crime.” This provides depth to contemporary discourse, without reeking of contrivance, and also allows us to see Raskolnikov argue for himself also, even though what he, ‘himself’, stands for is ultimately not clear; not for the reader but also seemingly not for Raskolnikov, as even after deciding to commit the crime, Raskolnikov’s opinion on whether or not it was a just event osculates frequently throughout the novel. It is this osculation, in fact, which constitutes most of Raskolnikov’s early punishment and suffering, as even though it appears as if Raskolnikov has managed to get away with the crime in the domain of the broader world[2], his conscious will not allow such an event to be swept under the rug, or even allow Raskolnikov to continue to live his life unhindered by spiritual corruption, mental destabilization, or physical trauma – all three of which plague him constantly both during his initial contemplations and later fulfillment of the crime. Ultimately, these ideological battles and inward rationalizations do not provide Raskolnikov with the accurate prognostication needed to foretell the outcome of his own state of being after committing such an act; and thereby lies Raskolnikov’s fatal flaw, derived from his arrogance and naivete, where he is left blinded by an ideology which never fulfills its promise of return. Oh, but if only he had a predilection for listening to the great prognosticator within him, his conscious, which, despite his waking thoughts, was calling out to him in the form of dreams.

In what is one of several dream sequences observed by characters in the novel, Raskolnikov dreams himself a young spectator, holding the hand of his father, as the two of them watch a group of misfit boys pile into a carriage. The carriage master, no more than a youthful fool, whips a single mare solely responsible for pulling the carriage. Overburdened and unable to do more than struggle forward at a pathetic pace, the mare whimpers and suffers visibly as the cruel and drunken carriage master orders it to trudge on, whipping it forcefully, all the while calling for any and everyone around the town to pile into the carriage. Laughing and screaming hysterically, the carriage master turns brutal task master when he begins to beat the mare repeatedly after with much effort the beast finally collapses to the ground in exhaustion. Horrifically, a handful of other people from the crowd and the carriage find their own whips and join in on the beating of the poor mare until it finally dies. Young Raskolnikov, having witnessed this event in its entirety, rushes to the mare after its brutal death, kisses it, then turns to the carriage master brandishing his fists before he is stopped by his father. This is the reader’s first warning of the brutality to come, and had Raskolnikov payed heed to what his conscious was trying to communicate to him in his dream, he may have noticed, as we as readers do, that the reaction the young Raskolnikov had to the barbaric murder of the mare very much predicted what Raskolnikov’s ultimate reaction to his then theoretical crime would be – regret; and, therefore, repentance. A second dream of Raskolnikov’s, which very much enforces this idea, pits Raskolnikov in the act of once again murdering Alyona, except this time, when he strikes her atop the head with the same axe, she simply brandishes a smile and laughs uncontrollably instead of falling over dead. This all but confirms Raskolnikov’s suspicions to himself, as his subconscious relays his foolish inadequacy, as a man who thought that he could elevate himself above others by “stepping over” the moral boundaries all of his societal peers abide by (and for good reason). Again, through this tendency that he has to stubbornly ignore his conscious, I find Raskolnikov eminently relatable, to some degree, and it is no wonder: it is a rare individual who finds obeying their conscious to be anything but onerous (then again, perhaps this is only most common in individuals who are still relatively young and naïve, a trait which I share with Raskolnikov, but one in which you may not, dear reader; but I digress). Of course, just because a task is onerous, does not mean that it is impossible. The characters which have been placed around Raskolnikov, and specifically the ones which serve as foils to his character, provide examples of contrast with individuals who at the very least are able to combat the compelling desire that we all have to ignore our consciouses. The three most blatant examples of foils for Raskolnikov are his sister, Dunya, his best friend, Razumikhin, and his eventual wife, Sonya Marmeladov.

The first example of this contrast apparent to the reader is in the character Razumikhin. Razumikhin is also a student living within the same city as Raskolnikov. Unlike Raskolnikov, however, he has not bailed out of university for financial necessity nor wanton of a grand ideological narrative. There is also no reason to believe he has more financial support than Raskolnikov, as he also appears to be poor with no hint of endowment, instead supporting himself through the meager-paying work of translating for a small publisher. And while Razumikhin is even more naïve than Raskolnikov – having never once suspected Raskolnikov of so much as a dash of malevolence – he lacks the same venomous arrogance, whilst showing no signs of lower intelligence. Dunya, Raskolnikov’s sister, provides another example of similar contrast. This is because, as his sister, and, again, with no reason to believe that she is any more or less intelligent or attractive than her brother, Dunya comes from the same upbringing, whilst holds no apparent resentment towards the world around her. Even when she is given the choice to harm someone else – when she finds herself on the side of a gun pointing at a man who has locked her inside of a room against her will (arguably giving her a modicum of a reason to kill another, depending on one’s own stance on morality) – she is unable to do it, instead casting her tool with which to do so aside and letting fate take care of the rest[3]. Lastly, and this may be the most apparent example, presenting what may be Raskolnikov’s true foil, we have dearest Sonya, stepdaughter of the Marmeladovs. Sonya, who in the face of two useless parents, takes it upon herself to prostitute herself so that her family, including three young siblings, may eat, makes Raskolnikov look privileged and morally woeful in comparison. Recognizing this himself, Raskolnikov does his best to look out for Sonya, in what is perhaps his most genuine form of empathy. Despite this – or perhaps, in fact, in spite of this; for early on Raskolnikov identifies Sonya as the sole individual whom may be able to help him redeem himself – Raskolnikov obsessively pushes Sonya to read a verse from the bible involving the story of Lazarus, as a redemption for himself, but also for Sonya, projecting as he does his misdeeds unto her and equating his murderous acts with her soiling of her sexuality for the sake of providing for her family. The story of Lazarus is a story which promises resurrection of the individual as Jesus Christ resurrected Lazarus from the dead. In this way, Raskolnikov probes, a part of him reaching out ever fervently for the means of the rebirth of his soul, despite his hitherto forthright determination to escape his guilt and conviction, looking for proof of Sonya’s moral purity, which he already suspects, despite his accusations, to which she responds by admitting herself a sinner, asking God for forgiveness, and later by bestowing upon Raskolnikov one of her two precious necklace and crosses. And it is in a kindred vein to these three examples of contrast in which the final contrast is made in small part by every character in the novel; for in some sense this novel represents the journey of one man as he isolates himself from a community he loathes to subordinate himself to; of a man who wishes to supersede his place in the world and become a “superman”; of a man who places his individual ideology above the morality of his peers; and it is in this way that the ordinary character, subservient to religion, provides contrast for the atheist who mocks them, not with critique, but with arrogance.

…

…And that ought to be enough for now.

TLDR: 10/10 would recommend.

Thanks for reading,

- Alex

[1] The epilogue, from what I’ve observed from others’ critiques, seems to be controversial in that some believe the novel stands alone better without it. It is not until the epilogue – well into the sentence of punishment by the state for his crimes – that Raskolnikov finally gives up his idea that, essentially, ‘the only thing he did wrong was improperly rob the old lady and to then fall emotionally and mentally apart afterwards’; where, too, he finally gives up his last bit of arrogance and outward loathing for the world and his circumstances, and accepts responsibility for his actions, likely brought on by the outwardly visible sacrifices made by his then wife, Sonya, who he looks to for repentance. However, critics argue that without the epilogue, we would simply be left to assume on our own that Raskolnikov finally gave in to repentance when the novel ended with his confession, and that that would be preferable to what is otherwise a heavy-handed ending, condensed as it is compared to the rest of the novel. This would make sense and likely be fitting enough of an ending. However, in defense of the epilogue, without it, a reader’s main takeaway from the story might be only, ‘do not underestimate how much opposing your conscious will degenerate your soul,’ while with the epilogue, the takeaway is more likely to also include something along the lines of, ‘beware denigrating religion and the multitude of cultures which it has produced, for without the ability to hold yourself accountable for your own deeds and also to be redeemed, there is nothing standing between you and self-destruction and misery, to say nothing of the destruction and misery of those around you,’ which of course is realized by the death of Raskolnikov’s mother as well as the sickening of himself and his wife, as a consequence of his refusal to actually accept his punishment and repent even after his confession (which without acceptance of responsibility is still only a selfish act), outlined in the two chapters proceeding the end of the novel. So if I’d had the genius necessary to write this story, I’d also have looked to include an epilogue to ensure that the totality of my characters’ lessons would also be realized by the reader, for whatever that’s worth.

[2] While Raskolnikov does seem to commit the crime of murder and robbery without getting caught, this does not mean that things go according to plan; in fact, far from it: while Raskolnikov manages to murder Alyona, he very poorly robs her – leaving behind a large bundle of cash she had under her bed, which he missed due to his state of unanticipated frenzy. He also ends up killing Alyona’s younger sister, Lizaveta, when she arrives immediately following the murder, in an act of pure self-perseverance, which just goes to show: when you take the fate of the world into your own hands, when you ‘step over’ the boundaries that your culture (or God; whichever) has deemed should not be crossed – when you arrogantly and naively take the fabric and truth of the universe into your own hands – you do not know what it is you are doing; you do not know what the consequences of your actions will be. It isn’t made clear the degree to which the killing of Lizaveta changed the outcome for Raskolnikov’s soul. Perhaps committing one crime constitutes the same moral weight as committing two crimes simultaneously, but also perhaps it was everything; the one factor unaccounted for which destroyed his evaluation of just outcomes and, having done so, his resolve.

[3] Here is a specific instance in which Dostoevsky’s propensity to pit ideas against each other in the form of characters playing out their practicalities in a real-world context comes to bear. This specific battle, represented by the juxtaposition of the aforementioned scene with Raskolnikov’s murdering of the two women, pits morality against ideology, while leaving a clear winner: for it is one which leads to the eradication of two lives and the degradation of more than one soul, and it is another which leads to the absolution of a dangerous conflict. These two specifically – morality and ideology – clash frequently during the novel’s entirety, with morality often taking its microcosmic form of religion.

#fyodor dostoevsky #crime&punishment #essays #novel analysis #classics

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autumnblogs · 3 years

Text

Day 1: A Young Man Stands In His Bedroom

I don't expect Day 1 to be too eventful, but I'm also pretty wordy.

https://homestuck.com/story/3

Homestuck has this sort of weird relationship with the idea of "Started just now, but always was that way" that I think probably is pretty important to the way it tackles cultural narratives overall. Growing up, cultural narratives have a huge effect on our day to day lives, but we're not really cognizant of them until they are right up in our faces. That's my thesis, by the way, or at least one of them. Homestuck is a story about stories. That's not the only thing that Homestuck is about, and it might not even be the most important thing it's about, but that is one of the things that it's about.

Or maybe I'm full of horseshit. Wouldn't be the first time. More after the break.

https://homestuck.com/story/4

I like Homestuck’s character intros. They’re cute. Instead of actually characterizing these characters much, they have a pretty strong tendency to sort of create the background radiation of the comic. Like, I don’t think that John and Karkat ever bully each other about the fact that they’re mutually bad at coding, which would be hilarious, but there are loads of weird programming gags in Homestuck that I think are a part of the universe because John is bad at programming as much as they’re there because Andrew was into Comp Sci at this time.

https://homestuck.com/story/6

The first of our funky gaming abstractions. Homestuck is a story about stories, and the kind of story that it’s often about (when it’s not about highly abstract cultural narratives) is the video game. Especially the point and click adventure game.

There are a lot of weird things about Homestuck’s story and themes only because it engages with video games the way it does. I’ll come back to that. As long as I’m writing, this, I might as well take a minute to say that I think this whole sequence of screwing around with puzzling and slightly irritating gaming abstractions loses a lot of people on an archival read. It lost me a couple of times before I was able to get past it and lose the next eight years of my life to Andrew Hussie. Nowadays though, there’s something endearing about it. I like watching John scramble around.

https://homestuck.com/story/12

I’ll never get tired of Dad Egbert. Is he the Platonic Ideal of Dadliness? Maybe. Dadliness, and more generally, Manliness, is a lens we can look at a lot of John’s character arc through. His room, as we’ll see in a few panels, is full of Manly dudes, and I think he cares a lot about being a manly guy - a romantic lead, a badass, maybe some day even a Dad himself. Maybe.

https://homestuck.com/story/16

This one is a new train of thought for me.

Back when this was written, I gather the comic was still being written pretty much entirely off of prompts, and I think it’s probably just part of Andrew’s playfully antagonistic writing style, at least in a Doylist sense. I wonder how much, though, retroactively, we can read the narrative’s general aggression toward John as being his own self-criticism? Sometimes the Narrative in Homestuck is Andrew Riffing. Sometimes it’s a character’s own internal monologue. Often, I think it’s probably both.

Maybe I’ll keep a tally of how often it happens.

https://homestuck.com/story/26

Our first sign of Dave. I think it’s funny how people glom onto some things and not others. Apple Juice has become practically Dave’s Trademark Favorite Food if you look at some peoples’ perception of the character. I don’t think people think nearly as much about how much of a surly jackass John is to his pals in early acts. He’s a little mean. Is it early installment weirdness? It certainly adds character to him.

Poor Dave. Maybe I’m reading too much into this. I probably am.

https://homestuck.com/story/42

These don’t really exist any more. GameBro is one of those things about Homestuck (like John remarking on Black Presidents) that really makes it a period piece. It is, as another commentator put it, aggressively contemporary. I remember drooling over gaming magazines when they were still in print but never really buying any due to a lack of allowance funds. My friends and I shared a moment of silence when Nintendo Power went out of print.

https://homestuck.com/story/63

Rose appears. This is a character I’ve got a love hate relationship. I think out of everyone in the comic, Rose is the one I’m the most like. We’ll come back to her later. Not a lot to say here except “A Weakness for Insufferable Pricks” is a collection of syllables I’ve always enjoyed. And that Rose knows her friend’s quirks well.

https://homestuck.com/story/78

The narration is, once again, weirdly aggressive to John. (Also the Peanut Gallery thing is a cunning bit of wordplay.)

https://homestuck.com/story/82

I like this page. It’s weird and eerie. If anybody has a good take on what it means, I’m all ears. (The other houses in John’s neighborhood have always made me wonder things like, what is John’s neighborhood like? Does he have any other friends? Any neighbors who are important to him? It never comes up, so I think the answer is probably no. What about School? Does he go? He never mentions any school chums. John is a pretty lonely kid.)

https://homestuck.com/story/90

Teenagers are little shits. I certainly was one, although my general shittiness didn’t flower until I was probably between 16 and 18 years old. I was at least well behaved before that. Anyway, I think your relationship with your parents can be adversarial at the best of times when you’re John’s age. That’s always been my interpretation of Strifes, but maybe there’s more to it. John’s is pretty mild. Some of the later ones, less so.

https://homestuck.com/story/103

The Narrative gets weirdly aggressive toward John again.

https://homestuck.com/story/109

Maybe I should watch some of these movies at some point so I can be in on the joke. I don’t think I’ve watched any of John’s favorite movies, actually.

https://homestuck.com/story/132

John and Rabbits are related to John in at least two ways - magicians pull rabbits out of hats, Nic Cage puts bunnies back into boxes. John’s a bit flighty like a rabbit too. Like the legendary lapine hero Elahraira, one of John’s main strategies as the Heir of Breath is avoidance - he runs away. There’s kind of a basic tension between that and the fact that, as a self-styled manly dude, John is also, at times, pretty confrontational.

https://homestuck.com/story/153

I’ve always had an interest in like, the specific way Homestuck characters talk - getting a feel for what words they use, what words they would probably never use. Rose goes for a plethora of multisyllabic words, and then occasionally peppers her pesterlogs with Buffy Speak and profanity.

https://homestuck.com/story/154

I think they’re elegant too, Rose.

https://homestuck.com/story/171

Of all the kids, Rose uses fuck more than any other profanity. Karkat uses it more than Rose does, but a higher percentage of Rose’s curse words are fuck compared to all the curse words she uses. Just a fun fact.

It’s perhaps no surprise that Rose is the only main character to definitively end up in a stable romantic relationship by the end of the main comic. Girl has fornication on her mind.

As long as I’m on the subject of romance and fornication, I’ve been looking for an opportunity to bring up the other theme I’m going to riff on in my exploration of Homestuck a lot - Reproduction. Shipping is a bit part of the Homestuck fandom, and not for no reason - all these kids have finding a mate on their mind, and the idea of each other as potential romantic partners is one of the very first things anybody brings up - it’s the first thing Dave talks about in his very second conversation with John.

Have I mentioned how much I enjoy pretty much any time John and Rose talk to each other? I am not a Grimdorks shipper, but I’ve always been of the opinion that John and Rose are closer with each other than they are with their other respective relationships. Besties.

https://homestuck.com/story/199

More narrative aggression for John.

https://homestuck.com/story/217

It is a matter of critical importance to me that Rose’s Room is messy and her bed is unmade. We learn quite a bit about the aesthetics Rose is going to bring to the story here, but my favorite is that Rose’s room is a fucking disaster.

Anyway, I think that’s about all from me tonight. I’m about an hour out from the end of my shift. I’m largely going to be doing these while I work, since I’ll be at my computer anyway, waiting for jobs to come my way.

This is Cam signing off, alive, and not alone.

#homestuck #liveblogging #commentary #giocities #tvtropes #personal stuff

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blackswaneuroparedux · 4 years

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Treat Your S(h)elf: The Silence of the Girls by Pat Barker

We’re going to survive - our songs, our stories. They’ll never be able to forget us. Decades after the last man who fought at Troy is dead, their sons will remember the songs their Trojan mothers sang to them. We’ll be in their dreams - and in their worst nightmares too.

- Pat Barker, The Silence of the Girls

“It’s always hard on women, when a city falls.” Briseis, former princess of the Trojan city of Lyrnessus, has been Achilles’s slave for several months when someone she knew in her old life says these words. From the ancient world to our modern world there is this ugly and unspoken line of rape as a weapon of war. History is replete with examples. In the 20th-century where Nazis raped Jewish women despite soldiers' concerns with "race defilement" and raped countless women in their path as they invaded the Soviet Union and then in Berlin 1945 Russians in turn went on a brutal raping spree to punish the Germans. In the bloody Balkan wars in the 1990s, Serbian forces tortured and summarily executed scores of Muslims and Croats. In the Iraq war and the many conflicts in Africa in the 21st Century, rape is systemically used to subdue a defeated enemy. History shows the ugly truth that women’s bodies have always been viewed as the spoils of conflicts waged primarily by men.

The issue of rape in war is something that has always sat uncomfortably with me ever since I did my stint as an army combat helicopter pilot in Afghanistan. From my high vantage point I felt a detachment from the electronic battlefield - for everything was viscerally seen from my helmeted eye patch visor lens and not the naked eye. I couldn’t look people in the eye as as soldier on for patrol would have. The fear and sweat is the same but the risk is different. Soldiers on patrol or on a mission risk the constant threat of ambush, sustained attack under mortar or fire fights as well as the ever present danger of being blown up by an IED by accident. Pilots risk being coming under attack too by being ambushed by RPG rocket fire or coming under fire from below. Worse, was to think if you got hit and you had to bail and you were all alone, survival and evasion from capture becomes fearfully paramount. Of course they train you for this until it hopefully becomes muscle memory in how to survive and take evasive action from being captured and resisting as long as you could under interrogation. But as a female pilot the unspoken fear that dare not speak its name was ever present: the fear of rape.

I’m not sure my brother officers - no matter how sincere and well intentioned they were because we were all fiercely protective of one another - really understood what the word ‘rape’ means for a woman. Indeed a male friend and ex-army colleague said to me in jest don’t ever kid a man about kicking him in the balls because it’s one thing every man can imagine feeling but would find it hard to explain the excruciating pain when a man does get his balls bashed in. I don’t think the two ‘experiences’ are the same obviously but I understand how hard it is to articulate what it might feel like. I never really allowed myself to be consumed by the fear of what might happen if I ever got shot down and was captured but instead I made sure to focus on my job. It never really became pressing issue for me throughout my time in on the battlefield. I was lucky I got out in one piece despite a few close scrapes along the way.

I did hear awful and terrible stories from my oldest brother who served in the Iraq War of the raping of Kurdish women by Iraqi forces. It sickened him and left him hollow the the things he witnessed first hand. Through the charitable work of ex-veterans I have come across refugee woman who shared their harrowing stories of how they were violently and systematically raped as war booty and as primal assertion of victor dominance and control.

I was thinking about all these things as I read Pat Barker’s novel about one of the most famous wars of all, telling the story of the siege of Troy from the point of view of the local Trojan women taken by the Greek forces. It’s The Iliad as seen through the eyes of 19-year-old Briseis, the Queen of Lyrnessus who’s taken as Achilles’s “bed-girl”, his “prize of honour” for mass slaughter.

Barker’s not the first to turn to the classics for inspiration. It’s popular practice these days. Kamila Shamsie’s Home Fire and Michael Hughes’ Country, for example, transpose classical stories onto contemporary settings. The Silence of the Girls is yet another much welcomed book to offer a fresh perspective on Homeric women, following Madeleine Miller’s brilliant Circe. But while Miller’s reinvention of literature’s first witch brilliantly evoked a world of ancient magic in retelling The Odyssey from the witch’s point of view, not that of the warrior she waylays on his journey home, Barker’s story has its feet very firmly on the ground. Yes, the gods are still there – you can’t tell the story of the Trojan wars without them, after all. The gods remain mostly off stage but they are present in the background, magically restoring the mutilated dead body of Hector. The sea goddess Thetis, Achilles’ mother, is a briny, frightening presence, as are the dark shore and the waves by which the whole horrible story takes place. Apollo still sends a plague, Achilles is the son of a sea goddess who brings him divinely forged armour and Hector’s body is magically restored to freshness after being pulled behind Achilles’s chariot.

But what really stands out are not heavenly allusions but the dirt and filth and disease and sheer brutal physicality of the Greek army marauding everything that stands in their way to Troy - there’s no magic here to ease the pain and trauma of rape or murder or even to help exact revenge. And while Achilles’ divine mother makes an appearance, and Apollo is beckoned by Briseis to bring about a plague, the gods remain on the peripheries of this story. If Circe, which chronicles the life of its titular character, is very much about the gods and their egos, then The Silence of the Girls, however, is very much about humans, their egos and their wars - both personal and political.

In all this Barker gives female characters such as Circe and Briseis the voice they’ve traditionally been denied, readers glean a different version of events behind the Trojan War epic myth. “Great Achilles. Brilliant Achilles, shining Achilles, godlike Achilles…How the epithets pile up,” Briseis begins. “We never called him any of those things; we called him ‘the butcher’.”

In The Iliad, a poem about the terrible destruction caused by male aggression, the bodies and pretty faces of women are the objects through which men struggle with each other for status. The women are not entirely silent, and goddesses always have plenty to say, but mortal women speak primarily to lament. They grieve for their dead sons, dead fathers, dead husbands and dead protectors; for the city of Troy, soon to fall, and for their own freedom, taken by the victors of war. Andromache pleads with her Trojan husband Hector not to leave her and their infant son to go back to fight Achilles. She has already endured the sack of her home city by Achilles, and seen the slaughter of her father and seven brothers, and the enslavement of her mother. If Hector dies, their child will be hurled from the city walls, Troy will fall and Andromache will be made the concubine of the son of her husband’s killer. Hector knows this, but he insists that his own need to avoid social humiliation as a battle-shirker trumps it all: “I would be ashamed before the Trojan men and women,” he says. He hopes only to be dead before he has to hear her screams.

Barker’s absorbing prose puts the experience of women like Andromache at the heart of the story: the women who survive in slavery when men destroy their cities and kill their fathers, brothers and children. The central character is Briseis, the woman awarded to Achilles, the greatest Greek fighter, after his army sacks one of the towns neighbouring Troy. Agamemnon, the most powerful, although not the bravest, of the Greek warriors – a character whose downright nastiness comes across beautifully in Barker’s telling – has lost his own most recent female acquisition and seizes Briseis from Achilles. Achilles’ vengeful rage against Agamemnon and his own comrades, and the subsequent vast death toll of the Greeks and Trojans, is the central theme of The Iliad.

Homer’s poem ends by foreshadowing the fall of Troy in the death of its greatest fighter, Hector. Barker’s novel begins with the fall of another town: Lyrnessus, Briseis’ home, destroyed by Achilles and his men. We then see that the fall of a city is the end of a story only for the male warriors: some leave triumphant and others lie there dead. For the women, it is the start of new horrors.

Barker’s subject has long been gender relations during conflict, along with the machinations of trauma and memory, so she’s in her element here. Her blood-drenched battle scenes are up there with the best of them, and she shows a keen understanding of the “never-ending cycle of hatred and revenge” fuelling the violence. Her focus, however, is that which takes place off the battlefield, inflicted on the women in the “rape camps.”

Barker keeps the main bones of the Homeric poem in place, supplementing Homer at the end of the story with Euripides. His heartbreaking play The Trojan Women is, like Barker’s novel, a version of the story that shifts our attention from the angry, destructive, quick-footed, short-lived boys to the raped, enslaved, widowed women, who watch their city burn and, if they are lucky, get a moment to bury their slaughtered children and grandchildren before they are taken far away.

One of Barker’s most tear-jerking sequences is lifted straight from Euripides: the teenage daughter of Priam and Hecuba is gagged and killed as a “sacrifice” on the dead Achilles’ tomb, and then Hecuba is presented with the tiny corpse of her dead grandson, a toddler with his skull cracked open. The girl’s gagged mouth and the child’s gaping brains conjure a gruesome twinned image for the silenced voices that should tell of the horror and pity suffered by the victims of war.

For most of Barker’s novel, Briseis is the first-person narrator, but in the final part, the narrative is intercut with third-person chapters told from the point of view of Achilles. We never get as close to Achilles as we do to Briseis, but he is a compelling figure in his fascinating combination of brutality and civility. Like Siegfried Sassoon in Barker’s 1991 novel Regeneration, this Achilles has the soul of a poet as well as of a killer and hunter: he is a man whose physical courage and compulsion to fight sit uneasily with his clear, articulate awareness of the futility of war.

But Achilles, however fascinating he may be, is not then at the centre of this story. Still, the novel does provide a moving, thought-provoking version of what is perhaps the most famous moment of The Iliad: when the old king Priam makes his way, alone and unarmed, through the enemy camp, to plead with Achilles to give back the mutilated body of his son, Hector. Barker twice quotes Priam’s Homeric words to Achilles: “I do what no man before me has ever done, I kiss the hands of the man who killed my son.” Barker lets us feel the pathos and pity of this moment, as well as the pathos of all the many young men who die violent deaths far from home. We glimpse, too, Achilles’ alienation from his own “terrible, man-killing hands”, which have caused so many deaths.

Briseis has a powerful riposte to Priam’s words, weighing this unique encounter between men against the myriad unremembered horrors suffered by women in war. “I do what countless women before me have been forced to do. I spread my legs for the man who killed my husband and my brothers.”

Reduced to objects, they’re catalysts for conflict – Barker’s Helen inspires ribaldry not worship, “The eyes, the hair, the tits, the lips/ That launched a thousand battleships...” chant the soldiers – blamed for inciting hatred between men. Or they’re regarded as the victor’s spoils, claimed along with cattle and gold.

Briseis is both. Taken as a slave, Achilles and Agamemnon then feud over her: “It doesn’t belong to him; he hasn’t earnt it,” fumes the former. Men - Greek and Trojan alike – are afforded the privilege of vocalising their pain and loss, while women have to repress their suffering. “Silence becomes a woman,” they’re told, even when they’re free.

No longer an issue of decorum, now it’s about staying alive. “I do what no man before me has ever done, I kiss the hands of the man who killed my son,” declares Priam when he prostrates himself before Achilles begging for Hector’s body. “And I do what countless women before me have been forced to do, Briseis thinks bitterly, “I spread my legs for the man who killed my husband and my brothers.”

Barker has a very clear feminist message about the struggle for women to extricate themselves from male-dominated narratives. In the hands of a lesser writer, it could have felt preachy and woke but she masterfully avoids that. The attempt to provide Briseis with a happy ending is thin, and sometimes the female characters’ legitimate outrage seems a bit predictable, as when we hear Helen thinking: “I’m here. Me. A person, not just an object to be looked at and fought over.”

The novel has some annoying anachronisms, such as a “weekend market” (there were no weekends in antiquity), and a reference to “half a crown”, as if we were in the same period as Barker’s first world war novels. One wonders if any woman in archaic Greece, even a former queen, would have quite the self-assurance of Barker’s Briseis. But, of course, there is no way to be sure: no words from women in this period survive but Barker is surely right to paint them as thoughtful, diverse, rounded human beings, whose humanity hardly ever dawns on their captors, owners and husbands. This central historical insight feels entirely truthful.

Barker has a quasi-Homeric gift for similes: “that shining moment, when the din of battle fades and your body’s a rod connecting earth and sky”, or Achilles’ friend Patroclus dying, “thrashing like a fish in a pool that’s drying out”. There is a Homeric simplicity and drive in some of the sentences: “Blood, shit and brains – and there he is, the son of Peleus, half beast, half god, driving on to glory.” She is Homeric, too, in her attentiveness to what happens between people, and to the details of the physical world: the food, the wine, the clothes, the noise and the feel of skin, blood, bones, crackling wounds and screams. Barker, like Homer, understands grief and loss, and sees how alone people can be even when they are crying together. Loneliness in community is one of the major themes of this book, as it is of The Iliad.

Angry, thoughtful, sad, deeply humane and compulsively readable, The Silence of the Girls shows that Barker is a writer at the peak of her literary powers. You sense her only priority is to enlarge the story that we all know and she adds to it magnificently.

I have always enjoyed reading Pat Barker especially her enviable experience of writing about military life in her earlier novels and here in this book it shines through in the depiction of the Greek forces. The men are dehumanised by the wars they have created. This is primarily a book about what war does to women, but Barker examines what it does to men too. I was disturbed by the magnificently poignant final section which can’t help but make you reflect on the cultural underpinnings of male aggression, the women throughout history who have been told, by men, to forget their trauma. When Briseis is told to forget her past life, she immediately knows it is exactly what she must not, can not do: “So there was my duty laid out in front of me, as simple and clear as bowl of water: Remember.”

Briseis knows no one will want to record the reality of what went on during the war: “they won’t want the brutal reality of conquest and slavery. They won’t want to be told about the massacres of men and boys, the enslavement of women and girls. They won’t want to know we were living in a rape camp. No, they’ll go for something altogether softer. A love story, perhaps?” But even so, Briseis, for all that she must bear, understands eventually that the women will leave behind a legacy, though not in the same vocal, violent way the men will.

“We’re going to survive,” she says, “our songs, our stories. They’ll never be able to forget us. Decades after the last man who fought at Troy is dead, their sons will remember the songs their Trojan mothers sang to them. We’ll be in their dreams - and in their worst nightmares too.”

I felt disconcerted reading this and also very moved. As much as I love the Classics and firmly believe in it providing the foundational building blocks of our Western civilisation I also have to pause and remind myself that heroic behaviour, something the greatest of the Greeks are known for, isn’t anything admirable when viewed from the lens of the women they abuse. Heroism can be tainted by the dark side of one’s nature. However pure one soldier’s sacrifice for another can be, so there is the bestial side of us where the chains of civilised moral behaviour are unshackled and left to satiate our primal instinct for cruelty, conflict, and domination. Indeed what Barker does is be a much needed corrective because just as you think her perspective of the Greek heroes may be softening, she pulls back to remind you of Odysseus tossing Hector’s baby from the battlements, or Achilles’s casual butchery. “It’s the girls I remember most,” Briseis says. This then is a story about the very real cost of wars waged by men: “the brutal reality of conquest and slavery”.

In seeing a legend differently, Barker makes us rethink who gets to write history but also to remind us of our tainted human condition. There is no god in the machine to sort out most violent conflicts and situations with a thunderbolt here. There are only mortals, with all their flaws and ferocity and foolishness. And we all have to live with that but not I hope in silence.

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passionate-reply · 3 years

Video

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This week on Great Albums, we talk about something a little more recent, but still old enough to be a classic. Can you believe that John Maus’s We Must Become the Pitiless Censors of Ourselves, is turning ten years old already? Yes, 2011 was that long ago...and so were my high school years. Come check out this lo-fi synthwave masterpiece! Transcript below the break.

Welcome to Passionate Reply, and welcome to Great Albums! So far in this series, we’ve looked at a lot of older albums, and that’s by design. While I listen to, and love, plenty of more recent music and younger artists, I’ve decided to focus Great Albums on works that are at least ten years old. That’s partly because I think that having some distance from when albums were released lets us situate them in fuller context, and take their legacy into consideration. It’s also partly because so much of the music criticism that’s out there is focused, somewhat myopically, on only the newest and hottest releases, when there’s so much amazing music to be discovered outside of that purview.

Now that that’s out of the way, let’s get on to discussing today’s album: John Maus’s We Must Become the Pitiless Censors of Ourselves, which was released in 2011, one decade prior to this video. It’s an album that was very significant to me as a teenager, when it was new, and one that I think will go on to be seen as one of the most important electronic albums of this decade.

Before releasing his arguable magnum opus, John Maus had two LPs under his belt, Songs and Love Is Real. They earned him some cult followers, but also attracted substantial derision and disdain. While many elements of Maus’s signature sound are present, such as lo-fi production, atmospheric washes of synth, and lyrics that straddle the line between pithy and biting, I’d characterize these releases as being very...rough around the edges.

Music: “Too Much Money”

“Too Much Money,” off of Love Is Real, is tantalizingly close to a pop song, but its truly shocking bridge seems almost deliberately crafted to shatter our ability to enjoy it as such. Maus had initially set out to be an experimental, outsider musician, but he soon became more interested in the tradition of pop, particularly after meeting his longtime friend and artistic collaborator, Ariel Pink. It was in that pop spirit that Maus created We Must Become the Pitiless Censors of Ourselves, and the resultant increase in accessibility is what made his third album so different--and so much more successful. There’s a certain charm that only comes from an outsider attempting to do pop, a fusion of intuitive mass appeal, and an intuitive, unschooled process of creation. This album has that in abundance.

Music: “Hey Moon”

While “Hey Moon” is one of Maus’s best-known tracks, it’s actually a cover, and was originally penned by singer-songwriter Molly Nilsson. It’s a very simple, and very pop, composition, and it’s easy to see how it embodies the sort of straightforward songwriting Maus had in the back of his mind while creating the album. But it fundamentally lacks the signature oddness of Maus, and I think that leaves it as the least interesting track here. With everything else going on, “Hey Moon” feels all the more plain and banal in comparison.

Music: “...And the Rain”

Listening to “...And the Rain,” it’s easy to hear how strongly Maus was also influenced by Classical and Medieval composers. Besides those organ-like synth textures, Maus is also inspired by the Medieval modes, and pre-tonal ideas about melody. Whenever contemporary music uses slightly older synthesiser technology, and/or that lo-fi production, many people become preoccupied with using ideas of 80s nostalgia and retro chic to understand it. I think this album has less to do with “old school cool” and more to do with the spectre of the past as something faded and ineffable, accessible only through the dim consolations of memory. Consider “Quantum Leap,” which presents us with a hazy dream of time travel, contrasted with the “dead zone” of the present.

Music: “Quantum Leap”

In “Quantum Leap”’s more strident moments, I like to think that a whiff of the in-your-face abrasiveness of “Too Much Money” remains. But rather than scornful and vitriolic, it comes across as the overwhelming splendour of divine mystery, thanks to its appropriation of Medieval church music. There are many antecedents of what Maus is doing with it, from the tradition of goth to the work of other electronic musicians like John Foxx, but what Maus really excels at is weaving together the sacred and the profane, and getting us to forget which is supposed to be which. For a more splendid example of that, look no further than “Matter of Fact”:

Music: “Matter of Fact”

Yes, you heard that correctly--this song’s only lyrics are, “pussy is not a matter of fact.” I’m tempted to compare this laconic number to some of Maus’s earlier pieces that seem to satirize easily spouted slogans of social change, such as “Rights For Gays.” The core assertion here could be interpreted as a rebuttal of essentialism with regards to gender and sex, or perhaps of toxic masculinity, and the idea of a man feeling entitled to a woman’s body and sexuality. But its ambiguity, and possible meaninglessness, are, I think, part of what makes it so effective. Still, as far as transgressive lyricism goes, the use of the term “pussy” here pales in comparison to the preceding track, “Cop Killer.”

Music: “Cop Killer”

Maus has described himself as extremely left-wing, but he’s also consistently maintained that his music isn’t meant to be interpreted through a strictly political lens. But however much Maus insists that “Cop Killer” is “really” about metaphorical cops, its seemingly blatant call for violence feels obscene. Ten years ago, “Cop Killer” was shock art, and an expression of the unsayable. But in the past year, more and more people have opened up to criticism of police brutality, and police as an institution. “Cop Killer” has been re-evaluated and re-contextualized, and interest in the track has surged. It’s had a degree of vindication that most provocative and challenging art will never see, no matter how powerful.

Given Maus’s frequent emphasis on ideas of criminality, justice, and the punitive arm of the government, I’m tempted to interpret the lighthouse featured on the cover of We Must Become the Pitiless Censors of Ourselves as a reference to the “panopticon” prisons designed by the Enlightenment thinker Jeremy Bentham. Bentham proposed prisons, and other state buildings, in which a single observation tower stood watch over people to be controlled. Prisoners cannot tell when, and if, they are being observed, and thus are forced to live as though they are under constant surveillance, and internalize the structures of social control. The panopticon has often been used as a symbol of how structures of discipline and punishment affect the psyche of those who live within them, most famously by the 20th Century philosopher Michel Foucault.

But this is, of course, me using political theory to try and pin Maus down! We can also set this aside and appreciate the cover design for its aesthetic ambiance. Its fog and tumultuous sea evoke the wild or unrefined qualities of the music, but the bright and piercing light of the lighthouse suggest a firm and directed focus, not unlike Maus’s stated goal of creating bona fide pop.

The album’s ponderous title doesn’t actually appear on the associated artwork. This isn’t so uncommon nowadays, but when physical media was more central to music consumption, it was a self-sabotaging move that few but New Order ever got away with. Maus was one of the first artists I became aware of who chose to omit text from album art, and it struck me as a very bold and forward-thinking adaptation to an increasingly digital world. Maus nicked the title “We Must Become the Pitiless Censors of Ourselves” from the work of the philosopher Alain Badou, under whom he studied at university. Like that piercing ray of light, it seems to suggest a pruning away of impurities, and a recalibration or refocusing of one’s energies. It applies equally well to the idea of becoming sanctified or purified in the presence of the holy, or, more prosaically, to Maus’s newly pop-oriented artistic direction.

After the success of We Must Become the Pitiless Censors of Ourselves, Maus’s follow-up was, essentially, the 2012 compilation, A Collection of Rarities and Previously Unreleased Material, which featured assorted tracks he had written throughout the preceding decade. Over the next few years, Maus chose to isolate himself from the public eye, claiming to not see himself continuing a career in music, and instead pursuing a Ph.D. in political science. He eventually returned, however, and released a fourth LP in 2017, entitled Screen Memories. Screen Memories would continue the focus on hooky and accessible melodies, while also increasing the use of guitar and bass to bring Maus’s sound a bit closer to rock.

Music: “Touchdown”

While Maus hasn’t put down any new material since Screen Memories, he has made himself substantially more notorious quite recently, by having been present at the attempted coup at the United States Capitol Building in January of 2021. Given Maus’s aforementioned radical leftism, and his cryptic, but seemingly anti-fascist oriented tweets afterward, it seems unlikely that Maus actually supported the insurrection, but the incident continues to cast a shadow over his reputation, at least for the time being. Whether Maus is ever truly rehabilitated or not, and wherever his true intentions and sympathies lay, his music has certainly left an indelible mark. We Must Become the Pitiless Censors of Ourselves was a watershed moment for this idea of lo-fi, electronic pop, with a gothic and mysterious aura to it, and I don’t think this sound would be so commonplace in today’s musical landscape without what John Maus had accomplished, ten years ago.

My favourite track on We Must Become the Pitiless Censors of Ourselves is “Head For the Country.” Its stirring and anthemic refrain is one of the most emotionally powerful moments on the album, particularly when juxtaposed with its lyrical themes of feeling confined by society’s rules, and its return to the idea of criminality or deviance. It's probably too intense and overbearing to ever pass for an ordinary pop hit...but who’s keeping score? That’s everything for today--thanks for listening!

Music: “Head For the Country”

#music #great albums #album review #album reviews #synthwave #lo fi #lo-fi #john maus #indie #indie pop #indietronica

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nettlestonenell · 4 years

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Armie Hammer wants a sequel to The Man From U.N.C.L.E.—shouldn’t you?

This post is a long time in coming, Gentle Readers and @jammeke, but now, though it might be here, before your very eyes, to think it will be well-laid out would be a mistake. It’s set to be just about as messy as Ilya’s misplaced loyalties and murky motivations.

How dare!

I probably first watched this film well over a year ago (courtesy @jammeke posting things about it). I used Sling OnDemand (I think on TNT). In the ensuing viewings I also watched it in that way, but as I was sitting down for a fourth(?) viewing, it kept coming to me that I was tired of watching it with commercials I couldn’t skip, and I had a sneaking suspicion that it had been edited for time and I was missing out on scenes. [pointless aside: I was also watching the film in chunks, and never as a whole]

Where is she now? What’s the time stamp? How far along did she get? Are you shagging the hotel hostess yet?

So, I, uh, set out to buy it on DVD—without any luck! In the sense that copies I could find cost more (w/ shipping) than buying it to stream. So, I bought it to stream on Amazon. Do I regret my choice, Gentle Readers? No, no I don’t. I do regret burden of knowledge in learning that TNT was already playing the entirety of the film. That was a hard pill to swallow.

Nope, I’ve looked. That’s absolutely everything. Nothing additional lurking around here...

So here it is, as it is, @jammeke, “My Notes on The Man from U.N.C.L.E.”

Look, I don’t know what this film is. I probably can’t fully articulate its appeal. Or maybe I can--certainly after transcribing four page I’ve tried. Number One thing to know about me and fiction/films is that a top draw for me is seeing something out of the ordinary, such as beautiful locations, a historical era, delicious costumes. There are times, frankly, this can trump weak story and undefined character for me. (The best films, of course, combine all three) Certainly, The Man... delivers in the delight of the eyes. Additionally, I must confess that growing up as a person older than @reblogginhood but younger than Miss Fisher, so much of what was on TV was essentially reruns of this film’s iconic Look(tm). So, when I see women dressed like Gaby I am just another three-to-seven-year-old overcome with the drop dead glamour of it all.

Darling, tell me how you really feel...

Some questions I have:

· IS Armie Hammer a hulk of a man? Everyone in this film seems to think so, yet he always tracks to me as trim (rather than hulking)

· Why translate via captions some Russian speaking, but not all?

· IS Napoleon’s backstory directly cribbed from USA’s White Collar?

· DOES Gaby have a German accent?

· Does Ilya get preternaturally attached to all the people he’s ordered to look after? Also, what is his bonding rate with kittens?

Sorry, wrong iteration.

· If Lady Villain knows the lens is wrong—if her technical understanding is that in-depth--does she really need Gaby’s dad to make the bomb?

· How old was Gaby during the war?

· What happens when Ilya gets a NEW puppy assigned to him? (please let this be addressed in film #2)

Hooray for:

· That bathroom fight! *all the Burn Notice feels!

· Gaby is her own lady, and chooses sides as necessary—not always unilateral in her support for either male character. Case in point: she sides with Ilya over the clothes, and Napoleon over the incident of the wallet.

· That delicious (speaking as Rusty, here) Ocean’s 11-stylized action. It’s pretty, so I’m not bored with it. Sometimes a sandwiched montage gets shown, so I’m REALLY not bored. I’ve got 18 tiny moving boxes of things to look at!

· Pinkie rings. There, you’ve told me everything I need to know about that character.

· Solo in a beret. English has not yet found a word for the feeling it evoked in this viewer. Somewhere between ‘precious’ and ‘oh, no’.

See, there? Now you’ve felt it too.

· Goggles! All the accessories! Dune Buggies! (I mean, that’s what I’m calling Napoleon’s chase-scene ride)

Things I adore:

· It seems (after some research) that more than a few folks view Gaby as a third wheel, and though she’s not exactly a Princess Leia commandeering her own rescue and exuding competence and a deserved take-charge-attitude at every corner, she IS a foci for both male characters (though romantically it would seem only for one), just as Ilya is a foci for both her and Napoleon [no one seems to worry about Napoleon, though they should--film #2, anyone?]

· Mechanic Gaby not needing a beauty makeover, or being dragged into one. She gets some nice clothes, but it’s never suggested that she’s not attractive or acceptable before putting them on, and I respect, nay, embrace it.

Oh, my heart. She’s still not as tall as them!

· Ilya, drab pigeon Ilya, knowing fashion

· Oh man, don’t even get me started on the power of the statement, “it doesn’t have to match”

· You knew it was coming on this sublist: the wrestle-fight. I mean, c’mon. Poor little Gaby, locked behind the Iron Curtain, living a life of always being watched. She’s in the swankest hotel (I mean, Napoleon chose it, so we can be sure it’s swank with an E). She’s trying to celebrate her freedom, her liberation. She’s playing verboten music, she’s drinking to excess. Girl wants—and deserves—a party. And Ilya is…not built for that (that he knows of). For some fun, just imagine if she had been given Napoleon to room with instead.

o I will say that this scene, and some of their other interactions have what I would call early (non-sibling) Luke and Leia energy. Ilya seems to have moments of being struck by Gaby in a way Luke is struck by Leia in the early part of the trilogy. When Leia takes charge, and Luke accepts it. When Leia does something incredible, and Luke is left open-mouthed. *no, I don’t see OT Star Wars in everything. Shut up.

· “He fixed the glitch.”

· Again, shout-out to the non-action action.

· “I left my jacket in there.”

· The whole race to rescue Gaby I am in love with beyond words. [I have noted it as “Crazy Jeep Drive with Warhead!”] Probably b/c it comes across as totally egalitarian. Both men want her rescued. They’re no longer in competition. It’s just as important to Napoleon as it is to Ilya to catch up to her. Also, it is bonkers, like some sort of X-games version of a commercial for the vehicles they’re driving. And screaming Willie Scott does not make an appearance.

Someone says “winkle” out.

· Look! Another note about the screen divisions and how I love it, shout-outs to the original Steve McQueen The Thomas Crown Affair (a contemporary of when this movie is meant to be set), and TV’s 24.

Things that get a great, big NOPE:

· Jerrod Harris: you’ve been in so much streamable content in the last decade I can’t hate you, but frankly, you’re terrible here—unless you’re supposed to be giving a mannered, not-campy-enough-to-be-enjoyable performance here. Your American English puts me in the mind of Alex Hawaii 5-0′Loughlin where it feels you’re concentrating so hard on your accent that you fail to convince anyone that you’re a harried, over-worked and exasperated spy handler. Your performance is at odds with every bit of dialogue you’re given to say.

· That awful, mishandled title that doesn’t even connect to the film until the final moments (a sequel set-up, for sure)

· Look, you don’t introduce Hugh Grant casually mid-way through your film in a throwaway appearance. I mean, he’s HUGH GRANT we all know something’s up now.

· This is not exactly a great big NOPE, b/c I love a flat cap, Tommy Shelby—but I feel like a less tall man with a far rounder face in a flat cap would track more as Russian to me that AH does. To me, he just looks like he’s about to go golfing.

Over par? Unacceptable!

· Is Victoria a British-accented Italian? A British woman who married—what? Gaby’s uncle isn’t Italian!? An Italian who went to school in Britain? My head hurts. Also, is her hair meant to be unconvincingly bleached?

Other commentary:

· Napoleon’s adult ne’er-do-well backstory is so far from being emotionally equivalent to Ilya’s childhood trauma [and his enslavement to the USSR] it seems bestial when he calls it out on multiple occasions. Badly done, Solo.

· Gaby is the film’s key (sorry, Buffy fans). Everyone is connected to her. Yes, she could have been given a bit more on the character front, but I don’t see her as as much of a flaw in the film as some others/reviewers seem to.

· Look, essentially (and not very nuanced-ly), Ilya is a stalker. I think the film goes a certain distance in establishing that his early behavior toward Gaby is not normal, but concurrently it does not truly call him out on it. He’s essentially viewed as an odd-duck, sure, but not a true threat to her (should she not reciprocate or tolerate his intensity toward her). I think I might be able to cite his behavior when Gaby comes on to him (that he doesn’t jump at a chance with her) that maybe he’s given a little more nuance than a straight-on stalker, and it helps that he and Napoleon never get into a pissing match over Gaby’s person, only over her new clothes. But overall the film has to walk a fine line (and the jury is still out on how successful it is, I’d say) between playing Ilya’s laser-like attention to Gaby for its humor, and calling it out for the unsettling, threatening behavior it is.

· Honestly, it wasn’t until I engaged the Closed Captioning that I understood Napoleon was calling Ilya the ‘Red Peril’. So, that was nearly three viewings in.

· I give the screen credits A+, on both ends. Not to mention the end credits are actually INTERESTING with lots to see and learn! (Certainly we learn more about HG in them than we do at any time during the film)

Things I would have liked:

· More of fish-out-of-the-Iron-Curtain Gaby moments

· A better dichotomy shown of East vs. West Berlin/Germany. There’s nothing easy either visually or otherwise to distinguish the two.

· HC being given a more specific American accent (from an actual locality). This, for an American viewer, works better than the flat, unlocated American accent many a British actor will bust out. *Mind you, HC does a generally good job, but he fails utterly on both “Immediate” which he pronounces at least twice as “immeedeejt” [rather than imm-E-deeot] and “Nazi” as “NAHT-zee” [rather than “NOT-zee”]. And let’s not get started on that late in the film use of ‘earnt’, a word that—well, it’s just not in the American English twentieth century lexicon.

· C’mon. You gotta tease the Hugh Grant more.

· Solo is a blank before the war. I’ve read thoughts on the film calling out Gaby as the blank character, but they’re wrong. Solo is the blank. He’s the ‘made’ man, his identity seemingly assembled during the war and after. For example, he doesn’t go into the war a thief, nor (it would seem) a particularly educated or urbane individual. Now THAT’s a juicy backstory I’d love to learn about, perhaps in film #2--or #3? What creates a Napoleon Solo? What would he be doing if he weren’t on the government’s leash/incarcerated? Is anyone left caring about him back wherever he calls home? I mean, who doesn’t love a gender-flipped 60s-era Holly Golightly backstory? [And yes, I would love there to be an ex-wife or even a current wife mixed up in his origins as well—Guy Ritchie, call me!]

Notes I have that I’m not sure if they still make sense to me:

· Only mom calls me Napoleon (do he say it ‘mum’?) Is he a secret Canadian?

· Solo’s torture, 1st view recall Napoleon’s childhood? *I think this means that after watching the first time I somehow erroneously believed that during the torture Napoleon’s childhood was a topic gone over. This was wrong. HOWEVER, this would have made far more story-sense than the backstory we’re given on an easily disposeable villain.

· “Even the average Russian agent. You’re special.” ?

· Uncle is Baddie (*so glad I made this note to myself)

· Ilya’s dad IS an embarrassment. I’m not sure what genius commentary I had in my mind, here. Perhaps that Ilya himself is embarrassed of him? Not just Ilya’s handler’s? [Also, aside: Napoleon totally slut-shames Ilya’s mom, which is the doublest of double standards from ‘I got myself the biggest and most ornate suite b/c I-wanted-plenty-of-space-for-my-random-seductions’ and I really wish Ilya had thrown that back in his face] *yes, of course I know that Ilya and Napoleon would not likely equate a wife/mother’s sexual exploits with that of Solo’s, but let’s be honest, this film tweaks the nose of (I won’t say reverses, it doesn’t go that far) plenty of tropes and gender expectations, and this certainly seems like a missed opportunity to call Solo on the carpet (which I hope film #2 does far more)

Things I wrote down so long ago I don’t recall what they mean:

· CC-save

In conclusion:

What does film #2 look like? What title does it get? Will the Peter/Neil White Collar dynamic continue to grow? *note that I have no confidence a second film will ever come to pass...

In the end, all I know is, “It didn't help when American Tom Cruise, who was slated to play U.S. spy Napoleon Solo, dropped out, prompting the casting of Cavill (who had previously read for the Russian role).“ I would not have watched that film.

#tmfu #tmfu 2015 #ilya kuryakin #napoleon solo #gaby teller #henry cavill #armie hammer #alicia vikander #the man from uncle 2015 #the man from u.n.c.l.e.#the man from uncle #i don't know what this film's tags are meant to be to keep it from popping up in the TV series searches Sorry

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anhed-nia · 4 years

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BLOGTOBER 10/17/2020: SPOOKIES

What do we watch, when we watch movies? This question was sparked by my SOV experience with the very different, and differently interesting BLOODY MUSCLE BODYBUILDER FROM HELL and HORROR HOUSE ON HIGHWAY 5. Within the Shot On Video category, one can find inventive homemade features that are driven entirely by blood, sweat, and the creators' feeling of personal satisfaction. The results are sometimes fascinating, in their total alienation from the conventions and techniques of mainstream filmmaking, and after all, one rarely sees anything whose primary motivation is passion, here in the late stages of capitalism. But, all this talk about what goes on behind the camera points to a discrepancy in how we consume different kinds of production. The typical mode of consumption is internal to the movie: What happens in it? Do you relate to the characters? Are you able to suspend your disbelief, to experience the story on a vicarious level? One hardly needs to come up with examples of films that invite this style of viewing. Alternatively, we can experience the movie as a record of a time and place in which real people defied conventions and sometimes broke laws in order to produce a work of art. SOV production is usually viewed through this lens, where the primary interest is not the illusory content, but the filmmakers' sheer determination to create. We find some overlap in movies like EVIL DEAD, which simultaneously presents a terrifying narrative, and evidence of what a truly driven team can create without the aid of a studio, or any real money to speak of. See also, Larry Cohen's New York City-based horror films, in which a compelling drama with great acting can exist side by side with phony but beautiful effects, and exciting stories of stolen footage that would be dangerous or impossible to attempt today. I'm thinking about these different modes of consumption now because I just watched SPOOKIES, a legitimately cursed-seeming film whose harrowing production history has superseded whatever people think about what it shows on the screen. The lovingly composed blu-ray from Vinegar Syndrome includes a feature-length documentary that attempts to explain the making of the film--which is accompanied by its own feature length commentary track by documentarists Michael Gingold and Glen Baisley. The very existence of this artifact suggests a lot about the nature of this movie, in and of itself. The truth behind its existence is as funny as it is tragic.

I'm not going to do a whole breakdown of the tortured origins of SPOOKIES, which is much better told by the aforementioned documentary. To summarize: Once upon a time in the mid 1980s, filmmakers Brendan Faulkner, Thomas Doran and Frank Farel conspired to make a fun, flamboyant rubber monsterpiece called TWISTED SOULS. It was wild, ridiculous, and transparently fake-looking, but it was loved by its hard-working creators; as a viewer, that soulful sense of joy can rescue many a "bad" movie from its various foibles. Then, inevitably, sleazoid producer Michael Lee stepped in--a man who thought you could cut random frames out of the middle of scenes to improve a movie's pace--and ruined it with extreme prejudice. Carefully crafted special effects sequences were cut, relatively functional scenes were re-edited into oblivion, and the seeds of hatred were sown between the filmmakers and the producer. Ultimately, everyone who once cared for TWISTED SOULS was forced to abandon ship, and first time director Eugenie Joseph stepped in to help mutilate the picture beyond all recognition. Thus SPOOKIES was born, a mangled, unloved mutation that would curse many of its original parents to unemployability. For the audience, it is intriguingly insane, often insulting, and hard to tear your eyes off of--but in spite of whatever actually wound up on the screen, it's impossible to forget its horrifying origin story as it unspools.

As far as what's on the screen goes: A group of "friends", including a middle-aged businessman and his wife, a vinyl-clad punk rock bully and his moll, two new wave-y in-betweeners, and...a guy with a hand puppet are somehow all leaving the same party, and all ready to break into a vacant funeral home for their afterparty. Well, this happens after a 13 year old runaway inexplicably wanders in to a "birthday party" in there, that looks like it was thrown for him by Pennywise, and he has the nerve to act surprised when he is attacked by a severed head and a piratey-looking cat-man who straight up purrs and meows throughout the picture. Anyway, separately of that, which is unrelated to anything, the island of misfit friends finds a nearly unrecognizable "ouija board" in the old dark house. Actually this thing is kind of fun-looking, having been made by one of the fun-havers on the production before the day that fun died, and I wonder if anyone has considered trying to make a real board game out of it...but I digress. Naturally, the board unleashes evil forces, including a zombie uprising in the cemetery outside, a plague of Ghoulie-like ankle-biters, an evil asian spider-lady (accompanied by kyoto flutes), muck-men that fart prodigiously until they melt in a puddle of wine (?), and uh...I know I'm forgetting stuff. One of the reasons I'm forgetting is because of this whole side story about a tuxedo-wearing vampire in the basement (or somewhere?) who has entrapped a beautiful young bride by cursing her with immortality. That part is a little confusing, not only because it doesn't intersect with the rest of the movie, but because sometimes it seems contemporary--as the bride struggles to survive the zombie plague--and sometimes it seems like a flashback, as our heroes find what looks like the mummified corpse of the dracula guy, complete with his signet ring. So, I don't know what to tell you really. Those are just some of the things that happen in the movie.

Some people like this a lot, and have supported its ascendance to cult status, which is a huge relief when you know what everyone went through to make this movie, only to have it ripped away from them and used against them. I found SPOOKIES a little hard to take, for all the reasons that the cast and crew express in the documentary. It holds a certain amount of visual fascination, whatever you think of it; something of its original creativity remains evident in the movie's colorful, exaggerated look, and its steady parade of unconvincing but inventive creature effects. But then, you have to deal with the farting muck-men. What was once a scene of terror starring REGULAR muck-men, that sounded incredibly laborious to pull off, became a scene of confusing "comedy" when producer Michael Lee insisted that the creatures be accompanied by a barrage of scatalogical noises. Apparently this was Lee's dream come true, as a guy who insisted everyone pull his finger all the time, and who once tried to call the movie "BOWEL ERUPTOR". But, of all the deformations SPOOKIES endured, the fart sounds dealt a mortal injury to the filmmakers' feelings, and even without knowing that, it's hard to enjoy yourself while that's happening.

Actually, all the farts forced me to ask myself: Is this...a comedy? Like for real, as its main thing? As the movie slogged on, I had to decide that it wasn't, but I was distracted by the notion for around 40 minutes. I was only released from this nagging suspicion when the bride makes her long marathon run through throngs of slavering zombies who swarm her, grope her, and tear off her clothes, before she narrowly escapes to an even worse fate. The lengthy scene is strangely gripping, and sleazy for a movie that sometimes feels like low rent children's entertainment. Part of the sequence’s success lies in its simplicity; it is unburdened by the convoluted complications of the rest of the movie, whose esoteric parts never fall together, so it seems to take on a sustained, intensifying focus. The action itself is unnerving, as the delicate and frankly gorgeous Maria Pechuka is molested and stripped nearly-bare by her undead bachelors, running from one drooling mob to another as the horde nearly engulfs her time and again. Actually, it feels a lot like a certain genre of SOV production in which, for the right price, any old creepy nerd can pay a small crew-for-hire to tape a version of his private fantasy, whether it's women being consumed by slime, or women being consumed by quicksand, or...generally, women being consumed by something. I wish I could describe this form of production in more specific or official terms, because I genuinely think it's wonderful that people do this. Anyway, Pechuka's interminable zombie run feels a little like that, and a little like a grim italian gutmuncher, and a little like an actual nightmare. Perhaps it only stands out against its dubious surroundings, but I kind of love it--and I'm happy to love it, because apparently the late Ms. Pechuka truly loved making SPOOKIES, and wanted other people to love it, too.

Which brings me to the uncomfortable place where I land with this movie. On the one hand...I think it's bad. It's so incoherent, and so insists on its impoverished form of comedy, that it's hard to be as charmed by it as I am by plenty of FX-heavy, no-budget oddities. Perhaps the lingering odor of misery drowns out the sweet joy that the crew once felt in the early days of creation--which is still evident, somehow, in its zany special effects, created by the likes of Gabe Bartalos and other folks whose work you definitely already know and love. But I feel ambivalent, about all of this. On the one hand, I can be a snob, and shit on people for failing to make a movie that meets conventional standards of success. On the other hand, I can be a DIFFERENT kind of snob--a more voyeuristic or even sadistic one--and celebrate the painful failures that produced a movie that is most interesting for its tormented history and its amusing ineptitude. I'm not really sure where I would prefer to settle with SPOOKIES, and movies like it. (As if anything is really "like" SPOOKIES) With all that said, I was left with one soothing thought by castmember Anthony Valbiro in the documentary. At some point, he tells us how ROSEMARY'S BABY is his personal cinematic comfort food; he can put it on at night, after an exhausting day, and drift to sleep, enveloped in its warm, glowing aura. He then says that he hopes there are people out there for whom his movie serves that same purpose, that some of us can have our "milk and cookies moment" with SPOOKIES. Honestly, I choke up just thinking about that.

#blogtober #2020 #spookies #horror #supernatural #vampire #zombie #creature feature #old dark house #cursed film #thomas doran #frank farel #eugenie joseph #michael lee #vipco #twisted souls #brendan faulkner #maria pechuka

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inforapound · 4 years

Text

Emboîté Part 3

A/N - Part 3 of @youbloodymadgenius writing celebration fic. Than you so much for your likes and comments. The saucy Part 4 will be up tonight.

Pairing – Ivar and Sarah (Aethelswith)

Words – 3,500 approx

Series Warning – explicit smut, dance industry inaccuracies, fluffy Ivar, possessive Ivar, semi-slow burn, ‘baby’ used as a term of endearment.

Having lived my life in leotards, leggings, and costumes with little to them, I rarely thought twice about how much of my body was on display. Walking toward me, Ivar looked everywhere but at the short, soft pink dress and sheer leggings, I had chosen for the occasion. Without arrogance or his usual stiff expression, he looked almost shy. It was so adorable it hurt and in that moment, I wished I knew him well enough to tease.

Arriving precisely one hour after my distress call, he came through the doors dressed ‘down’ in a grey button-up shirt and expensive-looking jeans carrying not one but two camera bags, strapped across his chest. It was clear, Ivar Lothbrok did not mess around.

“Hi,” I smiled pleased to be on my own turf.

“Hi, you look,” his bright eyes and neutral face did a quick sweep of my front, “…. ready.”

Not uncomfortable, more focussed, he listened while unpacking his gear, placing it onto a long wooden table pushed against the wall.

“We were all asked to contribute something for the silent auction on the 23rd and Derek, my friend, he’s professional photographer,” Ivar’s eyes narrowed, listening to me rattle on, “was set to take two photos of me. One dancing and one wearing a gown provided by Caffrey’s, our sponsor, who provide all our evening wear. Anyway... the photos will be blown up and framed and put out for the auction.”

“You want mid-motion shots or still poses?” he asked, cutting to the chase.

“I was going to leave that to…”

“Derek?” he asked, glancing up from the canon in his hand, his eyes skipping between each of mine.

“Yeah.”

“Got it.” Dropping his eyes back down to his camera, he flicked various buttons, a digital screen lighting up on the back.

“What do you think I should do?”

Looking up, he said nothing, his mind obviously working it through.

“Let's get some test shots for light and then just do your thing. Forget, I’m here.” With a quick jerk of his head, he indicated he was set.

Moving to my invisible mark on the floor, he took what felt like eight or ten shots of me standing in the center of the room in first position. Adjusting dials and playing with his zoom, he looked through the lens, his other eye squeezing closed, the shutter firing in a rush of clicks. Using a different black cane than the night of the auction, he hooked it on the inside of his elbow anytime he stood in one place. It seemed like an extension of his body, moving it with ease and I knew then his dramatic limp was not an injury but a condition.

It was time. Walking back to the table, I pressed the player, returning to my spot at the center of the wooden floor. The music sounded and I began. Swiveling, I rose up onto pointe, lifting and swinging my right leg in a broad sweep, shoulder height, before dropping and dramatically walking forward with rushed steps. I chose to dance my favourite part of the ballet Coppelia. Leaping high, my extended legs and pointed toes cut and curved through the air. For my size, I had always excelled at grand jetés and knew they often made for an impressive photograph.

My muscles and tendons, calloused feet and bones, blood and soul knew these steps so automatically, so ingrained that my mind could suspend and almost observe. There were few times in life, one could be wholly present, and dancing provided those moments for me. No concerns or past, no fear or questions, no right or wrong, good or bad, just movement. My body simply called forward into this graceful fluidity that felt as natural as taking a breath. So, this piece seemed fitting for such a sensation as the story was about a man who created a dancing doll, void of a mind, who moved so remarkably she floated like some beautiful celestial being. He became obsessed and controlling with her the more people fell in love with her dancing. I felt like a doll twirling and leaping, prancing with delicate steps, void of thoughts, responding only to the pull of the enchanting music.

The last steps were upon me and I rose onto point, extending my other leg vertical to my body, my toes reaching up toward the ceiling. Dropping forward, into a grand révérence, I held allowing the music to come to its end.

Silence.

Pulling myself up from a deep bow, I turned to look at Ivar. Lowering his camera, our eyes met. He had this confronted look and I could only assume he wasn’t sure what to say. The force of his stare and then a quick flutter of his eyelashes betrayed him though. He was impressed.

Exhaling, I relaxed my shoulders, resting my hands on my hips as I caught my breath.

Strange moments had been happening since I first saw him in that ballroom, and this was no exception. Neither of us seemed to know what to say, and I felt this sense of impatience, wishing I knew him already. Wanting, somehow, to fast forward through this polite unfamiliarity to a place where we talk without feeling guarded.

“Okay?” I lifted my chin.

“Yeah,” he answered, lowering his cane to the floor, stepping back to his equipment on the table. Glancing back, “More than okay,” he said, turning again to his gear.

Moving toward him, I grabbed my water bottle off the table and took a long drink.

“Thanks...for this. I would have felt like a ninny with nothing to contribute.”

“Ninny?”

“Yeah,” I smiled looking down at the floor, running my hand, out of habit up the back of my hair to my tight bun.

“Pickle, ninny, do they teach these phrases in Canada?”

“I don’t know,” I laughed, subtly shaking my head, pleased to see his broad smile and shining eyes. “Are you okay waiting while I change and clean up for the dress shots? I might be half an hour or so.”

“You want to do those here?”

“I guess. They were going to be done in Derek’s studio but he’s home sick. I’d rather be lit on fire than have you see my place so, yeah, here.” Looking around the room, I could still feel his eyes, watching me. “I could stand by the window or by the grand piano. Whatever you want. You’re taking the photos.”

Turning from the waist, he inspected the large room with its high ceilings and antique crown moldings, white walls and patinaed oak floors. It was a bright beautiful space.

“So?” he squinted one eye and I could tell he had a plan, “Whatever I want?”

“You are the photographer,” I nodded.

“Mine then.”

The playfulness in his smile and straight white teeth were not helping me catch my breath.

“Your what?”

“My place. My apartment. It has large east-facing windows. The light will be perfect for the next couple of hours. Once the sun sets, the sky will be backlit over the city. You will look…” he nodded, raising his brows but quickly glanced down to the camera he held like a security blanket. “It will work.” Looking back up, his eyes searched mine. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

---

I failed horrendously at keeping causal when walking in behind him, carrying my old duffle and garment bags. My steps slowed to a stop as I entered the contemporary, open concept living room, dining room and kitchen, all with a backdrop of massive steel and glass windows.

“This is amazing,” I said looking up at the high ceilings that opened further to a large loft on a second level. Smooth cement pillars stood in the corner of the floor-to-ceiling windows and ran up through the high, soaring ceilings. Like a nerd, I bent down and ran the pads of my fingers across the glassy black floors. “What is this?”

“Polished concrete,” he answered as he flipped through letters that had been pushed through a mail slot in his door. His own mail slot.

My mother’s crudely lined lips and spiteful words came to mind, when you date a man with money, you bloody well earn every cent. I sighed, shaking off her poison knowing that she in some perverse way hoped I would end up on my back, in some director’s office, working to stay relevant. My poor, bitter mother.

Walking to the dining room, I knew immediately it was not a table to place my shitty old sac on. Draping my dress bag over the back of a tall dining room chair, I dropped the duffle bag to the floor.

Turning around, I found Ivar watching me, leaning against the eating bar that separated his dining room and kitchen. There was a twinkle of amusement in his eyes and I wondered if he pretended not to know how good looking he was. Or, perhaps he was indifferent to the opinions of others. That seemed more likely.

“Come,” he walked over, grabbing my garment bag and led me back toward the entrance and into a large bathroom, in which every surface was the same type of white stone. Hooking the hanger on the glass shower door, he turned to me, glancing around the bathroom as if to check that everything was in its place.

“Do you need anything?” he asked, playing with his cane, picking it up and bouncing its rubber base on the tile floor.

Smiling, I shook my head, internally dying at the image of him standing behind me with a flat iron.

“Okay, I’ll be out there.”

---

Stepping out of the washroom, my hair, by some fluke was skillfully styled down and smoothed out with a gentle wave, and my smoky eyes and nude lipstick were masterfully applied, just as Derek and I had practiced. I even felt confident in my spectacular silver heals. Peering down my front, I ran my hands over my hips, smoothing the grey shimmering satin, loving how the draped silky material felt against the skin of my, shaved that morning, legs.

“That was fa..” Turning around, his words caught in his throat. Closing his mouth, his eyes blatantly scoured the length of my body, his expression not filtering a thing.

I had been a performer all my life but could not remember a single person ever looking at me with that kind of awe.

Glancing down again, I adjusted the seams on the inside of the long sleeves, realizing how much I had wanted him to react this way.

Clearing his throat, he didn’t smile but his body settled as if easing into the reason I was there.

“Okay,” he inhaled loud enough for me to hear and lifted his hand toward the living room. “Let’s start with you in front of the corner window. Maybe even have you lean against the column. God, it’s perfect.” His eyes skipped back down my body. “The silver of your dress with the sky behind.” Pausing, his face softened. “That dress.” His eyes flashed wide and he shook his head with a half-grin.

“Thank you.”

“It’s a good thing you didn’t wear that on Saturday.” Taking the lead, he walked toward the living room, stopping behind a leather armchair. “I would have doubled my bid.”

“I’ll remember that,” I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye as I passed him, heading toward the window. A surge of excitement raced through me knowing that he was seconds away from seeing my exposed skin in the backless dress, cut down to just above my bottom.

“Derek and I picked it out together. So many at Caffrey’s looked like ice capade costumes. I am not a frilly person and he liked the clean lines of it.”

Moving past his low-slung furniture and glass coffee table, I walked toward the corner windows, passing a stunning black ornate fireplace, feeling his eyes burning up and down my spine. Biting my bottom lip to conceal my smile, I wished I could see his face.

“Stop!” he called and I froze, my hands shooting up in front of me, thinking I shouldn’t have walked across his fancy rug with heels on. Slowly looking over to him, he stood beside the armchair, camera lifted, staring at me over the viewfinder.

“Right there. Do not move. Keep looking at me like that.”

Taking his direction, I stayed in place. The clicking of the camera started with a flurry.

With a pleased grunt, he lowered the camera and pressed a button to flip through the images. “God, this is perfect. That is the shot! That is the mother-fucking shot! You look,” lifting his excited face, his bright eyes faltered seeing me again. “You look… perfect.”

“Wow, okay. Thank you.” Shifting my heals, I turned to face him. “That was… fast.”

His attention was already back to the photos on his screen.

Stepping carefully across the dark, likely hand made rug, I headed back, en route to the bathroom.

“Don’t go,” he blurted causing me to snap my head over at him. “Not yet,” his tone was gentle. His puppy eyes were staring right into mine and I had no doubt this man got anything and everything he wanted in life. “Let’s take more. Just for fun. Hmm?” Bobbing his head, his expression turned playful.

Jesus, yes.

Like the good girl that I am, I took a seat on the built-in concrete bench that ran the length of the wall of windows.

Coming out of the kitchen, Ivar’s limp was pronounced, in fact, it looked painful without his cane, as he moved toward me carrying a glass of wine in each hand. Stopping myself from jumping to help, I waited, accepting the glass with a smile when he handed it to me. It tasted lovely and cold and was in the most elegant wine glass...of course.

And did we play…. Ivar stepped into his role as photographer, directing me on position, placement, even how to rest my hands, gently tucking my hair behind my ear and tilting my chin just as he wanted. His fingers lingering longer and longer each time they touched my body or hair or the fabric of my dress. The air felt thick when he was close causing my skin to warm and I felt a wave of disappointment whenever he stepped back. I was his muse, his doll and it was incredibly arousing.

The more photos he took, the more I allowed my inhibitions to unravel and it only fueled Ivar to become more expressive, excited even.

“Okay. Now, I’ll have you come to the couch and just do what feels natural. The glass behind with the colours in the sky, ughh,” he grunted, “amazing.”

Turning his attention back to the eating bar, he took a sip of his wine, scrolling through the last handful of shots. With his back turned, I used it as an opportunity to situate myself. Rolling from my seated position on the black leather sofa, I lay down on my tummy, propping myself up on my elbows, letting my heels drop to the carpet.

Spinning to face me, his eyes widened with surprise but he quickly recovered, pressing his lips together and returning to his role. He could not lift his eyes from me though. Could barely blink. Peering up at him from over my shoulder, his gaze dragged down the length of my bare back, holding on the round swell of my behind, naturally arching toward him. The dim, early evening light, made his normally brilliant eyes appear a deep blue. His entire expression seemed darker somehow as if laying below him, taking his every direction drew him into some wicked part of his mind. I had never felt this sensual before and didn’t want the feeling to fade or for him to stop staring at me like I was the most remarkable thing he had ever seen.

Lowering to sit on the glass coffee table, he lifted his camera once again, his lens sweeping up my form, focussing straight in on my face. Looking directly into the lens, I wondered if my expression was as yearning and wonton as I felt. The air had definitely shifted, and perhaps the glimmer or suggestion in my heavy-lidded eyes gave away my desire. Either he knew the contents of my mind, and how my body was responding or he felt the same as the intensity in his gaze rapidly grew. Faint grunts of approval, running his tongue over his lips, even outright murmuring how incredible and beautiful I looked, swearing under his breath.

I had to consciously control my breathing. The force of his stare, peering over his camera, sped my heart. How could he be doing this to me? It felt crazy knowing that I had only just met him but would not have stopped him from crawling over me, sinking down against my back and grinding into ass. Just the thought made me nearly rock my pelvis against the leather couch, needy for pressure on the tingling between my legs.

“You are so perfect, Sarah,” he whispered, and it occurred to me how often he used my name. I had never liked my name but somehow, the way it slipped from his tongue always with an exhale, it sounded anything but plain.

Two more clicks, three, the camera felt like the only barrier between us now as he slid closer to me, up the table. The image of his smooth, plush lips pressed to mine flashed through my mind and I exhaled loud enough for him to hear.

“Sarah,” he whispered again, my eyes still fixed on the lens of his camera as if hypnotized.

Click. Beep, beep, beep.

“For fuck sakes,” he snarled loudly, lowering his camera. “Don’t move. Don’t move.” Pushing himself up, he rushed, teetering as he walked without his cane, leaning on the back of the furniture to the bar. “Let me just change the battery and we’ll keep going.” Glancing back quickly as if to make sure I was still there, “God, have I really taken over a hundred photos!” he laughed sharply, dropping his head back. He was giddy.

“Ivar?” I pushed up on the couch to sit, combing my fingers through my tousled hair, attempting to blink off the spell I felt under. I needed to move, get some air before… well, I wasn’t sure what, but something was going to happen if I stayed splayed out like a dog in heat. I barely knew him!

Turning back to me, frustration flashed through his features but he stopped and looked at me. No, scrutinized, me.

“Ivar, I think I need to...”

“Who is Derek?” he cut me off, the question catching me by surprise.

“The photographer I told you about.” Not reacting, he stood waiting for me to continue. “Actually, he was one of the first people I met when I moved here. He is the photographer for the theatre, or I should say the theatre is one of his clients. He took my headshots for the company and we became close. It was nice as I was new to the city. Didn’t know anyone. Still don’t really.”

“So, it is more than professional between you?” he narrowed his eyes as if confused by something I said.

My stomach fluttered and I suddenly felt odd sitting across the room from him. “Yes,” I replied realizing that clarified nothing.

His eyes flashed again and he glanced down at his camera. I could see the steeliness in his gaze when he looked back up. “So, he dates the new ballerinas?”

Ignoring the insinuation, I answered, “He is my close friend and one who is far more interested in… ballerinos.” My brows spiked high on my forehead emphasizing my meaning.

Tilting his head to one side, he squinted further, before, “Oh!”

Locking eyes again, we looked at each other longer than what felt appropriate and I wondered if we would have reconnected if Derek hadn’t serendipitously fallen ill. Sooner than later, my instincts told me.

“I am going to go and change,” I finally said, needing to say something.

Rising from the couch, I picked my heals up off the rug and headed toward the hall for the bathroom. The room had become shadowy and I stared at the floor as I walked, gasping when he grabbed my wrist, pulling me toward him, my hair flying out of place.

“Sorry,” he spoke quietly, letting go of my arm. We were standing close. “Don’t change,” his voice was just above a whisper. “Let’s not waste that dress.” His eyes dropped, sweeping across my chest. “Can I take you back to Piccolo’s for supper?”

“Twice in one week?” I smiled softly, inwardly thrilled by how he was looking at me.

Shrugging, his eyes watched my mouth, waiting for me to answer.

Giggling, a little too loudly, two thoughts occurred, I really did need to eat after two glasses of wine on an empty stomach and I was no where near ready to say goodbye. Lifting my chin, my smile widened, “We are creatures of habit, are we not?”

@youbloodymadgenius @naaladareia @whenimaunicorn @lol-haha-joke @ceridwenofwales @jaydelesley4 @sweeneythots @funmadnessandbadassvikings @fangirl-nonsense @thiahilmarsdottir @redama @mdredwine @didiintheblog @yourpurplequeen @londongal2810 @fields-and-fields-of-poppies @readsalot73 @hexqueensupreme @silly-bullshit-collector @littlecarolina94 @oddsnendsfanfics @youbelongeverywhere @blonddnamedhandz @waiting4inspiration @flowers-in-your-hayr @zuxiezendler @heavenly1927 @squirrelacorngliterfarts @jzr201 @hecohansen31

#ivar fic #ivar fanfiction #modern ivar #ivar lothbrok #ivar ragnarson #ivar smut #ivar love story #ivar love #ivar slow burn #slow burn #ivar au #vikings fic

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coppicefics · 3 years

Photo

Masked Omens: Week Five

[Image Description: Image 1 - A simple rendition of the Masked Singer UK logo, a golden mask with colourful fragments flying off of it. The mask has a golden halo and a golden devil tail protruding from either side. Below, gold text reads ‘Masked Omens’.

Image 2 - A page from the Entertainment section of the Capital Herald, dated Saturday, 23rd January 2021. Full image description and transcript below cut. End ID.]

Read the fic here!

The Capital Herald - Saturday, 23rd January 2021 Entertainment, page 15

Top section: Stream of Consciousness: Shows To Make You Think A whole host of great documentaries, old and new, have just been added to streaming services Who doesn't love a good documentary? You can learn all sorts of things, and you don't have to do any of the research for yourself. Over the last couple of weeks, loads of people seem to have been tuning into the wealth of documentaries available on various streaming services; here are a few I particularly enjoyed. Green Planet (2020) is not your standard nature documentary; while there are some extremely cute shots of animals (including gorillas, whales, and giant squid) the main focus is on sustainable practices people are experimenting with in all sorts of industries and contexts, and the way they allow local wildlife to flourish. It's thought-provoking stuff. We're As Folk (2019) takes a look at the contemporary folk movement, interviewing figures from the second British revival right through to the present day; contributors include Seth Lakeman, Frank Turner, Anathema and Bellowhead. With folk-festival anecdotes aplenty, the documentary explores the intricacies of the genre and culminates in all the contributors performing a once-in-a-lifetime rendition of 'She Moved Through The Fair'. Gadget If You Can (2015) might be a little outdated now, but that's what makes it such a compelling watch. From watches that tell the time in 21 capital cities concurrently to hoverboards that actually, well, hover, this is a fascinating look at the new devices that seemed to be just on the horizon when it was released more than five years ago. Some have since appeared; some remain pipedreams. All are interesting! Making Fast Friends (2012) is the oldest documentary on this list, and the narrowest in scope. It was released alongside the SEGA charity single 'Fast Friends' and gives us a behind the scenes look at what happened when Sonic the Hedgehog teamed up with a whole bunch of children's TV presenters to make the record. Although largely factual in nature, it does also feature animated 'interviews' with Sonic and Knuckles, so it's entirely suitable for watching with your family. And P-White fans, in particular, will not want to miss this a second time around. A War Without War (2021), by contrast, is both up-to-the-minute and extremely disturbing to watch. It is composed of a mixture of expert analysis of the situation developing on the ground in Celestan and grim footage allegedly smuggled out of the country by fleeing residents. Moreover, with more episodes promised, it forces the viewer to acknowledge what is happening as the country breaks apart, and asks us the difficult question: can you have a war without war? Dinosaurs: The Punchline (2013) is frequently mistaken for a mockumentary thanks to its tongue-in-cheek title. It is, in fact, a thoughtful exploration of how religious groups respond to apparent conflicts between scientific facts and the tenets of their faith. Without shying away from the realities of science as we know it, this film takes a surprisingly sensitive approach to investigating how science and religion intersect in the modern world. By The Numbers (2018) looks back at the history of the televised National Lottery, along with its competitors on other channels and the entertainment chosen to appear directly after it. Featuring clips and interviews with stars from Marjorie Potts aka Telepathic Tracy, whose show aired after the draw for over a decade, to Marvin O. Bagman, whose sports-based quiz show had, at the time of the documentary’s release, the corresponding Channel 4 slot. It’s not groundbreaking, but it is very entertaining. CITRON DEUX-CHEVAL Have I missed any amazing documentaries you think I should be talking about? Drop me an email at [email protected] or leave a comment on our website and I might feature your recommendations in a future issue.

Centre left: Memory Lane: Kilcridhe Now there’s a vicar I’d have loved to meet at the altar Ask any male-attracted person of a certain age – well, my age and up, really – if they remember Kilcridhe, and you'll be met with flushed cheeks and a glassy expression. We remember Kilcridhe, all right – or perhaps it would be fairer to say that we remember Father Jacob MacCleod. It's hard to believe that heartthrob Jacob was Anthony Crowley's first major role on television, and harder still to believe that he was also one of his last. The show ran for only two six-episode series, between 2005 and 2006, but in those twelve hours I think it's fair to say a fair few of us fell irrevocably in love. Kilcridhe was named for the fictitious Scottish village where it was set, and largely revolved around the goings-on of the local church and its new minister. Much of the series' drama centred around Father MacCleod's ongoing attempts to fill the pews, which saw him trying everything from hosting a bake sale – for which he ended up baking everything himself – to arranging a community talent show, with predictably bizarre results. But during the course of these adventures, each episode also introduced us to one or more of Kilcridhe's residents. We got a glimpse into the little struggles and joys of their lives – most of which quickly became Jacob's struggles and joys, too. My main memory of this show is that it was pretty. Not just Jacob, but everything about it, from the location they chose for the exterior shots, to the tone added in post-production; everything was just slightly more saturated and colourful than real life, not enough to be jarring but enough to give the whole thing a strangely dreamlike feel. In fact, as Jacob remarked as he prepared to leave for Edinburgh at the end of series one (not knowing if he would return or if the show would be cancelled), “leaving [Kilcridhe] feels like waking from a dream, like going back to reality somehow”. It was, perhaps, for the best that Kilcridhe was cancelled after only two series. Shows originally envisioned as limited series rarely keep their charm past a second extension, and the central actor was to encounter personal problems not long after the end of the show. That's not to say that a revival couldn't work, perhaps with a completely new protagonist. But Father Jacob MacCleod lives on in the hearts of his many fans, smiling that enigmatic smile of his, and when that's not enough, there's always online fanfiction. So much fanfiction. SARAH JEUNE Memory Lane is our regular feature, looking back at the books, shows and films of yesteryear through a nostalgic lens. Do you miss something you’d like to see featured? Just send the show name (plus channel and airdates if you know them) in an email to: [email protected] - your prayers might just be answered!

Centre right: Correspondent’s Corner Stop talking about it Anathema is making waves again as she does the talk-show circuit to promote her new album, Narrative Devices. It's a very pretty album from a very lovely girl, but she does keep getting hung up on one point. Every time somebody describes her music as country, she interrupts to tell them it's folk. Well, I'm no music expert, but even I know that folk is a very European genre, and the United States' equivalent is country, or country and western music, to give it its full name, and to continue to argue to the contrary is simply courting controversy for controversy's sake. It is unbecoming of a young lady – even, or perhaps especially, a young lady with Anathema's obvious talent – to continue to argue with her elders on the subject, and even to correct the likes of Graham Norton and Giles Brandreth. These sage bastions of broadcasting deserve more respect, and they couldn't be more gracious in accepting their 'mistake'. But surely a young musician in the first flush of success should take the time to learn about what she's actually doing? It doesn't seem very much to ask. It’s not entirely her fault, of course; the youth of today are given far too much freedom by their parents and, on top of that, are often propelled to disproportionate success with no chance to prepare for it. Is it any wonder that it all goes to their heads? But there is no excuse for not making an effort to keep their egos in check and defer to their betters on matters of terminology and best practice. Naturally, we all hope that Anathema will enjoy a long and successful career making the music she enjoys the most and , more importantly, music we can all enjoy too. And I also hope that she will, eventually, acquire the humility so rarely found in young people these days and accept that she does not always know best. If she listens to the counsel of older and wiser heads than hers, she might even learn something. ANDY SANDALPHON What can’t they do? If there's one thing that's becoming apparent with every passing week of The Masked Singer UK, it's that celebrities are no longer to content to stay in their lane. No, these multi-talented marvels seem determined to push themselves to the limit in every possible field. So far, we’ve seen sergeants become singers, rugby players become rockers, doctors become divas and authors become, er, audible. And with weeks still to go in this competition, we still have eight masked celebrities to guess. Eight people whose day jobs probably don’t include getting on stage and belting out pop standards are still waiting to impress us with talents that aren’t even their thing. I mean, if I could sing and dance like the contestants on the show, you can bet your life I’d be making a living from it. It would be my number one talent, and I’d be rubbish at anything else, because most of us only get one main skill. Not these jammy gits, though. For them, this is a sideline. It's not just The Masked Singer, of course – from proving their talent for trivia on Pointless Celebrities and their wordplay wisdom on Celebrity Catchphrase to demonstrating their culinary qualities on Celebrity Masterchef and The Great Celebrity Bake Off, it seems that wherever you look someone is adding a new string to their bow. Being a phenomenally talented actor, singer, or footballer is all well and good, but more and more stars are now keen to show us that they really can do anything and everything. And why shouldn't they? It's phenomenally entertaining television to watch. And for those of us who sometimes feel inadequate compared to our famous idols, it can be very reassuring to watch, for example, a comedian weeping into his cupcake mix on Bake Off or an Oscar nominee fall on her face on Dancing On Ice. When they do well, it's amazing; when they do badly, it's life-affirming. That said, I've been blown away by the talent of the contestants on The Masked Singer this series. It's so inspirational, in fact, that I might take up watercolours. EDWARD BIGGS Bottom right (in blue box): Citron’s Quick Picks Fast favourites from Citron Deux-Cheval Look: Sea Change by Hastur LaVista There's never been a journey to to the top quite like P-White's. This authorised biography charts a course from children's presenter to global superstar through interviews, pictures and anecdotes. While the research sometimes seems a little slapdash, the story at the heart of the book is more than interesting enough to hold it together. And since it's authorised, Maputi themself has contributed plenty of private insights and observations. [Image description: A book, its cover featuring a blue-green gradient with black, dripping lines spilling across it. The title reads ‘Sea Change’. End ID.] Listen: Narrative Devices by Anathema Anathema's first album was well-received both within the folk community and beyond it. Now her second album, backed up by an obvious increase in resources, looks set to enjoy similar mainstream success, and deservedly so. The theme this time seems to be the act of telling stories, but it's also a story in itself. You'll have heard the singles, but it takes on new meaning when you play it in order! [Image description: An album cover featuring hands holding a book. The words “Anathema” and “Narrative Devices” are printed on it. End ID.] Laugh: Newtral Stance by AutoTuna on YouTube It's not the first time beleaguered commentator Newton Pulsifer has had his words edited into a supercut. It's not even the first time his frequent disagreements with the VAR have been autotuned – including by YouTube user AutoTuna. But this new edition adds an extra dimension in the form of a flat, robotic voice duetting – and duelling – with the frustrated human, taking the hilarity to a whole new level! [Image description: A screenshot of a young woman wearing a call centre headset (specifically, the woman who cold-calls Crowley in Good Omens and gets Hastur instead). She looks extremely bored. End ID.]

Advertisement, bottom right: IS THIS YOUR CARD? [Image Description: Two business cards with a white-to-yellow gradient, overlapping so that they are slightly fanned out. Printed on the left-hand side of each is ‘This is to certify The Amazing [blank] as a [blank] training under Mr A.Z. Fell.‘ The one behind is filled in with ‘Your Name-’ and ‘Sorcer-’. The front card is filled in in a more child-friendly font, with ‘Your Name Here’ and ‘Junior Magician’. Below this is space for a start and expiry date, filled in with ‘08/20�� and ‘08/21′ respectively. On the right-hand side of the card, a logo shows a rabbit emerging from an upturned top hat, and below it are the words ‘Harry’s Junior Magic Academy’. The word ‘Junior’ is in the same child-friendly font as before. End ID.] IT COULD BE. Membership is open to under 12s and 13-18 year-olds at www.harrys-magic.com

End of transcript.

#masked omens #mo week five #very much fake news #good omens fic

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noelclover · 3 years

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Off the Cuff 26/09/20

A topic about the nature of art and art as a product. I forgot to post this and it’s been over a month lol

This topic has been on my mind for quite a while and, like with most topics I finally pen down, I go about it in circles for months, at times dragging in anyone who would spare half a ear and a smidge of attention to the topic as I rant like a broken record, trying to figure out how best to start on the topic. And I figured that the best way to go about it was to simply ask the age old question that has many rolling their eyes, that everyone seems to think they have an answer to:

What is art?

The nature of art is a really difficult one to pin down. Some believe that art has to transcend humanity, display the best and worst of us, elevate us in some spiritual fashion. Some believe that as long as it’s beautiful or has a point to make, it’s art. Others still believe that if it’s called art, then it must be art. I agree with the first two to some degree, despite them occasionally butting heads, but I can never agree with the last bit.

(( Points at the banana being taped to the wall work of “art” ))

And it is because I understand their arguments and points, due to having studied art history despite my lecturer thinking that I was just goofing around, that I find myself, with the advent of two... pieces of media put out this year, in a perplexing position that can only be described as

“I get it. But why.”

The first of which is “The Last of Us 2″ and the second being the recent “Cuties” by Netflix.

((Please note I have not partaken in either product. This isn’t a criticism or endorsement of either of them, but rather a point at the decisions of the people who made them.))

Now, before I elaborate further on either of them, I’d like to talk about Dadaism. (( Note that this is partially by memory and some quick fact checking. Additionally, I’m absolutely terrible at categorizing things through timeline and if something can fit multiple boxes, I end up jumbling them up. So please take the following explanation as more of a guideline and general gist than some academician toiling about the technical details of a topic )) Dadaism is an interesting field of art that was essentially “anti-art”, or grew out of a movement that believed in being anti-art and challenging the notions of what art is and from it sprung the surrealism and conceptual art movements. The term dada is said to be as a child saying “dada”, to highlight and evoke the absurdity and childishness of the movement. You can see examples of dada works with a quick look through Google, from which you’ll find a signed urinal being called a “fountain” and considered “art”, and you might find “Artist’s Shit”, a “work” consisting of 90 steel cans allegedly containing 30g of the artist’s feces.

Now, most of you may go “Noel, that’s absurd. How is that art?”, which is a fine and expected. I will now fully admit that dadaism simply strengthened my belief that art isn’t art just because some artist decided to slap a label on it. But here’s the thing: Ironically, dadaism became art. By being a criticism of contemporary art and arguing the nature of art, it ultimately became thoughtful in it’s absurdity and the meaningless, the worthless pieces of “art” created with it in mind became meaningful despite the lack of tangibility to whatever art is defined as in the minds of the masses.

Now that I’ve highlighted how “art” can be defined as something having a meaning or a point no matter how absurd, and have hopefully explained my view and ability to see how these things are art, I’d like to bring the topic back to “The Last of Us 2″ and “Cuties”. I understand TLoU2′s controversial decision, despite the fact that I brought up the question of “why”. I understand that they wanted to push the anger, the hatred before showing you that Abby is human, just like the characters you loved. Your hatred and anger towards her is justified and you fall into a cycle of hate and anger, either denying any attempt to know her better or begrudgingly because the lens of which you view her is stained by her actions. If the director’s idea is to force the player into a position where they absolutely hate Abby, then the decision to go with the storyline instead of rearranging the timeline so that players could get to know Abby first is the right thing to do.

I understand the idea of Mignonnes or Cuties, as it’s known worldwide. Our world is becoming more sexualized, the effect this has on children is worrying. The way we would look at a woman in a more appreciative lens is applied in the movie on prepubescent girls who try to be grown up (( hopefully )) creates a sense of disgust, to disturb the viewer. I know why the film is done in a more gratuitous manner, it is to elicit a response from the viewer, for us to criticize and think of the consequences of the pushing the boundaries we’re pushing. ((I am not endorsing the film. I haven’t watched it, and most likely will never watch it. I get the idea behind the decisions taken, that’s all.))

I get it. And note, I am not, in any way, stating that it is wrong for the creators to make the product the way they made if looking at it from the lens of “art”, if we consider art being a blunt tool that has you thinking.

Yet despite my understanding of this, the question in my mind doesn’t change:

But why?

You see, like the art pieces, the game and film are pushing boundaries and that’s fair. But unlike the art pieces in galleries, it’s marketed to the masses, most of whom probably won’t like the product even if they understand the idea behind it. From a marketing standpoint, and one of public relations, such works are generally bad. They’re meant to be “art” works, media that satisfies a small niche, delivers a message or has you thinking. They’re not works for the average person who wants to sit down and watch a movie or play a game at the end of the day. They’re not for the majority of the audience, as proven by the general publics dislike towards post-modern art, dadaism and the two products in question.

If you make something like that and embrace the fact that it will probably land you in hot water or not sell well, it’s all good. But it seems to me, based on the impressions I’ve had from memories of whatever it is I read, that the directors, that these creators expected the general public to embrace their works. It makes no sense and screams of naivete, if not outright stupidity.

It screams of a bloated sense of self import, as though one is beyond reproach and the audience, the masses are expected to open up their wallets and give these people their money. It reminds me of the PR disasters of Blizzard really. To sum it up, I suppose the point of this post is to simply highlight what I think we can all consider common sense: If you’re selling a product, make it appealing to the consumer. ((I’d like to add that in the case of Mignonnes/Cuties, the question of whether or not such depictions need to be made should be asked. I won’t get into that because it’s probably been talked to death, hell and back.))

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aion-rsa · 3 years

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How Science Fiction’s Ensemble Stories Humanize Space

https://ift.tt/eA8V8J

A close-knit crew of wildly different people ride around on a spaceship having adventures. If you’re a sci-fi fan, there are very good odds that this synopsis describes one of your hooks into the genre. That crew might be a dysfunctional band of space criminals and revolutionaries, or a clean cut team of scientists, diplomats and soldiers serving a galactic Space UN, but there is a core appeal to this set up across the genre.

“Ensemble crews are one of the quickest and most powerful ways to forge a found family. A foundational example for me was Blake’s 7,” says Paul Cornell, who has written stories for the Star Trek: Year Five comic series among his many speculative fiction credits. “They haven’t been recruited, they have relative degrees of distance from the cause, they’ve been flung together. The most important thing is that they’re all very different people.”

These Are the Voyages…

It’s a formula that has been repeated over and over for about as long as there has been science fiction on television—starting with the likes of Star Trek and Blake’s 7, through the boom in “planet of the week” style TV in the 90s and 00s with Farscape and Firefly, to more recent stories like Dark Matter, The Expanse, Killjoys, and the Guardians of the Galaxy films. Most recently Sky’s Intergalactic, and the Korean movie Space Sweepers have been carrying the standard, while last month saw people diving back into the world of Mass Effect with Mass Effect Legendary Edition. While Commander Sheppard is ostensibly the protagonist of the video game trilogy, few would argue that it’s anything other than the ensemble of the Normandy crew that keeps people coming back.

As science fiction author Charlie Jane Anders points out, it’s not hard to see the appeal of a family of likeable characters, kept in close quarters by the confines of their ship, and sent into stories of adventure.

“I love how fun this particular strand of space opera is, and how much warmth and humour the characters tend to have,” Anders says. “These stories have in common a kind of swashbuckling adventure spirit and a love of problem-solving and resourcefulness. And I think the ‘found family’ element is a big part of it, since these characters are always cooped up on a tiny ship together and having to rely on each other.”

Over the years the Star Wars franchise has delivered a number of mismatched spaceship crews, from various ensembles to have crewed the Millennium Falcon, to the band of rebels in Rogue One, to the crew of the Ghost in Star Wars: Rebels.

That energy was one of the inspirations for Laura Lam and Elizabeth May, the writers behind Seven Devils and its upcoming sequel, Seven Mercies. In Seven Devils, a team of very different women come together aboard a starship stolen from an oppressive, galaxy-spanning empire, clashing with each other as much as the regime they are fighting.

“So many of these stories are what we grew up with, and they were definitely influences. The scrappy people trying to make a living or rebel against a higher power, or the slick luxury communism of Star Trek,” says Lam. “What’s great and terrible about space is how you are often stuck on a ship with people, for better or worse. That isolation can breed really interesting character conflict and deep bonds. You have to have your crew’s back, otherwise space or alien plants are too large or dangerous [to survive].”

While the “Seven” duology is very much inspired by this genre of space adventure, it also brings these stories’ underlying political themes to the surface.

“What I enjoy most about space operas is taking contemporary socio-cultural and political issues and exploring them through a different lens,” says May. “I love to think of them in terms of exploration, analogous to ships navigating the vastness of a sea. And on journeys that long, with only the ocean and saltwater (space) around you, things become fraught. Yes, these are tales of survival, but they’re also tales of what it means to question the world around you. Aside from the cultural questions that [premise] raises, it opens possibilities for conflict, character bonding, and worldbuilding.”

In Yudhanjaya Wijeratne’s novel, The Salvage Crew, his ensemble don’t spend long on their ship. In the opening scene, they are plummeting through the atmosphere of an alien planet in a drop-pod piloted by an AI who is also the book’s narrator. But the book shares that sense of characters who need to stick close together in the face of a large and dangerous universe.

“What did I like about [space team stories]? Well, always the sense of wonder that the scale brought me: the feeling that Earth, and all our bickering, was just a tiny speck of dust – what Sagan called ‘the pale blue dot’ – and out there was an entire universe waiting to be explored,” Wijeratne says. “I treasured the darkness, as well: the darkness of the void, the tragedy of people in confined spaces, and a terror of the deep that only the deep sea brings me. It wasn’t the family attitude: it was more the constraints and the clever plays within terrifyingly close constraints. There’s a kind of grim, lunatic nihilism you need for those situations, and I loved seeing that.”

When asked for their favourite examples of the genre, one name kept coming up. Wijeratne, Anders, Lam, and May all recommended the Wayfarers books by Becky Chambers. The first in the series, A Long Way to a Small Angry Planet, concerns the crew not of an elite space naval vessel, or a renegade crew of space criminals, but of a ship that lays hyperspace tunnels for other, more glamorous ships to travel through. This job of space road-laying is one that I can only recall seeing once before, much more catastrophically, in the Vogon Constructor Fleet of Hitchhiker’s Guide the Galaxy. A Long Way to a Small Angry Planet is a very different tale, however.

May tells us, “It’s a quieter space tale, a novel that feels very much like a warm hug. I love it with all my heart.”

Chambers doesn’t hold back when describing the impact this genre had on her growing up.

“I can’t remember life without these stories,” she says. “TNG first aired when I was three years old, and I watched Trek every week with my family until Voyager wrapped when I was sixteen. I can recite most of the original Star Wars trilogy word for word while I’m watching the movies, and I binged Farscape like my life depended on it when I was in college. This storytelling tradition is so much a part of my fabric that I have a hard time articulating what it is I like about it so much. It’s just a part of me, at this point. These stories are fun, full stop. They’re exciting. They can break your heart and crack you up in equal measure. They’re about small little clusters of people doing extraordinary things within an impossibly vast and beautiful universe. Everything about my work is rooted here. I can’t imagine who I’d be without these stories.”

The Unchosen Ones

Perhaps a big part of the appeal of these stories is that they are about an ensemble of people, each with their own stories and goals and perspectives. It can be refreshing where science fiction and fantasy frequently centre stories of “the Chosen One”, be it a slayer, boy wizard, or Jedi who is the person the narrative happens to. While Chosen One stories will frequently have a wide supporting cast, the emphasis for those other characters is frequently on the “supporting”.

“I very intentionally wanted to do something other than a ‘chosen one’ story with Wayfarers. I’m not sure I can speak to any broader trend in this regard, but with my own work, I really wanted to make it clear that the universe belongs to everybody in equal measure,” Chambers says. “Space opera is so often the realm of heroes and royalty, and I love those stories, but there’s a parallel there to how we think about space in the real world. Astronauts are and have always been an exceptional few. I wanted to shift the narrative and make it clear that we all have a place out there, and that even the most everyday people have stories worth telling.”

It’s an increasingly popular perspective. Perhaps it’s telling that one of the most recent Star Trek spin-offs, Lower Decks, focuses not on the super-heroic bridge crew, but the underlings and red shirts that do their dirty work, and that in turn echoes the ultra-meta John Scalzi novel, Redshirts.

Charlie Jane Anders’ recently released young adult novel, Victories Greater Than Death is a story that starts off with an almost archetypical “Chosen One” premise. The story’s protagonist, Tina, is an ordinary teenage girl, but is also the hidden clone of the hero of a terrible alien war. But as the story progresses, it evolves into something much more like an ensemble space adventure.

“I was definitely thinking about that a lot in this book in particular,” Anders says. “Tina keeps thinking of the other earth kids as a distraction from her heroic destiny or as people she needs to protect. Her friend Rachael is the one who keeps pushing for them to become a family and finally gets through to Tina.”

Seven Devils (and its upcoming sequel, Seven Mercies) is also a story that tries to focus on the exact people who would never be considered “chosen” or who have wilfully turned away from their destiny.

“I do like that most of them [the characters] are those the Tholosians wrote off as unimportant–people to be used for their bodies, and not encouraged to use their minds,” Lam says. “And Eris’s journey turning away from the life chosen for her and choosing her own, but having to wrangle with what she still did for the Empire before she did, makes her a very interesting character to write. In many ways, she was complicit, and she’s not sure she’ll ever be able to atone.”

Wijeratne also argues that an ensemble story is in many ways more true to life.

“Rarely in life do you find this Randian John Galt type, this solo hero that changes the world by themselves; more often you find a group of people with similar interests, covering for each other, propping each other up,” he says. “It’s how we humans, as a species, have evolved. Our strength is not in our individual prowess, but in the fact that three people working together can take down a mammoth, and a thousand people working together can raise a monument to eternity.”

While there are certainly themes and kinds of story that are more suited to ensemble storytelling, May points out that there is plenty of room for both kinds of story.

“Having written books that explore both, I find that Chosen One narratives are often stories of duty, obligation, and self-discovery,” she says. “Ensemble narratives often involve themes of acceptance and friendship bonds. To me, these serve different narrative functions and ask separate questions.”

A Space of Their Own

The spaceship-crews-on-adventures subgenre is one of the major pillars of science fiction as a whole, with the trope codifier, Star Trek, being likely one of the first names that comes to mind when you think of the genre. This means that the writers working within the subgenre are not only heavily influenced by what came before, they are also in conversation, and sometimes argument with it.

Paul Cornell is a huge Star Trek fan, and has written for the characters before. His upcoming novella, Rosebud, features the quite Star Trek-ish scenario of a crew of AIs, some formerly humans, some not, investigating an anomaly. It’s a story that very much intersects with the ideals of Star Trek.

“Rosebud is about a crew who are meant to believe in something, but no longer really do,” Cornell says. “They’re a bunch of digital beings with varying origins, some of whom were once human, some of whom weren’t. There’s a conflict under the surface that nobody’s talking about, and when they encounter, in a very Trek way, an anomalous object, it’s actually a catalyst for their lives changing enormously. I’m a huge fan of the Trek ethos. I like good law, good civilisation, civil structures that do actually allow everyone to live their best lives, and Rosebud is about how far we’ve got from that, and a passion for getting back to that path.”

Other stories more explicitly react against the more dated or normative conventions in the genre. Seven Devils, for instance, both calls out and subverts the very male demographics of a lot of these stories.

“For a lot of ensemble casts, you get the token woman (Guardians of the Galaxy, for example) and until recently, things were fairly heteronormative,” Lam says. “So we basically wanted to turn things around and have a gang of mostly queer women being the ones to save the universe. We also went hard on critiquing imperialism and monarchies with too much power.”

Indeed, the “space exploration” that is the cornerstone of much of the genre, is an idea deeply rooted in a colonialist, and often racist tradition.

I’ve written my own space ensemble story, an ongoing series of four “planet of the week” style novellas, Fermi’s Progress. One of my concerns with the genre is how often the hero spaceship will turn up at a “primitive” planet, then overthrow a dictator, or teach the women about this human concept called “love”, or otherwise solve the local’s century’s old, deeply rooted societal problems in half-an-hour and change in a way that felt extremely “white colonialists going out and fixing the universe”.

My solution was simple. In Fermi’s Progress, the crew’s prototype spaceship has an experimental FTL drive that unfortunately vaporises every planet they visit as they fly away. It’s a device that riffs off the “overturn a planet’s government then never mention them again” trope of planet-of-the-week stories, keeps the ship and crew moving, and leaves the reader in no doubt as to whether or not these “explorers” are beneficial to the places they visit.

Of course, not every effort to engage with these issues needs to be so dramatic.

“Since I tend to view space operas in terms of uncharted exploration, it’s crucial that the text addresses or confronts power issues in its various forms: who has it, who suffers from it, how is it wielded?” May says. “And sometimes those questions have extraordinarily messy and complicated answers in ways that do not fit neatly with ‘good team overthrows evil empire.’ One of the things I wanted to address was this idea of ‘rebels are the good guys.’ Who gets to be a good person? Who else pays the price for morality? In Seven Devils, the character of Eris ends up doing the dirty, violent work of the rebellion so the others can sleep at night–so that they can feel they’ve made moral and ethical choices. And for that same work, she’s also judged more harshly by those in the rebellion who get to have clear consciences because of her actions.”

“I had particular beef with the homogeneity,” says Wijeratne. “An entire planet where x race was of an identical sentiment? Pfft. At the same time, this naive optimism, that people can work together on a planetary scale to set up institutions and megastructures without enormous amounts of politics and clashes. I was most frustrated with this in Clarke’s work. [Rendezvous with] Rama in particular: it just didn’t compute with what I knew of people.”

As a consequence of the genre’s colonialist roots—not to mention the nature of most real spaceflight programmes—space in these stories can feel like an extremely militarised space. Even a gang of misfits, fugitives and renegades like the Farscape cast features at least a couple of trained soldiers at any one time.

“I didn’t want my characters to be just redshirts or ensigns, who get ordered around and seldom get to take much initiative,” Anders points out. “And I was interested in exploring the notion that a space force organized by non-humans might have very different ideas about hierarchy and might not have concepts like ‘chain of command’. I tried not to fall unthinkingly into the military tropes that Trek, in particular, is prone to.”

Chambers was also driven by a desire to show people who were working in space without wearing a uniform.

“I wanted to tell space stories that weren’t about war or military politics,” she explains. “These things exist in the Wayfarers universe, and I personally love watching a space battle as much as anybody, but I think it’s sad if the only stories we tell about the future are those that focus on new and inventive ways of killing each other. Human experience is so much broader than that, and we are allowed to imagine more.”

Getting the Band Together

Writing a story built around an ensemble, rather than a single main character, brings its own challenges with it. In many ways, creating a central protagonist is easy. The story has to happen to somebody. Creating an ensemble can be tricker. Each character needs to feel like they’re the protagonist of their own story, but also the cast is in many ways a tool box for the writer to bring different perspectives and methods to bear on the issue at the centre of their story. Different writers take very different approaches to how they put that toolbox together.

“I had some types I wanted to play with, and I was consciously allowing myself to go a little wild, so they get to push against the walls of my own comfort zone,” Cornell says of the AI crew in Rosebud. “I created a group of very different people, tried them against each other, and edited them toward the most interesting conflicts that suited my theme.”

Anders also went through various iterations in assembling her cast of characters for Victories Greater Than Death.

“I went through a huge process of trial and error, figuring out exactly how many Earth characters I wanted in the book and how to introduce them,” she says. “I wanted characters who had their own reason for being there and who would either challenge Tina or represent a different viewpoint somehow. I think that’s usually how you get an interesting ensemble, by trying to have different viewpoints in the mix.”

In writing Fermi’s Progress, I very much tried to cut the crew from whole cloth, thinking of them primarily as a flying argument. Thinking about the original Star Trek crew, most of the stories are driven by the ongoing debate between Spock’s pragmatism, McCoy’s emotions, and Kirk’s sense of duty, and so the Fermi’s crew was written to have a number of perspectives that would be able to argue interestingly about the different things they would encounter.

Others, however, focus strongly on the individual characters before looking at how they fit together.

“I gravitate much more toward writing multiple POVs than sticking with just one. Character dynamics are catnip to me, and I love to play with them from all angles. But building each character is a very individual sort of process,” Chambers says. “I want each of them to feel like a whole person, and I’m struggling to think of any I’ve created to complete another. I just spend some time with a character all on their own, then start making them talk to each other — first in pairs, then in larger groups. I shuffle those combinations around until everybody comes alive.”

In writing Seven Devils, May and Lam began with a core pair of characters, then built outwards.

“El [Lam] and I each started with a single character we wanted to explore,” May recalls. “For me, it was Eris, who also had the benefit of being an exploration of thorny issues of morality. Eris’ natural foil was Clo–conceived of by El–who believes in the goodness of the rebellion. From there, our cast expanded as different aspects of imperial oppression that we wanted to address: colonial expansion via the military, brainwashing, the use of artificial intelligence. Each character provides a unique perspective of how the Empire in Seven Devils functions and how it crushes autonomy and self-determination.”

“We started with Eris and Clo,” Lam agrees. “Eris is sort of like Princess Leia if she and Luke had been raised by Darth Vader but she realised the Empire was evil and faked her own death to join the rebellion. Clo has elements of Luke in that she grew up on a backwater planet where things go wrong, but it was overpopulated versus wide open desert with a few moons. She also just has a lot more fury and rage that doesn’t always go in the right direction. Then we created the other three women they meet later in the narrative, and did a combination of using archetypes as jumping off points (courtesan, mercenary, genius hacker) but taking great care crafting their backstories and motivations and how they all related to each other.”

Ensuring that every character has their own story to be the protagonist of is something you can trace right back through the genre- particularly with series like Farscape, Firefly, and the more recent Intergalactic, where the crews often feels thrown together by circumstance and the characters are very much pursuing their own goals.

Balancing all of these different perspectives and voices is the real trick, especially if you want to avoid slipping back into the set-up of a star protagonist and their backing singers.

“This was a bit of a struggle, especially in a book with a single pov,” Anders says. “In the end all I could do was give each character their own goals and ideals that aren’t just an extension of Tina’s. It really helps if people have agendas that aren’t just related to the main plot.”

“We have five point of view characters and seven in the sequel, and it was definitely a challenge,” Lam admits. “For the first book, we started with just Eris and Clo until the reader was situated, and then added in the other three. We gave each character their own arc and problem to solve, and essentially asked ourselves ‘if [X] was the protagonist, what would they journey be?’ Which is useful to ask of any character, especially the villains!”

Chambers has a surprisingly practical solution to the problem: colour-coded post-it notes.

“Some characters will naturally have more weight in the story than others, but I do try to balance it out,” Chambers says. “One of the practical tricks I find helpful is colour-coding post-it notes by POV character, then mapping out all the chapters in the book on the wall. That makes it very easy to see who the dominant voices are, and I can adjust from there as needed.”

A Ship with Character

One cast member these stories all have in common is the ship they travel in. Sometimes the ship is a literal character in itself, such as the organic ship Moya in Farscape, but even when not actually sentient, the ship will help set the tone for the entire story, whether it’s the sweeping lines and luxurious interiors of the Enterprise D, or the cosy, hand-painted communal kitchen of Serenity. When describing the Fermi in my own story, I made it a mix of real and hypothetical space technology, and pure nonsense, in a way that felt like the story’s mission statement.

Seven Devils’ stolen imperial ship, “Zelus”, likewise reflected the themes of the book.

“Our ship is called Zelus, and it begins as a symbol of Empire but gradually becomes a home,” Lam says. “They took it back for themselves, which I think mirrors a lot of what the characters are trying to do.”

The same was true of the “Indomitable”, the ship Tina would inherit in Victories Greater Than Death.

“The main thing I needed from the Indomitable was to be a slightly run down ship on its own, far from any backup,” Anders says. “I did have a lot of fun coming up with all the ways the ship’s systems work. In the second book I introduce a starship that is a little more idiosyncratic, let’s say.”

For Cornell, the spaceship at the heart of Rosebud was an extension of the characters themselves, almost literally.

“It’s a kind of magical space, in that the interior is largely digital, and reflects the personalities of the crew,” he says. “There’s an interesting gap between the ship’s interior and the real world, and to go explore the artefact, our crew have to pick physical bodies to do it in. Their choices of physical body again tell us something about who they are.”

“My background is in theater, so I am always thinking about what kind of ‘set’ I’m working with,” Chambers tells us. “Colour, lighting, props, and stage layout are very important to me. I want these to feel like real, lived-in environments, but they also communicate a lot to the reader about who the people within these spaces are. Kizzy’s workspace tells a completely different story than, say, Roveg’s shuttle, or Pepper’s house. I spend a lot of time mulling over what sorts of comforts each character likes to keep around them, what food they like to have on hand, and so on. These kinds of details are crucial for painting a full picture.”

Stellar Dynamics

When he was writing the cast of The Salvage Crew, Wijeratne fleshed out his characters by focusing on how they relate to one another.

“My cast tends to be more of ‘what’s the most interesting mix I can bring to this situation, where’s the tragedy, and where’s the comedy?’ I go through a bit of an iterative process – I come up with one stand-out attribute for the character that makes sense given the world I’m about to throw them into,” he says. “Then the question is: what’s a secondary quirk, or part of their nature, that makes them work well with the others, or is somehow critical? What’s a tertiary facet to them that really rubs the others the wrong way?

“Then I take those quirks and go back to the other characters, and ask why do they respond to these things? What about their backstory makes them sympathize with one thing and want to pummel the other into dust? By the time this back-and-forth is complete, I’ve got enough that the characters feel like they really do have shit to get done in this world, and really do have some beef with each other. They have backstory and things they react to really badly and situations they’re going to thrive in.”

In The Salvage Crew, this included Simon a geologist who crew up plugged into a PVP MMORPG and who hasn’t really adjusted to the real world, Anna, a wartime medic who has PTSD around blood, and Milo, who is a decent all-arounder, but has problems with authority, particular women in authority.

In the best-loved stories of this sub-genre, it’s not just the strong characters, but the relationships between those characters that people love. Spock and McCoy, Geordi and Data, Jayne and Book working out together in Firefly. Even in the protagonist-heavy Mass Effect, some of the best character moments don’t involve Shepard, but are the character interactions you eavesdrop or walk in on while wandering around the Normandy.

“I think we’ve all experienced being flung together with a group of workmates, and nobody asking us if we like everyone there,” Cornell says. “And how the smallest quirks of personality can come to mean everything over several centuries.”

Getting those relationships to feel organic and natural is the real trick, and it can take endless writing and rewriting to get there.

“For me, it’s usually a lot of gold-farming,” Anders says. “I will write a dozen scenes of characters hanging out or dealing with stuff, and then pick two or three of them to include in the book. I can’t write relationships unless I’ve spent a lot of time with them.”

Often it’s a question of balancing conflict and camaraderie among the group.

“It’s easy to want to go straight to banter between characters, which is a massive benefit of ensemble casts. But I also think it’s essential that they have moments of conflict,” says May. “Not just drama for drama’s sake, but in any friendship group, boundaries often have to be established and re-established. Sometimes those boundaries come from past traumas, and taking moments to explore those not only adds dimensionality, but shows how the character unit itself functions.”

For May and Lam it helped that their ensemble cast was being written by an ensemble itself.

“Having both of us work on them really helped them come to life,” Lam says. “Their voices were easier to differentiate because we’d often take the lead on a certain character. So if I wrote a Clo chapter, I didn’t always know how exactly Eris might react in her next chapter, or Elizabeth might change Eris’s dialogue in that initial Clo scene to better fit what was coming up. As co-writers, we were in conversation with each other as much as the characters, and that’s quite fun. We tend to work at different times of the day, so I’d load up the manuscript in the morning and wonder what’s happened next to our crew during the night and read to find out. We also did a lot of work on everyone’s past, so we knew what they wanted, what they feared, what lies about themselves they believed, how they might change and grow through the story as a result of meeting each other, and therefore the characters tended to develop more organically on the page.”

For Wijeratne, the thing that really brings the characters’ relationships into focus is a crisis, and it’s true. Across these stories, more often than not you want your space team to be working together against a common challenge, not obsessed with in-fighting among themselves.

“The skeleton of what you saw was the output of an algorithm. A series of Markov chains generating events, playing on the fact that humans are extraordinarily good at seeing patterns in random noise,” Wijeratne says. “But the skeleton needs skin and muscle, and that’s more or less drawn from the kind of high-stress situations that I’ve been a part of: flood relief efforts, factchecking and investigating in the face of terrorism and bombings, even minor stuff like being in Interact projects with people I really didn’t want to be working with. I find that there are make-or-break moments in how people respond to adversity: either they draw together, and realize they can get over their minor differences, or they cry havoc and let loose the dogs of war.”

Found Family

Whether we’re talking about Starfleet officers, browncoats, rebel scum or galaxy guardians, these crews are rarely just colleagues or even teammates. They are family.

“I think it goes back to many space operas ultimately being survival tales: whether that’s surviving in the vastness of space or against an imperial oppressor,” May says. “These stories bring unrelated characters closer together in a way that goes beyond the bonds of blood. ‘Found family’ is a powerful bond predicated on acceptance and respect rather than duty.”

It’s a topic at the heart of Seven Devils, set in a galaxy where the regime in power has done all it can to eliminate the concept of “Family”, but Lam also believes the found family is something extremely important to marginalised groups.

“In ours, the Tholosians have done their best to erase the concept of family entirely–most people are grown in vats and assigned their jobs from birth. You might feel some sort of sibling bond with your soldier cohort, perhaps, but most people don’t have parents,” Lam says. “Rebellion is incredibly difficult, as your very mind has been coded to be obedient and obey. So those who have managed to overcome that did so with incredible difficulty, and found each other and bonded among what they had in common. You see it in our world as well of course–the marginalised tend to be drawn to each other for support they might not find elsewhere, and the bonds are just as deep or deeper than family you’re related to by blood (just look at drag families, where you have a drag mother or daughter, for example).”

“Found family is definitely a strong narrative thread,” Wijeratne agrees. “I think it stems from an incredibly persistent process in our lives – in human lives: we grow up, we outgrow the people we are born among, and we go out into the world to find our tribe, so to speak. And this is a critical part of maturity, of striking out on out own, of becoming comfortable with who we are and realizing who we’ll be happy to battle alongside and who we’d rather kick in the meat and potatoes.

“Space, of course, is such a perfect physical representation of this process. What greater ‘going out’ is there than in leaving aside the stale-but-certain comfort of the space station or planet and striking out for the depths? What better idea of finding a family than settling in with a crew? And what better embodiment of freedom than a void where only light can touch you, but even then after years?”

Of course, the “Found Family” isn’t exclusive to spaceship crews. It’s a theme that we see everywhere from superhero movies to sitcoms, reflecting some of the bigger social shifts happening in the real world. As Cornell points out, one of the very first spaceship ensembles shows, Lost in Space, was based around a far more traditional family.

“I think one of the big, central parameters of change in the modern world is the move from biological family being the most important thing to found family being the most important, the result of a series of generation gaps caused by technological, ecological and societal change happening so fast that generations now get left behind,” Cornell says. “So all our stories now have found family in them, and we can’t imagine taking old family into space. The new Lost in Space, for example, had to consciously wrestle with that. And even in the original, there’s a reason the found family of Billy and Dr. Smith is the most interesting relationship. It’s the only one where we don’t immediately know what the rules are meant to be.”

To make a huge generalisation, that sense of “not immediately knowing what the rules are meant to be” might be the key to the genre’s appeal. After all, if your space exploration is closer to the ideals of the Star Trek model than they are to Eddie Izzard’s “Flag” sketch, then it’s about entering an alien environment where you don’t know the rules. If there are aliens, your space heroes will be trying to reach out and understand them. But for the writer, whether those aliens are humanoids with funny foreheads or jellyfish that only talk in the third person, the aliens will still be, behind however many layers of disguise, human. We really struggle to imagine what it’s like to be anything else. Perhaps our spaceship crew’s efforts in communicating with and understanding those aliens is reflected in their efforts to understand each other.

Seven Devils, by Elizabeth May and Laura Lam, is out now, as is The Salvage Crew by Yudhanjaya Wijeratne, Victories Greater Than Death by Charlie Jane Anders, and A Long Way to a Small Angry Planet by Becky Chambers. Rosebud, by Paul Cornell, will be out in April 2022.

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The first two parts of Chris Farnell’s serial, Fermi’s Progress, Dyson’s Fear and Descartesmageddon, are also out now, or the season pass for all four novellas is for sale at Scarlet Ferret.

The post How Science Fiction’s Ensemble Stories Humanize Space appeared first on Den of Geek.

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R&B duo (and real-life sisters) Chloe and Halle Bailey have unparalleled talent and an unbreakable bond. With a “sexy, darker” new sound and exciting solo projects on the way, the multihyphenates are all grown up and ready for their second act — both together and on their own. "You. Look. Stunning!" Halle Bailey watches as her older sister Chloe poses in a faux-leather Nanushka trench coat against a vibrant background of red and pink, Kelis's album Tasty blaring through the studio. Halle's eyes dart between the shots popping up on the monitor and the real-life vision that is 21-year-old Chloe, who smirks at her sister's instructions to "slay" and "work" as they echo in the cavernous studio. Chloe returns the favor when it's 19-year-old Halle's moment in front of the lens; being photographed separately is a rare occurrence for the pair. Chloe cheers Halle on as the latter poses in a houndstooth Area dress, nipped at the waist with a patent leather belt, and matching knee-high boots: "That's gorgeous! You're beautiful." When Chloe and Halle arrive at Milk Studios in Hollywood for our cover shoot on Oct. 29, the energy is celebratory; they are fresh from the set of the Freeform series Grown-ish. Chloe and Halle graduated from recurring roles on the Black-ish spinoff to series regulars for season two, playing college students and track star twins Jazz and Sky Forster. They — along with cast members Yara Shahidi, Trevor Jackson, Francia Raisa, and Luka Sabbat — just wrapped filming on the third season, which premieres Jan. 16. The next installment of the show promises an unplanned pregnancy, an acting debut from Kylie Jenner's former BFF Jordyn Woods, and a much-appreciated homage to Beyoncé's 2018 Homecoming performance. It's also a busy time for Chloe x Halle's music: in 2019 they dropped two singles, "Who Knew" and "Thinkin Bout Me," and are putting the finishing touches on their highly anticipated second studio album, Ungodly Hour, which drops this year. They are buzzing while talking about their new, more mature sound. "It's more grown; it's sexy, it's darker," Halle tells me. She and her sister showed up in laid-back looks before undergoing superhero-style transformations in a curtained-off section of the studio, where they snacked on chips and guacamole and drank green juice while trying on dozens of potential designer outfits. They are sweet and petite, and during a break from the photo shoot, they sit side by side on a velvet ottoman across from me. Both are wearing curve-hugging dresses by Dion Lee and have traded their matching Alevì Milano heels for slippers and slides. Chloe and Halle are defining themselves individually even more than before, and their style is part of that. Throughout the day, Halle will rock playfully sexy ensembles (my personal favorite is a Carrie Bradshaw-esque Maison Margiela button-down shirt cinched with a Zana Bayne belt). Chloe's outfits are equally grown-up and sexy, but with an edgy sophistication — she will channel Olivia Pope, smizing in a camel-colored Fendi trench coat and graphic Sophia Webster heels. Their looks will always complement each other but still reflect the woman wearing them. Their eyes are wide, their mocha skin glistening, braids cascading down their backs. The mood feels highly melanated and highly favored. Chloe and Halle's connection goes beyond the typical sibling bond — they are collaborators, costars, and best friends. It's what makes the stakes of this next stage of their career, as they explore a more adult sound and divergent career opportunities of their own, so high. To see them posing together is like watching a delicately choreographed dance. It's as if they each instinctively know which way the other is about to lean her arm or turn her head and will shift congruously. Between shots, Chloe and Halle smooth each other's braids, bump shoulders to the bass of "Milkshake," or talk in hushed tones. Chloe is the textbook older sister and ultimate hype girl ("The angel that's always in my ear," Halle tells me). "We'll always squeeze each other's hands or look in each other's eyes and crack a joke," Chloe says, admitting that they both sometimes feel anxious while posing on the red carpet or for photo shoots like this one. I recognize their subtle movements, exchanged glances, and seemingly secret language; it reminds me of the way that my sister and I — and sisters everywhere, really — exist in our own universe. Chloe and Halle spent their childhood in Atlanta before moving to LA, where they reside today with their parents Courtney and Doug and their 14-year-old brother, Branson ("We're the Three Musketeers," Chloe says). In 2011, they launched their YouTube channel with an impressive cover of Beyoncé's "Best Thing I Never Had." Wearing matching red tank tops and bouncy braided bobs, they showed off melodies reminiscent of vocalists well beyond their years (Chloe was 13, Halle just 11). They would go on to cover hits from John Legend, Alicia Keys, Lorde, and Rihanna. In 2015, their rendition of Beyoncé's "Pretty Hurts" got the attention of Bey herself, and she signed the duo to her Parkwood Entertainment management company. And, as they tell me, being the protégés of a megastar like Beyoncé is a masterclass in ambition. "She's a boss and she takes care of her own," Chloe says. "She's independent and knows what she wants, and she's not afraid to articulate that." They employ their mentor's take-charge attitude by trusting their instincts when making tough career choices. "That's what we truly admire about Beyoncé . . . she's allowed us to grow in our own right, and as much as she is vocal, she lets us fly on our own." Up until now, Chloe x Halle's sound has been bright, ethereal R&B soul; they released their debut EP Sugar Symphony in 2016, followed by a critically praised mixtape, The Two of Us. Their 2018 album The Kids Are Alright — with jazz-inflected trap-pop songs like "Happy Without Me," "Everywhere," and the Grown-ish theme song "Grown" — showcased their angelic harmonies, earning them Grammy nominations for best new artist and best urban contemporary album. They solidified their place in history with a chill-inducing performance of "America the Beautiful" at the 2019 Super Bowl. But with age comes experience and, yes, growth. The new Chloe x Halle era will reflect their sisterhood and the kind of women they aspire to be: powerful, strong, and effortlessly sexy. "We're not little kids anymore," Chloe tells me. Their sound has evolved from light and airy soul-pop into "edgier, grittier" R&B, like something you'd want to hear during an episode of Euphoria. They teased new music during an "electric, intense, and fun" performance at The Forum in LA late last year. "We played two new songs; 'Do It' — that's one of our favorites — and 'Rest of Your Life,'" Halle tells me during a phone conversation after the shoot. She describes both tracks as being high energy with party vibes. While Ungodly Hour will be a clear departure, the sisters seem to be more musically aligned than ever. Chloe and Halle say there's no formula to their music-making process. "We feel like that takes away any creativity," Chloe explains. They went delightfully old school for brainstorming sessions, filling two or three poster boards with magazine cutouts representing what the new project should feel like. Before creating music, they keep things breezy by having "tea time and girl chat" and narrowing down the themes they want to write about. "I'll make a beat and Halle will hear some really sick melodies and go on the mic and record them," Chloe says. "I'll lay some melodies down and splice [them] together, and then we do lyrics, but we never force it." Halle nods. "It's much like throwing paint on a wall and seeing what happens, and that's the beauty of it." When I ask how they landed on the album title Ungodly Hour, Halle tells me that it came from a single studio session with English electro artists Disclosure. "They are two brothers, and they're literally like mirrors of us," Halle says of duo Howard and Guy Lawrence, who they worked with on the up-tempo title track. "[Ungodly hour] was a phrase for that riff. We kind of spoke it into existence, you could say," Chloe continues. She reveals that one of their early mood boards included the phrase "The Trouble With Angels" (possibly a nod to the 1966 religious comedy starring Hayley Mills?), and notes how exciting it's been to tie those themes together. I spent hours holed up in my childhood bedroom plastering editorial images on any available surface, so it's nice to hear that some methods will never go out of style. But let's not get it twisted: Chloe and Halle aren't two girls making cute collages — they're artists with a precise vision and the talent to execute it. Their technique is free-flowing, but there's a keen attention to detail that influences those working with them. Singer-songwriter Victoria Monét, who helped pen chart-toppers for Fifth Harmony and Ariana Grande, collaborated with Chloe and Halle on Ungodly Hour. She confirmed my theory that they are Black girl magic personified. "I really admire their spirit," Monét said over email. "They feel amazing to be around, and their voices represent that." "They're so hands-on with everything, from melodies to lyrics and production," Nija Charles said over email. The 22-year-old songwriting phenom produced hits for Cardi B and Summer Walker and worked on the sisters' sensual kiss-off "Forgive Me." "Watching them work always makes me go back home and want to perfect my craft." Hands-on is certainly one way to describe the sisters, who play a role in writing, arranging, producing, and playing instruments on nearly all of their own music. What does it mean to two young, gifted, and Black businesswomen to have so much creative control of their work? "Since we were young, our parents instilled in us the power to do things on our own, and not rely on people if [we're] just as capable," Halle says. This encouragement is what motivated them to learn instruments and produce their own music as preteens. Although extraordinary on their own, Chloe and Halle are quick to praise those who have inspired them along the way. I can tell they harbor a deep sense of sisterhood within their own circle, a tight-knit group of family and close friends with the occasional superstar thrown in. It's galvanizing for them to see other young stars doing equally amazing things. "I stan over Zendaya. I love her, and Normani," Chloe says, beaming. "There are so many amazing women right now, and I'm just happy to be a part of this generation with them." Halle agrees, shouting out Grown-ish castmates Yara Shahidi, Francia Raisa, and Emily Arlook as women who uplift them when they're low. The feeling is mutual for 19-year-old Shahidi, who told me being part of Chloe and Halle's atmosphere is "truly a gift." "We share successes, challenges, frustrations, everything!" Shahidi said in an email. "I define sisterhood as an eternal bond with your best friend," Halle tells me. "I'm so fortunate that I get to do this with my sister every day." She looks up to Chloe more than anyone else; after all, as an older sibling, there's a responsibility (and sometimes pressure) to protect, guide, and set a good example. But Chloe is just as heart-eyed about Halle and lights up when talking about her. "Forget all the business stuff and the music and acting; this is my best friend," she says. "Whenever we're apart for 15 minutes, we're like, 'I miss you!' We're texting each other, FaceTiming. I love this one." I make a mental note to respond to unread texts from my sister. "You'll need each other one day" is something I heard a lot growing up, especially when being reprimanded for terrorizing my younger sister. And it occurs to me that Halle and Chloe might need each other even more this year. In 2020, they are each embarking on big solo projects: Chloe in the supernatural thriller The Georgetown Project, her first major movie role as an adult, and Halle as Ariel in the upcoming live-action adaptation of The Little Mermaid. For Chloe, a self-professed scaredy cat, working on the "sophisticated horror film" with the likes of Russell Crowe, Ryan Simpkins, Samantha Mathis, and David Hyde Pierce has been a real game changer. "When I got the script, I fell in love with it. I was like, 'I have to do this,'" Chloe tells me. The movie follows a troubled actor (Crowe) who unravels while filming a thriller, and Chloe plays an actress cast alongside him in the project. She learned a lot about herself during the production process, but more importantly, she conquered her fear of scary movies. "I know how it works behind the scenes, so now when a scary movie trailer comes on, I don't close my eyes." When the topic turns to The Little Mermaid, Halle's enthusiasm is palpable. "It's so overwhelming, and beautiful, and breathtaking. I'm like, 'Wow, am I really doing this?'" she tells me. When I ask what she hopes to bring to such an iconic character, Halle takes a beat. "Freshness," she says. "Just being authentically me. It's amazing that the directors have been so forward in asking me to show my true self . . . that's been a really fun growing experience." Halle also tells me that she's most looking forward to the music ("Of course!"), and reveals that the movie will feature classics like "Part of Your World" and new songs written by composer Alan Menken, who scored the 1989 animated film. "I've been a fan of The Little Mermaid since I was 5, so those new songs are very exciting to me, as well as the old," Halle says. "That's probably like, ding, ding, ding! My number one." Halle's history-making casting news was announced in July 2019 and marked a major win for diversified representation, but drew criticism from those who don't think a Black woman should play a fictional sea creature. The defense came swiftly: Little Mermaid director Rob Marshall and Jodi Benson, the original voice of Ariel, showed support, as did Beyhive members worldwide. After spending a day in her presence, I can corroborate that Halle — with her doe eyes, dulcet-tone voice, and winsome charm — was born to play the role. I ask how she approaches the downsides that can come with celebrity. "It's beautiful that people are tuning in to our lives and that they love what we're doing, and I just think of them as friends," she says, unfazed. Chloe's older-sister senses are tingling. She sits up a little straighter. "You know when certain apps crash?" I do; a Twitter blackout is secretly one of my favorite things. "Who are you without these things, without your followers? You realize that you can't rely on outside validation for who you are as a human being. If I think I'm amazing, then I'm amazing." The sisters have flourished in the industry as Chloe x Halle the duo, two halves of a preternaturally talented whole. They appear at events together, maintain joint social media accounts, and don’t have separate Wikipedia pages (though that’s certainly going to change). They’re a dream team, navigating fame by leaning on each other. Working separately allows them to stretch as individuals, but as their careers evolve, it’s inevitable that their relationship will, too. Chloe seems genuinely joyful watching Halle grow into her own. “I see it happening right before my eyes and it makes me really happy,” she says. But those feelings of pride haven't come without a bit of loneliness, too — especially as Chloe films her first solo project. "In the beginning I was really, really sad," she tells me. There have been plenty of tears and, according to Chloe, plenty of text messages, too. "[Halle] texts all the time; daytime, all the time," Chloe laughs. "To have someone who's always in your corner encouraging you, and making you feel better when you're down . . . it's just such a good feeling. I'm just happy to have her as my partner in crime in life." Naturally, it’s also been “a little scary” for Halle, who admits that she’s been clinging to her sister over the years. Just as Chloe is the consummate firstborn, Halle fits snugly into her role as little sis, always looking to her “safety blanket.” She tells me that visiting Chloe on the set of The Georgetown Project gave her a new perspective. "I was just so proud of her, because you always want to see your beautiful sister succeed," Halle says. "We always do those monumental things together, so when I was able to be on the outside and look in, it was really cool." Ultimately Halle realized that — like gluing magazine cutouts to poster boards — some things don’t have to change: “Regardless of if I'm branching out, she's always going to be there. That bond and our sisterhood will never go away.” Though some things may be mapped out — production schedules, release dates, fishtail fittings — so much more lies ahead for Chloe and Halle. I ask where they see each other in five years. Halle springs up; she sees Chloe with every award in the book. “She’s going to flourish. What do you call it? EGOTs?” Chloe’s five-year vision includes even more plastered photos, but this time they’re of Halle, and they’re on giant billboards across the world. “I’ll be hearing her voice [singing] while walking down the street like, ‘Who is that? Oh yeah, that's my sister. I know her. You don't,’” she says. The three of us laugh, but their predictions aren’t out of the realm of possibility. Their Grown-ish costars agree: actor Trevor Jackson tells me he hopes to see them collecting armfuls of trophies and “truly dominating the world.” Shahidi insists Chloe and Halle’s hard work knows no bounds and remembers them simultaneously filming season one of Grown-ish and mixing their debut album, The Kids Are Alright. “The sky is not even the limit,” she cosigned. Chloe and Halle have more to shoot before the sun sets in smoky LA. It's been a long day, but their energy is still straight-up sparkly. We wrap up our conversation, exchanging thank yous before they disappear to the wardrobe area. They'll model more effortlessly sexy pieces from Nina Ricci and Fendi, cheerleading each other during lighting changes and eye shadow touch-ups, before the day gives way to night. As the sky changes, so does the vibe. Chloe is jetting off to North Carolina to film tomorrow morning without her sister, and they seem to be soaking up this moment in time. Things are coming to a close both on set and in their lives, chapters ending and new ones beginning. But no matter what comes next — together or separately, making music or making moves — Chloe and Halle will keep throwing paint at the wall and seeing what beautiful things come out of it. There's no magic formula. It's just what we sisters do. ★

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