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nicolos · 7 months

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stew

The sad part of it is really that it takes Nile two months to realise she’s never seen Andy cook.

“Wait,” she says, “what do you mean she’s not allowed to cook?”

Andy just shrugs, perfectly unhelpful as she loves to be. The Andy sitting across the kitchen table from Nile is a far cry from the woman who shot her in Afghanistan, and not just because she’s now mortal and prone to problems like hangovers that last and back pain. More importantly: she looks less tired, somehow, hasn’t made fun of Nile about her Cross again, and gets a sick sort of satisfaction from watching Nile flounder over the important things, like which famous historical figures her new friends-slash-family-slash-anti-dying-club had slept with or the weird set of unspoken rules and laws and tripwires they all have built in that everyone else can see and Nile can’t. Yet.

“It means Andromache has been banned from our kitchens,” Nicky says coolly. Joe raises his brows, probably at the full name, but he’s grinning.

Nile ignores him, because he’s an instigator, and says, “Why not? Andy, what’d you do?”

“Who said I did anything?”

Nile narrows her eyes at her. That tone of voice elicits many things: trust is not one of them. Joe outright snickers.

Nicky says, voice low, “You know what you did.”

Joe mouths, “She does,” and then says out loud, “It’s not so bad, Nile. Nicky’s banned from football. And I’m not allowed to do any plumbing.” He says this like it’s a bad thing.

Nile suspects that they’ve also put an unspoken ban up against her audiobooks. Every time she puts one on doing her laundry, somebody comes up to speak with her, until she’s forgotten all about it. She also keeps losing the old iPod she found with the books on it, and whenever she finds it, it needs to be charged.

It’s ridiculous is what it is. She says so. “Andy is four thousand years old.” Andy raises her brows but doesn't comment one way or the other. Joe makes a so-so face, which really just means Nile’s wrong. She soldiers on. “I don’t care how bad she is, she should be able to cook!”

Andy shrugs around her bowl. “I can cook.”

“We’re all adults. We should have a roster. It’s not fair that it’s just Joe and Nicky.” Of them, Nile herself is probably the weakest: she can make a few comfort foods, but she’s never mastered the art. She’d like to, though. Part of it is wanting to hold onto the food she remembers before she can’t get it anymore and she’s forgotten, and part of it is that it’s just practical. But left to her own devices, she just eats whatever’s there. A roster will help.

And it wouldn’t feel right to leave Andy off it. Nile tells herself this is about fairness and house chores and not about the strange panic that takes over her whenever she imagines never eating her mom’s good again and then remembers that (a) Andy looks like she's maybe five years younger than her mom, and (b) she, too, is mortal. Which is dumb. It’s not like she thinks of Andy as anything like her mother. If anything she’s the bad influence friend everyone’s mom warns them about, but who everyone wants to—

Anyway.

“I don’t mind,” Andy says. Nile turns to Nicky.

Nicky says, “If you wish,” and then looks at Joe like he’s expecting Joe to speak up on his behalf.

Joe grins. “I have no objections.”

Andy’s turn on the roster comes up two days later. She spends the morning out of the house and comes back with two bags full of groceries. When Nile goes to help her with it, bewildered, it turns out one of the bags is half filled with low shelf life candy, and that Andy doesn’t need help, though she looks amused that Nile would offer.

Then she gets to it. She’s not what Nile was expecting, which was someone a little unsure of herself in the kitchen. She chops fluidly and fast, as good with a knife on meat and veg as she would be with it as a weapon, and she moves like she knows what she's doing.

But what she’s doing is—strange. At first glance, the dish is beef, with thick chunks of meat cooking in enough oil to thrill her grandma. But then she throws chunks of apple in alongside the potato. As it cooks, she starts rolling out some dough, with more eggs than make sense. Pie, Nile thinks, even if it's not a pie she knows of, but she rolls it out by hand into sheets of pasta, all while stirring the beef concoction. A bar of the dark chocolate she's munching on goes into the pot, followed by a concerning quantity of nuts. When she grabs an orange, Nile thinks it's for a snack, but she peels the whole rind into a neat spiral and tosses the rind into the pot before offering Nile a slice. When the pasta is cut, she just—starts flipping the sheets into the pot.

Nicky looks into the kitchen as he passes by and starts muttering to himself in Italian. When he opens his mouth, Andy only says, “If you’d rather do it yourself,” and Nicky walks away.

Oh, Nile thinks. “You won’t get out of the roster just by making bad food, you know,” she says, though she suspects she probably will. If it's terrible, she figures she’ll get takeout. She already saw Joe surreptitiously hide a bag of something in the back of the fridge. She hopes he got enough for her.

Andy only winks at her. Nile sits down.

In go raisins, cashew nuts, sticks of cinnamon, the stalk of some plant she doesn't even recognise, more garlic than even Nicky uses, and a whole tablespoon of turmeric. Then come the chillies: long, with the heads sliced off, thrown in whole. When the room starts smelling like heat, she cools it with cups of milk. More vegetables follow: large chunks of carrot and beet, strips of cabbage and slices of—ugh—eggplant go in along with a store-bought sauce she can't read the label of, spoons of cream, a quarter of a bottle of alcohol she's pretty sure isn't meant to be used to cook with, and—somehow—even more chocolate, and some of her favourite morning cereal.

This is the point at which Nile decides to stop watching. It feels a little like tearing herself away from a car crash, but she makes herself go look for her iPod. She finds it between two cushions of the sofa twenty minutes later, at 3%.

Andy calls Nile in to help carry the food out when she's done, half an hour later. Nile’s a little bit afraid of the monster she's created as she looks into the pot. It looks less than appetising, a deep brown that looks thick and has things floating in it and cheese melting on top. On the sides of the pot, she can see bright red oil floating in place.

When she carries it out, her iPod is already gone from where it was charging by the kitchen table. Nile glares at Joe and Nicky, who look back innocently (Joe) and distractedly upset (Nicky). It has to be Joe, she figures.

Andy serves them the frankenstew in deep bowls with toasted slices of Nicky’s last sourdough next to it. With no ceremony at all, she grins and says, “Dig in.”

Then, without waiting for the rest of them, she starts eating.

A little relieved that Andy isn’t going to leave them to eat it alone, Nile takes a small, tentative bite.

The dish is—not bad. She takes another bite, and then another.

The stew is delicious. Nile can feel her arteries clogging with every bite, immortality or no immortality, but she thinks she doesn't even care. It's hot enough to leave her tongue prickling after just a couple of bites, but she wants to keep eating it. It's sweet and salty and sour; the meat falls apart in her mouth but the nuts crunch. The pasta is not really pasta at all, thicker and softer and melting in her mouth like soft bread. The broth is creamy and thick, and none of the vegetables are too mushy or draw too much attention to themselves. It's the best thing she's ever eaten, she thinks. She never wants to eat anything else again.

When she looks up, she must look a little guilty, because Joe pats her arm comfortingly. “I know,” he says.

Andy hums around a mouthful and says, slowly, “It’s not as good as I remember it.”

Nicky looks despairing. He’s staring into the bowl like it insulted his mother. Maybe it has. “That’s what you said last time,” he says.

Nile considers things like nostalgia and pride and cholesterol and having more of the pot for herself, and slides Andy’s half-full bowl towards herself. “You’re off the roster, Andy. And you’re banned from cooking again,” she says authoritatively.

“I thought making bad food wouldn’t get me off the roster?”

Nile nods. This is worse.

Joe grins, ducks into the kitchen, and comes back with the box he had hidden in the fridge, which now that Nile looks closely says Andy Dinner. Andy laughs at her as she eats it.

Nile decides to stop looking for her iPod.

#the old guard #tog fanfiction #mine.#minefic #nile freeman #andromache #i like this one. idk if the characters feel Quite right. but this particular evening i dont care if they dont

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pochiperpe90 · 1 year

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[ENG] DISUNITI - Interview to Luca Marinelli by Gianmaria Tammaro

When choosing a role, Luca Marinelli lets himself be guided by instinct. He tries to listen to what his insides are telling him and to give a precise shape to his intentions. He doesn't move blindly; he moves slowly, with the same awareness of someone who knows his work, even instinctively. It's useful for him, he tells me, to stay in touch with the story, with what he tells. Because that way he can become part of it. A character, until the last stop is called, never leaves; it's like a second skin, and he's there, docile, waiting, ready to come out. Luca has a deep and low voice. These days, while he's filming M. Son of the Century, he has freshly shaved cheeks and a cap that is always pulled down on his head, to hide his hair and forehead. The smile and the look, however, are the same as always. Kind the former, intelligent the latter. When he speaks, he takes his knees in his hands, tries to collect himself, to compact himself into a single point. Not to limit the occupied space: but to find a center. We are in a park, in the late afternoon light, and a light wind is blowing. It had been a long time, Luca confesses to me, that he hadn't spent such a long period in Rome. In 2012 he moved to Berlin, and since then he has returned to Italy only for work reasons. "I've been in town since last spring, I think."

When you filmed the sequel of The Old Guard.

"Yes, exactly. And now I'm working on this series".

How did you find Rome?

"It's a question that, I confess, I don't quite know how to answer. I found Rome wonderful as always. And at the same time I felt tired. It's a beautiful city, and every time I have the opportunity to discover it more. Especially when I ride. And then I must tell you that I found her changed. Some neighborhoods aren't as I remembered them anymore, and that's okay: that's what happens to everyone, I guess; let's change".

When you will be finished shooting M., will you go back to Berlin?

"Yes".

Why? Do you prefer it?

"But no, it's not a question of preferring one city to another. Also in Berlin there is a fundamental part of my heart and a different dimension of life, just as important".

And does this diversity matter?

"Right now I feel like I have two houses, and it's nice. I feel at home both here and in Berlin. It took some time to reach this balance, I won't hide it from you. But now I'm really fine. Berlin is another dimension; it's not Germany. Berlin is Berlin, it's almost a place apart. I love his tranquility and his energy. When I'm in Rome, I feel a different kind of energy".

Tell me.

"There is a need to give oneself fully, to give oneself completely, when one plays a part or does something; but there is also a need to know how to withdraw in order to find one's own space. It's used to recharge. To fill again this container that is within us. Because when you work, you give everything. Everything is given. And you can come out of an experience exhausted. I say always that I don't get tired. But at some point, willy-nilly, fatigue still comes. Anyone who plays football has ninety minutes in his legs, he trains for that. When he goes too far, he risks overdoing it. So yes: it's important to stop and do something else, just to enrich yourself before the next project".

I imagine the type of preparation also changes

"Each project is completely different from the other: from the one that preceded it, and from the one that will follow it. The dynamics are the same, yes, because the set works, more or less, in the same way. But every experience is a different experience. And the city in which it's filmed has nothing to do with it; it's not just geography. There is more: much, much more".

What is your method as an actor? Indeed, I take a step back: you have your method?

"I don't know. So, instinctively, I'd say no, I don't have it. Which doesn't exist. I've always had pretty much the same approach; and I modified this approach depending on the project and individual experience. Sometimes, over the years, I felt that I didn't do what I wanted to do in exactly the way I had imagined it; and then later, subsequently, I tried to improve. Keeping in touch with the reality of what we tell is something that helps me a lot".

Why?

"I can't tell you. I could foolishly answer you: "because I'm close to the story". But actually I think it's something else. It's like there's a smarter part inside of me. And it's this part that intervenes at a certain point, that understands what to do and that guides me".

Maybe it's instinct.

"I don't know. I tend not to ask. I tend not to compliment myself, or even see myself in a totally positive way. I'm not saying this out of false modesty or because I love to despair, no. I feel this is my approach: I need training, closeness to the thing we have to tell; and sometimes this closeness must also be on a physical level. Only later do I venture further in the project".

Why did you decide to play Mussolini?

"Well, I can't talk about that. Not at all. Let's take up this question again at another time."

Sure. Alessandro Borghi told me that you are like two brothers, that he's happy if you are happy. How would you describe your relationship?

“In a very similar way. I'm happy too if he's happy. I'm fortunate to have a group of very close friends: people I consider brothers and sisters and who, in some cases, I have known for more than thirty years. And Alessandro is part of this group. Every time we've worked together, we've talked about friendship. A friendship, precise, very strong. And next time too, the third time, we'll talk about a friendship: I'm sure of it. Indeed, I hope so. We meet again years later, with a greater awareness and maturity, because in the meantime we have grown up, and we face the same theme again: it's a wonderful thing".

Alessandro also told me that you are very different.

"It's true, we are. But that's also, I think, the beauty of friendship. Being different and still being able to find each other and be together".

Are you a rational or instinctive person?

“If Alissa heard you, she'd laugh…Look, I don't know. I don't think rational. In my head, I tend to get into a lot of trouble. If we talk about a project, I give weight to the first sensation I feel in this area here, from the neck down. And I have to say I have never been disappointed. Sometimes an immediate, definitive sensation came. Other times, however, I convinced myself and I totally trusted others".

Has this trust ever been betrayed?

"From a film, you mean?"

From a film, a director or a fellow actor.

"No. Never betrayed. A project always has its own direction, and you must learn to follow that direction. Obviously, then, you too give it colors and a part of yourself. Bet on falling in love with someone else, and eventually you too fall in love. You rely on a director, you know a group of people who act with you. But if you get used to giving so much, you start to feel the urge to risk even more with something of your own".

So would you like to direct a film?

"In general, not just at the cinema. Writing or directing, yes. I think about it every now and then. And in effect, a theater project already exists in the near future".

Does the anxiety of the set, of a new project, pass after a while?

"At some point yes, it passes. But I always see it that way. There are projects where it takes me less time and others where it takes me longer to ignore this anxiety. Or maybe it's not like that: because you always stay in character. It can happen that you completely abandon yourself to one thing before, turning off your brain. Or it may happen to succeed later. It's essential to trust yourself, and I say this first of all to myself. At the Academy I had a great teacher, Paolo Giuranna, who said: "trust the work you've done up to now; when you enter the scene, it's a blank page"".

How important was the Academy experience to you?

"Very. They have been three full and intense years. At the beginning I had a different vision of this profession, and then, being with others, with my class, I managed to find a more concrete dimension for what I had in mind. I remember the fire of that period, the passion. It's still there, sure. But now it needs to be fed. Before, however, it burned almost by itself. Instantly".

In some ways, you're talking about what it's like to be young.

"Yes, but also of not having experienced first-hand what it means to do this job. There is a substantial difference between working out and starting to play sports seriously. When you play sports, you understand that you have to deal not only with what you have learned but also with many other factors".

What relationship do you have with time?

"I don't want to say trivial things... But time passes, and it also passes with a fair ease. It doesn't wait for you. He's not watching you. It would be nice to be able to live each day as if it was a lifetime. As if it was extremely important. To quote Thoreau: "As if one could kill time without hurting eternity." For heaven's sake: I spend whole days sitting, doing nothing, because mi pesa il culo (I'm a lazy ass)... (laughs, ed). But even that helps: do nothing, look around and don't box yourself in a phone. To stay. Simply. Throwing away some time makes me appreciate its value".

Even boredom has a purpose, in short.

“Boredom is interesting. It's curious. I get bored a little because I always try to do something - even here, perhaps, my wife would laugh. But I try, and I really try, to do something. Since adolescence, when I don't know what to do, I go out and about. When I read The Walk, I found this wonderful idea of walking and learning to see what the world has to offer."

What is your relationship with Alissa?

"She's the person with whom I would like to share so much of this time, and I'm sorry when I can't: when I'm not enough with her and with our children. If I put time near her, to them, if I use them as a parameter of judgment, I wish I had more and more. It's never enough for me. I love sharing."

What are you afraid of now?

"Fear is a strange word; a word that after meeting Claudio Caligari I tried to use less and less. I usually replace it with concern. Fear is something that makes you stop, and I learned from Claudio that it doesn't make much sense. You always have to keep fear at bay."

What worries you, then?

"Maybe just the passing of time, because it holds together an infinity of speeches and aspects. I worry about not giving due importance to individual moments".

How do you experience success? I mean: what follows you is an extremely passionate audience. What kind of bond unites you with the viewers?

“This thing you're telling me excites me. As you know, I don't use social media. So I don't have a clear view of what's going on. And knowing that makes me happy. Above all, it makes me happy to be able to give something back to others and excite them. If I'm shy, it's because I've always been shy. Social media can be useful. They connect many people with little; think of all the protests that exist today and that start right from social networks. Being able to share a testimony with the whole world is important. But I can't do it: said exactly like that, in the Roman way. I can't use them. I get excited when I meet people: when they ask me a question, they tell me what they thought about a film. They are crazy moments, that shake you. It's what, at times, drives me to give more, to commit myself to the maximum".

You mentioned Claudio Caligari earlier. What other encounters in your career have influenced you so much?

"The meeting with Carlo Cecchi was very important, whom I met again, with my great pleasure, also on the set of Martin Eden: master in life and work. When I have a professional concern, I always want to call him. Sometimes I had, and he answered me with passion and sincerity. During the period of the Academy there were several important meetings, like the one with Anna Marchesini. In recent years, I have met many directors, actresses and actors with whom I have shared the set. And then, even if it sounds silly, there was the meeting with myself".

In what sense?

"Several times, over time, I felt the need to stop and refocus, to understand who I was and what I wanted. And so yes, I ended up meeting the many people I've been and who still live here; and I learned to know them all, more or less. This is also important: understanding where we are and how we got there. When I had dialogues with myself, I changed direction or went on, on the path I had taken".

If you could go back in time and give you one piece of advice - before you entered the Academy; when the fire was still alive, and burning on its own - what advice would you give yourself?

"Go calmly. Listen. And listen to yourself. Have fun; have more fun. Smile. Enjoy everything; trust yourself".

I ask you the last question. Who is the actor?

"...what?"

Who is the actor?

"Someone who, trivially, feels he wants to communicate something, and communicates it. Someone who enacts a thought they've had or an emotion they've felt. Someone who is aware, hopefully, of all the possible consequences."

Like always, sorry for my English

#luca marinelli #tog cast #the old guard cast #magazine #rivista #intervista #interview #eng translation #english translation #mine

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