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tarithenurse · 5 years

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All is fair in Love & War - 18

Pairing: Loki x reader Content: Here be pining, fluff, angsting, relief, worry, the feeling of finally understanding something really obvious, and more relief. A/N: This is getting close to the end, depending on edits of the next part, then there will only be one or two chapters more. I’m very grateful for the support and love this story has gotten. Thank you! Oh, speaking of edits...proof reading while hungover might have been a bad move on my behalf, so pardon any errors still left.

18. Among wolves

The dull headache is one thing, but Loki’s limbs area heavy and unwilling to respond as he attempts to turn around in his bed. Or maybe the covers have gotten twisted, effectively restraining him? Some…thought…or maybe a memory is starting to squirm at the back of his mind, but it will have to wait. Groaning, he blinks to clear his eyes and investigate the situation.

“Brother?” There is a distance to Thor’s voice which throws the Jotun for a spin. “Loki, remain calm…alright brother?”

Calm? I am calm. The cerebral brain remains the same, but the vision clears which seems to fuel the insistent thought that urges him to move, to hurry. Why should I not be calm? He lost something, did he not? Getting his bearings, it occurs to Loki that this is not his own bed. There are no furs or silken sheets nestled within a wooden structure, but crisp white linen and a golden frame. Over the covers stretches thick, leather bands emblazoned with runes to imbue them with magic…magic meant to hold him in place if the physical bindings should fail.

There is no reason to struggle as it would only be in vain. “Thor…what is the meaning of this?”

“I am sorry,” the brother apologizes sheepishly from the other side of a magical barrier, “we did not know what else to do.”

Seconds pass silently while the brothers study each other. Why? Wreaking his memories, Loki can only recall walking from the stables with a plan in mind. What was I plotting? When the memory hits in the shape of the elusive thought, it takes away his breath along with any coherent thoughts…and still he cannot move. I have to get to Sjöblik in time to stop [Y/N].

“You have to release me,” he forces himself to talk evenly, “I need to get to her.”

“I cannot release you.”

Snarling, Loki is close to screaming at his brother. “Then get me someone who CAN!”

The broad bindings glow angrily until the captive relents with a sigh and relaxes into the soft mattress. Gaze fixed on the ceiling, he can hear the heavy footsteps of Thor recede followed by the distant clank of a door.

…

By the time Loki hears the door again, he has counted everything there is to count, read the runes about a dozen times, and designed his vengeance down to the smallest detail. They will regret holding me back like this. It is true that he had allowed himself to be talked into staying in Utgard from fear that any rash action would cause more damage. But preventing him from executing a carefully laid plan? Unforgivable. How did Thor even know?

Several people move in his periphery, safely on the other side of the magical wall, tempting him to turn his head. Thor, the lumbering oaf, has brought their parents. In a way it makes sense because Odin would have implemented strict rules to keep the embarrassing situation from the public, but seeing Frigga standing there with worry on her face and her hands clasped so tight before her chest that the knuckles are white…I am sorry, mother.

“Loki, I am sorry you had to regain consciousness to this…we did not know what else to do.”

The strain in Odin’s voice surprises his adoptive son, but he maintains a cool detachment. “May I suggest you begin with explaining why I was unconscious in the first place?”

“Your servants and I found you like that,” Thor’s begins, “we heard a…well I truly have no words to describe it! It was like a mixture of an explosion and a thousand people screaming. It came from the courtyard and when we arrived…I admit I was not the first, but…oh, brother! Everything was covered in ice. Dark, frozen spikes and-and shockwaves centered upon you as if…as if some force had hit you with the cold of a million winters, freezing anything in a circle around you!” The breath inhaled into the Thunder god’s lungs shakes with emotion. “No one could tell me what to do, so I called upon Heimdal…to take us here.”

My idiot brother is incapable of lying. Eliminating the most convoluted options, Loki is left with the assumption that the story is true. “So why subdue me like this?”

Frigga places a soft hand on the wall, causing the barrier to disintegrate and allowing her to step through to the weak protests of the men beside her. “My dear. We first feared you had been the victim of some form of attack, but as we searched for injuries you might have sustained, we found none.” Finally by the bed, she takes a seat on the edge, running the back of a few warm finger over Loki’s cheek. “You began to stir in your unconsciousness, showed distress…the infirmary became covered in ice too…”

“I caused it to happen…”

Turning his attention inwards, the god focuses on the part of his soul that is connected to the old powers of the Jötun, finding the Living Cold to be nearly depleted – something that only can happen by rapidly unleashing magic of enormous proportions. Already, it is replenishing, but there is no doubt it will take weeks before the powers will be restored.

“But why?” Soft grey eyes meet his blood-red with all the comfort and wisdom of a mother. “I…did something…? I felt…” Oh. “It felt as though my heart was torn from my body. Then I fell into darkness…”

“Loki, my dear.” Frigga sighs, looking to her husband and Thor for something. “Your bond with the mortal may be stronger than you think.”

… READER’s PoV …

If this is death…then why am I in pain? What first coherent thoughts go, it is not the worst, actually. It feels as though your shoulder is burning and moving your arm is like having white-hot pokers boring through. Deciding to stay as still as possible, you look around in the grey light of dawn, surprised to find yourself nowhere near the castle in Sjöblik…or for that matter near the city itself, it seems.

Dense firs and pines are standing so close that the needle-covered ground is almost completely dry beneath you, and it would not be a lie to say that at least one side of your body is being warmed considerably. Turning your head carefully to avoid upsetting the shoulder, the change of perspective brings a wall of mottled-grey fur into focus. Fur that moves as if it is still in use by its original owner. Breathing in sharply in fear fills your nose with the scent of dirt, dried and fresh needles…and a dog-like smell. Sweeping the gaze against the hairs, it passes the shoulders of a canine before coming to rest on the face of a wolf. Dark, amber eyes are watching every move you make.

You can feel your mind blank out, loosing touch with logic and abandoning any predetermined reactions that normal people might have in such a situation (though it probably is very few who haven woken up next to a wolf). Wolf. So far, not a wrong conclusion by your brain. Big. Also correct. Very, very big. Again, correct…but not helpful as such. Is Röskva and the other Vanir alright? See, that is where your brain fails to grasp the concept of prioritizing.

A quiet huff from the side that should not have a wolf assigned, makes you suspect that there is, in fact, another huge predator as if one would not have been bad enough. I survive falling several stories into a moat in the dead of winter…only to be rescued by the biggest wolves in creation?

“By the gods…this is just great.”

Talking out loud in this situation is another piece of evidence that your head must be damage somehow. Still, neither creature appears startled or upset about your comment, and you decide to risk a bit movement. Inch by inch, the good arm and hand begins a journey across the body until the fingertips can prod the injured shoulder, soliciting a hiss of discomfort. It also results in a soft whine from the wolf lying by your side, and an exploratory sniff by the newcomer (a wolf so dark brown it might have been black) which has taken a seat by your head. If I get to survive sitting up, then I need a way to fixate that arm or pop the joint back in place. Neither option is going to be easy, but at least you have a belt.

Repositioning the good arm, you brace yourself. Can’t lie here forever. With a grunt and a half-choked curse, it is possible to sit up although black dots are dancing before your eyes and it feels as though your arm has been torn off. The swaying motion steadies, making it possible to breathe a bit deeper. Then a gently yet very firm form presses against your back, nudging you to keep going. To stand. Afraid to piss off a wolf by refusing to do as it wants, you tug a leg under you the best you can, pulling the knee on the other to your chest. All the movement is making your entire body ache, but it is nothing compared to the agony of the dislocated shoulder.

A new nudge.

“Yes, yes…just give me a moment, huh? This isn’t as easy as it looks.” Hot breath fans your cheek, starting a shiver that run the length of your spine before it is stopped by a wet lick ending with a lot of wolf-drool in your ear. “Ah great, that’s really gonna help.”

As if understanding your words, the grey wolf wiggles itself underneath the good arm and then looks at you. Carefully you dig your shaking fingers through the course layer of the fur until you reach the soft undercoat. I’m being helped by wolves…yes…completely normal. But you nod to the creature, feeling it enhance your efforts to stand by pulling you forward before staying stock still as a means of maintaining balance.

“Well, uhm…thank you.”

…

Your first priority after strapping the arm to your chest had been to find water to clench an aching thirst but the wolves had other plans. Deciding it was better not to object to the wishes of creatures as big as ponies, you let them lead you away. North, judging by the mosses and lichen growing on any available surface.

A swarm of thoughts is milling in your mind, each concern fighting for attention with no regard for progress on the previous’ behalf. By now, the murder of king Gorm and the queen must have been discovered which means that when the guards or court realizes that you are missing, they will blame it on you and subsequently the Vanir – people you have come to consider as friends and who now may be arrested and convicted for your actions. That was a risk all along. Knowing that does not make it easier. If only you had had time to warn them, to send them away.

Stumbling over a root, you reflexively reach for the nearest support. Fingers dig into rough fur, causing both you and the dark wolf to freeze. Don’t eat me. The air starts to hurt in your chest as you wait for something to happen while amber eyes roam your shape with an intelligence unmatched by most beasts. There is even something familiar about it…but what? The new ruminations are interrupted as the greyer of the giant creatures lays down before you, presenting its exposed back. Huh? As you try to sidestep, a deep rumbling erupts, causing every hair on your body to stand and silencing the few birds in the area.

“What do you want?”

It was not meant to sound as whiney as it came out, but you are still tired and hurting, and things generally stink which makes it hard to deal with the whims of abducting predators. Probably for that very reason, it takes several nudges and renewed growls before the trip can continue…with you on the back of one of them.

… LOKI’s PoV …

Left in solitude for a while, the king of Jotunheim is no further from desperation than before although everything has been explained to him. She fell. The nauseating sensation he felt while crossing Utgard’s courtyard must have been related to this, but Frigga cannot give any satisfying explanation why it is happening. To find out, [Y/N] must be present too.

That leads Loki’s thought to the next issue. Having had to retreat as a child to save his own hide, the trickster knows that speed is vital unless the blame can be shifted to someone else. The Vanir are making haste on horseback heading southward to prevent getting caught, which is a sensible solution all things considered, whereas the mortal guilty of the crime committed is on food, has no rations, carries no weapons, and only has support from Odin’s two wolves.

Geri and Freki. Perhaps it should be a consolation that they are with her as the beasts are more than capable of defending their charge from any dangers…but it is not enough. The animals had pulled her from the river that has been split to create the moat surrounding the castle in Sjöblik. Once safe on land, each wolf is most likely taken turn to warm and dry [Y/N] with their own body heat until she is able to leave the forest at its northern borders. But when? The old forests cover vast areas and are too dense for Heimdal to land the Bifrost safely. That is why they must wait for the odd trio to emerge from the woods.

No, the arrangements that have been made are the best possible under these circumstances, and Loki’s frustrations stem from the uselessness he feels. Waiting will be a challenge although it is something he always has excelled at.

… READER’s PoV …

“Crrrrrooooooaaaarrrr.”

The unexpected familiarity of the sound is enough to pull you from the edges of sleep and back to the moment at hand. Jerking upright sends a new flare of pain through your shoulder but also grants you the view of the dark wolf and an even darker creature now perched on its back. To make matters worse (or odder) the raven is holding on to something shiny with its claws. The tri-hook. Only a foot of the rope is still attached, torn and frayed at the end.

“Still not dead, sorry,” you manage to whisper through dried lips.

That doesn’t rule out that I’m going crazy. A bird has flown miles to bring a tool you had hated leaving behind, and you are riding on a wolf as big as the one in Odin’s cou–

Blinking at the mottled-grey creature, you finally recognize it and its brother for what they are. Loki had told you their names and how they, together with two ravens are the eyes and ears of the All-Father as he sends them out into the realms…or apparently to watch over stupid mortals as they take on risky missions. Your cheeks are hot with guilt as they stretch in a tired smile.

What are their names again? “Thank you. All of you.”

Relief is coursing through your tired and beaten body, making your head swim so you discover belatedly that the odd company has stopped. Looking around, you notice the forest itself is behind you. Before the wolves’ paws begins the open the plains of rolling hills and the occasional village of farmer-families. You even have time to admire the view of the first blue patches of sky in weeks before a torrent of light engulfs you.

… LOKI’s PoV …

They have let him out and Loki knows just from the smiles on Thor’s and Frigga’s faces what it means which is why he is wasting no time as he hurries along familiar halls with them in sharp pursuit.

Each minute feels like a year. Each step has been reduced to a thumb’s length.

But finally, he skids through the circular opening of Heimdal’s observatory in time to see an odd group of figures materialize before the Keeper and Odin.

The mortal woman is dirty and battered with an arm strapped awkwardly across the chest, each injury echoing through Loki’s limbs, but in this moment, she is an enchanting being taken directly from the sweetest dreams he has ever had. How perfectly she fits in his arm as he lifts her off her tired feet and cradles her in his lap without a care in the world that he has somehow sunk to the floor before the eyes of his family, Heimdal, and a few other guards. None of it matters. None of it matters because [Y/N] is near him again.

Loki refuses to let go of the frail human, insisting instead to carry her to the Healers’ Ward where Idunn tends to the injuries with skill. Only when the Asgardian goddess of longevity and health orders him to leave, to grant the mortal rest, does he do so…though with the promise of returning soon.

Outside the door, Frigga is waiting on a carved stone bench with a book in one hand. “I assume you have been told to give your love some peace to sleep?” she asks with a gentle smile.

“Yes.”

“My son…you always consider each action carefully…” Gone is the smile, replaced by the tender worry of a mother. “You know you will outlive her. Does she?”

“There is one way…but how can I ask her to abandon everything? She has a chance to return to Midgard and build a normal life. A safe life.”

The soft hand that takes Loki’s says more than any words can, and he enjoys the silent that lowers itself over them. This hallway is favoured with soft, warm colours enhancing the healing qualities of the sun streaming through the windows. A multitude of plants adds to the impression that it is indeed the Healing Ward which is housed here. Blindly staring at the rose and creamy yellows of the marble, Loki wishes it was this life he could grant [Y/N] rather than that of a cold keep and Jötun clans still opposing his rule.

“If you truly want her to chose, then you cannot hide anything from her, dear Loki.”

Reclaiming her hand, Frigga places a wooden box in her son’s lap. It is carefully decorated with various coloured stones, creating the liking of a fruit tree. Even the gold filigree clasp carries the same theme of leaves and apple blossoms.

The queen cups his cheek to make sure Loki listens carefully. “Whatever she chooses…respect it.”

...

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tuckinpodcast-blog · 7 years

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EPISODE 7: LITTLE BASTARD

LISTEN: SOUNDCLOUD / iTUNES / GOOGLEPLAY

SOURCES: will be listed in separate post after work today (I’m running very short on time right now)

NOTES: I decided to just go ahead and make this the only episode I record this week, and next’s week episode will pick up with Monty Clift. I’m visiting a friend in LA soon, so I won’t have the time to write or record a new episode until after I get back. Also, apologies for my voice this week -- I am VERY tired.

TRANSCRIPT:

Hi, I'm Jack, and this is Tuck In, We're Rolling: Queer Hollywood Stories. This week, we're going to be talking about James Dean, the controversy surrounding his sexuality, and why his legacy seems to resonate into today. Apologies again for this week's episode being late – for those of you who don't follow the podcast's tumblr or Facebook, I went back to Connecticut last weekend to visit my family, and my mom's cat threw up on all of my notes. I guess that's what I get for leaving them out, but once I got home I had to restart my note-taking and go back to work immediately, so that's why this is so late. Even though this is technically last week's episode, I've decided that this will be the only episode I'll record this week – again, I apologize, but in about two weeks, I'll be in Los Angeles visiting a friend and taking a lot of selfies with the Hollywood sign, so I won't have anything recorded until after I get home. At least you guys can expect a lot of great photos on the blog, right? Right.

So, let's just dive on in now: James Dean. He's made it onto AFI's Top 50 Actors list at number 18, and he's long remembered as the guy that made three movies and then died in a fiery car wreck. And, if we're being honest, I think the car wreck is what makes people remember him so fondly, and why he got a spot on that Top 50 Actors list. You know, I think about these stars that died young – not Monty Clift young, but tragically, Marilyn Monroe young – and they might not have done anything really worthwhile, but it's the potential that people mourn. James Dean was twenty-five when he died, and he had only made a handful of movies – even Brando said the loss was tremendous. His movies were good, too. I had to watch Rebel Without a Cause for a class I took in high school called “What Happened In and to the Sixties” – interesting class. We were watching it to sort of explore the way young people felt and acted in the fifties after World War Two, and how they set the stage for the sixties. So, I watched the movie, I wrote my reactions to it in the little journal that we had to keep for that class – and I loved it, I'm not gonna lie. I think back then, I must have been 17, and I was just starting to cultivate this love of Golden Age Hollywood and classic cinema, and I remember being really excited to watch Rebel. But it kind of slipped right out my consciousness – I generally don't enjoy the legacy of tragically “dead before their time” actors, because I think people fixate on them and the gruesome ways they die. And yeah, I guess it really goes back to the mourning the loss of potential, but I also think that James Dean getting onto AFI's Top 50 while Monty Clift isn't even given an honorable mention is kind of bullshit. Monty didn't die in his car crash, so he never reached the legendary status that Dean did. I digress.

People remember Dean and they love and cherish his movies, and they fixate on his short life – but they tend to forget what he was actually like, and from what I've read, it wasn't exactly pretty.

James Dean was born on February 8, 1931 in Marion, Indiana. His family moved to Santa Monica after his father gave up farming to be a dental technician, and he was an only child – very close with his mother, by all accounts. She died of uterine cancer when he was nine and his father sent him back to Indiana to live with his aunt and uncle, where he was raised Quaker. Here's where things start to get a little weird. He meets a pastor named James DeWeerd, and they get very close. A lot of people have gone back and pointed out that DeWeerd is the one who got Dean hooked on fast cars and acting. History is on the fence about whether or not DeWeerd abused Dean, or if they had a consenting relationship in Dean's later teenage years – but either way, Dean supposedly told Elizabeth Taylor that he had been abused by a member of the clergy shortly after his mother's death. After he graduated from high school, he took his dog Max out to California. Eventually, he dropped out of UCLA to act – though at first, he could barely get cast in commercials. Around 1951, he went to New York to study at the Actor's Studio – the same place where Brando got his start. He did a lot of television work, and then finally in 1953, Elia Kazan cast him in East of Eden, after specifically requesting a “Brando type”. He made his last movie, Giant, in 1955 – though it didn't come out until 1956, the year after he passed away. He died on September 30, 1955 at the age of 24 from injuries sustained during a car crash on his way to a race. Interestingly, they named the stretch of highway he died on for him – which I think is a little morbid, even for my taste and I used to be a funeral director, but, hey. To each their own.

James Dean has been described as someone who “slept his way to the top”. Very famously, he and Marilyn Monroe actually had a fling. He said he wanted to marry her, and I guess they had plans to do just that – before they realized what a bad match they would actually be, in a rare moment of self-awareness for both of them. Besides Monroe, he's said to have had affairs with Liz Taylor, Joan Crawford, and Judy Garland. But besides his female conquests, he's also rumored to have had affairs with Brando, Paul Newman, Steve McQueen, Rock Hudson, and Spencer Tracy. The author Darwin Porter says of Dean: “He was difficult, selfish, and insecure – but he made love to some of Hollywood's greatest beauties.” Elia Kazan said about him: “He was a little nuts. Maybe a lot nuts.”

It's really interesting to me that here's this guy who's remembered and beloved for the three movies he made, but everyone around him is kind of like, “Uh, guys? He's sort of crazy.” Natalie Wood, who co-stared with him in Rebel, said that he was into hurting his partners and also being hurt. I mean, after he and Spencer Tracy hooked up, he stole all of Tracy's cash and his wallet. Last episode, I mentioned that the relationship between Brando and Dean was juicy – but it was more fascinating than anything else. Now, again, I can't say that any of this is real or fictional – and this is one of those stories that seem like it might be a little stretched, if you know what I mean, but there's a rumor out there that Dean and Brando had a Dom/sub relationship, with Brando acting as the dominant one in the relationship.

So, this story is really detailed – and I've never really figured out if lies are simple or complicated, but the story goes that James Dean was absolutely in love with Brando, going so far as to follow him around and wait outside his apartment for attention. Brando used to make Dean watch him have sex with strangers, all some part of a game that Brando played with Dean. Brando claims to have met Dean on the set of East of Eden in 1954 – which is the same story that Mizruchi tells in her book. I mentioned this on the blog, but that book was sanctioned by Brando's estate, which might account for why it left some of the seedier details of his life out. In James Dean: Tomorrow Never Comes, Darwin Porter says that they actually met in 1949, when Brando came back from Paris and visited the Actors Studio in New York. The dates don't exactly match up – officially, Dean wasn't involved in the Actors Studio until 1951, but there's a chance he was hanging around, and given how big a fan of Brando's he was, he might have made an excuse to visit so he could see his idol. People who were close to the two of them – including Tennessee Williams – have claimed that the two were definitely an item, though Brando was absolutely not very nice to Dean, rubbing it in his face that he was out sleeping with other people, and denying that they were even friends after Dean's death.

Now we have two sides of a story – Brando claiming that he and Dean were barely friends, though he admits that Dean was particularly fixated on him, and people close to Dean claiming that the two of them had sadomasochistic sex on a frequent and regular basis. I think with this story, as with most stories, the truth lies somewhere in the middle. Dean had a lot of serious girlfriends, and Brando had that appetite that we've talked about before. Dean also had the tendency to use the people he was seeing or sleeping with to further his career, and if we think about early 50's Brando – peak classic film Brando, as it were – then we're talking about someone who had the ability to make someone's career. Dean only got the roles in Rebel Without a Cause and East of Eden because Brando turned them down and the directors wanted the next best thing. And Dean really wanted Brando's mantle. Do I think that Dean latched onto Brando in a very unhealthy way? Oh yeah. Do I think that Brando played mind games with Dean because he was an egomaniac? To an extent, yeah. When I talk about the trio of Brando, Dean and Clift, I'm talking about three people who were really into themselves. I mean, mirrors all over the place, looking out for number one only levels of selfishness. Combined with Brando's admitting that he was into men at some point and Dean reportedly being an “omnisexual”, I definitely think those two had some kind of relationship beyond what Brando admits to.

After Dean died, I think people kind of wanted to forget the bad stuff about him and just remember the good things. I have this feeling that Brando maybe wanted to distance himself from it – for whatever reason, whether it was because he was truly distraught that someone he supposedly loved had died, or because he wanted Dean's memory to go on without being colored by a sordid affair, or even if he just wanted to put it all behind him and get on with his affair with Rock Hudson – I don't know. This is all conjecture. But now I kind of want to pick up a thread I teased out a few weeks ago in our Cary Grant episode: this tendency to forget the bad about people after they've died and hold them up on high pedestals despite being really, truly terrible.

Cary Grant was from a different time in Hollywood, definitely. The money was pouring in, the studios had unlimited power, and the Hays Code was in full swing. This was the time when the studios had a roster of stars and they just picked one when they were making a new movie and said, “This is your new movie, go on now.” Grant definitely was one of the first to reject the studio system, which is why he never got an Oscar – but that's a story for another time. Dean was coming up when the studios had to compete with television, and he was on the TV for a little while. Fixers were definitely still running amok, making all the bad things go away, but the Code was slipping and the studios didn't have the same kind of hold that they once did. But: they were both people who notoriously had bad tempers, treated the people around them pretty poorly, and were violent towards their romantic partners.

Why, then, do we continue to look back at these two, and a lot of others like them, through these rose colored glasses?

With Grant, I think it's definitely nostalgia. There's enough time between the peak of his fame and now that people just want to remember the goofy, grinning guy from Arsenic and Old Lace, or they're diehard Hitchcock fans and they won't hear a bad word spoken about him. With Dean, though – I really think it comes back to this view of him as a lost boy who died too young and never got a chance to be the next Brando – which I'm sure Brando was a little relieved about, regardless of whatever kind of relationship the two of them had. And you know, going back to that whole parallel between today's actors and Dean and Brando – people really think he was something special. I'm not denying that he was, of course, but I mean, think about it. My very good friend James Franco and the internet's collective crush Ryan Gosling aspire to be – what? Vain, selfish, and mean caricatures of masculinity? Everyone is so focused on the brooding, mysterious and handsome part that they forget about the terrible things that come with it – the addictive personalities, the disregard for other people, the recklessness. Maybe that's why I find some of the contemporary stars I called out in my last episode so unpalatable. Whatever their level of talent, and whatever they're doing or have done, they're still trying desperately to be people that maybe, you know, weren't all that great. And I guess you can argue that someone can be brooding and mysterious and a talented actor without being abusive or just obnoxious, and you can admire someone's talent without admiring the selfishness, but I mean, come on now. Do you think that someone like Christian Bale ever sat down and thought about the dichotomy of famous persona versus intimate personality as it pertains to Hollywood in the Golden Age? Maybe James Franco has, but if he wrote that paper, he probably would have gotten a D on it.

There's this thing that I really haven't figured out yet about celebrities – and it's where to draw that line, the question of “When does this person do something so heinous that I stop supporting their work?” How many times does Mark Ruffalo have to talk over queer voices when he does things like cast Matt Bomer as a trans woman or think he understands the struggle because, again, he kissed Matt Bomer that one time? Like, do I stop watching movies starring Jeremy Renner because he refused to apologize for making shitty comments about Scarlett Johansen? What do I say about Chris Evans because he apologized for those same shitty comments, and why did I absolutely refuse to watch Manchester by the Sea because Casey Afflek is an abuser who got away with it but I watched Chinatown even though Roman Polanski also abused an underage girl? And you know, I'm coming at this from a place of – like, the classic movies are history now and what happened is what happened. But why is it still happening? When we watch Rebel Without a Cause and don't have the context to know that Natalie Wood felt uncomfortable on set with James Dean because he was a violent person, aren't we doing a disservice to not only Natalie Wood, but all the women who've ever had to sit in a room with someone that's made them uncomfortable? Aren't we, you know, kind of setting a precedent for this kind of thing? And maybe context is the key to this question. We can't just blindly consume media without context, I think. Like … we can't ignore the things that have happened in the past, and I've said that before on this show. When we ignore the fact that James Dean hit Pier Angeli and that Hollywood used to cast white people as people of color or even that fucking Gone With The Wind made people of color stars and then Hollywood refused to let them into the Academy Awards to collect their Oscars, we're denying that it even happened. And maybe knowing and understanding the context can help us navigate away from making the same mistakes people made back in the early years of Hollywood.

I mean, not yet, obviously. Mark Ruffalo never apologized for casting Matt Bomer as a trans woman and Casey Afflek is almost gleeful about getting away with sexual abuse, but we can use these moments to propel ourselves into demanding better, you know – not just from Hollywood, but just from the people we interact with on a daily basis.

Thank you so much for listening to Tuck In, We're Rolling: Queer Hollywood Stories. This week's episode was written, researched, edited and recorded by me, Jack Segreto. You can find a transcript of this episode and all our episodes, along with movie and book recommendations, fun facts and photos on our tumblr, tuckinpodcast.tumblr.com. You can also give us a like on Facebook at facebook.com/tuckinpodcast. We accept messages on both of those platforms, so please feel free to shoot us any suggestions for show topics and comments you might have. We put out new episodes every Wednesday, and you can listen to us on SoundCloud, iTunes and Google Play, so don't forget to rate and subscribe to us! We'll be back next week with an episode about Montgomery Clift and the way age and infirmity effect how we view queer personalities. See you next time!

#( TRANSCRIPTS & SHOW NOTES. )#( EPISODE 7. )#queer history #hollywood history #queer history podcast #hollywood history podcast #james dean #marlon brando #natalie wood

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