[Part 1] My thoughts on Last Twilight (01x10-11)
Spoilers for eps 10-11, obviously!!
Hi guys, just finished watching ep 11, and to be CLEAR, I’m not here to complain about the ending- it’s one of the aspects that I actually quite agree with, but I do have some thoughts about the last few episodes, specifically eps 10-11.
Maybe it’s just me, or I just lack a nuanced perspective in watching dramas, but in my opinion, there are a couple of things that seem… off in terms of pacing and development.
1. Day’s Mom + Night + The Surgery
Throughout episode 10, Day’s mom was reticent and disapproved of Day’s relationship with Mhok, as evidenced by her barring her son from seeing his boyfriend, confiscating his phone and changing the wi-fi password, etc. Aside from this, she says lines such as:
“I’m losing him no matter what I choose to do. At least I feel more comfortable knowing he’s inside his room.”
(Not her best moment HA)
From what I saw, the mom was acting as a mom should do— being protective of her son, worrying for his future, as well as the struggle that many parents go through, to let go of their children and see them as adults.
These are the underlying reasons for her behavior, and although we, as viewers, understood her motives and motivations, we also understood that Day being blind should not remove his right to autonomy. [This post by @befuddledcinnamonroll here, explains it well.]
Although he is blind, this does not mean that he is somehow unable to function as a human being, nor is he unable to live life and pursue his dreams and ambitions. Day is a person with his hopes and dreams, and his blindness does not define these intrinsic things that make up his humanity.
If at episode 9, Day had embraced his blindness, and accepted the reality of his situation, his mother remains to be at the same point that he was at in episode 1- she is grieving.
She grieves her son’s future, the image of her son that she had built in her head, which that thereupon been shattered with the accident that led to his condition. Day was her Mirror - he was ambitious, successful, self-assured, and even overly cocksure. With him being so similar to her, it made sense why she had a bias towards him. He was the “golden child”, while Night was the “villain” because he was the “good-for-nothing” son that mirrored his father. They all had defined roles in the family dynamic, which then dramatically shifted when Day became blind. Suddenly, Day couldn’t be the successful or self-assured one. He couldn’t be the golden child and Night had to step up, ultimately breeding resentment between the parties. [ @btwinlines makes a really good analysis of this here.]
With the shift in dynamics, Day resented Night for seemingly “taking what was his” aka occupying the role that he once had. He resented Night as he believed that Night relishes in the spotlight, now that he has the opportunity. And aside from Day, the mother also resents Night, blaming him for the accident because she also feels like she has lost something, as a mother— the once bright future of her favored progeny.
Throughout the show, Day grows past his resentment as he adapts and embraces his reality, but this is a growth that is not similarly reflected in his mother. While Night and Day were able to reconcile, what episode 10 failed to address (which I had hoped would be addressed in episode 11), was how she, too, had to face the reality that her son’s blindness did not take him away from her. He is still him, the same Day with the same personality and soul. Although he would not be able to accomplish the things that he initially set out to do in his life, his blindness doesn’t make him less of a person. Keeping him caged in his room and prohibiting him from contacting people outside of the house is choking the progress that her son had made from episodes 1-9, and she must see that Day has the capacity to be independent and NEEDS his independence to be a fully realized being. She needs to see that her son is not without agency now that he is disabled.
And I had thought that this is where the surgery would come in. C’mon, no one actually thought it would work, right?
Ok so. With the surgery as a plot device, what could have been done is to create a catalyst— casting a glimmer of hope in what the mother believes to be a hopeless situation, and then forcing her to realize and accept the reality, like what her son had already done. In my head, it would all be slow, a depiction of the last 3 stages of grief— bargaining, depression, and acceptance.
Bargaining— the surgery is a representation of this stage, as the mom holds on to the hope that her son can be “cured” and all the previous familial dynamics of the past can return to “normal”.
Depression— the surgery fails, all hope is gone, and the mother will be left to pick up the pieces— Day’s devastation at the failed surgery and her own devastation as all doors to the past are now closed, all opportunities exhausted. Maybe this will bring out tension in the family, and maybe the mother would take initiative to repair her relationship with BOTH of her sons, making mistakes along the way.
Acceptance— the mother accepts all that I have highlighted above (Day is STILL Day, and he needs independence to live a fulfilling life as a fully realized person, Night should not be a villain in her eyes, and that change is necessary for her family to stay together).
But that is not what happened at all.
Instead of addressing the prior concerns of the previous episode, after Day’s surgery became an opportunity, it’s like the mom did an abrupt 180? She is suddenly accepting of Mhok (like… wow… didn’t see that coming) her issues with Night are never addressed beyond the beef stew scene in episode 10, and… all her previous controlling behaviors just… vanish… *poof* magic. And to top it all off, A TIMESKIP, OF ALL THINGS.
Change takes time. It’s not like the mom can just flick a switch and then immediately change her viewpoints, address her internalized resentments and just be “fixed” herself, just like how all the problems in the family dynamic can’t just be fixed with one shared beef stew at a Christmas dinner. These are deeply rooted concerns, all planted before the show had even begun, even before Day’s blindness.
Episode 11 had the perfect catalyst, a catalyst that would throw a wrench in the tenuous peace previously established that Christmas day, a catalyst that could have triggered a forceful, painful, organic growth in the lives of the characters, one that would have them take a step back and say,
“Man. We need to change things.”
Everything is not fine. The room is on fire, and we can’t continue to stay in this room.
Just… imagine how beautiful the contrast would have been. A calm before the storm, a truce on Christmas, immediately followed by a crack in the glass, a break in the fabric. And a reminder that change is painful, and the last stage of grief, acceptance, is crucial for any permanent state of change.
And that’s not what happened. It feels… hollow, somehow.
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the thing about art is that it was always supposed to be about us, about the human-ness of us, the impossible and beautiful reality that we (for centuries) have stood still, transfixed by music. that we can close our eyes and cry about the same book passage; the events of which aren't real and never happened. theatre in shakespeare's time was as real as it is now; we all laugh at the same cue (pursued by bear), separated hundreds of years apart.
three years ago my housemates were jamming outdoors, just messing around with their instruments, mostly just making noise. our neighbors - shy, cautious, a little sheepish - sat down and started playing. i don't really know how it happened; i was somehow in charge of dancing, barefoot and laughing - but i looked up, and our yard was full of people. kids stacked on the shoulders of parents. old couples holding hands. someone had brought sidewalk chalk; our front walk became a riot of color. someone ran in with a flute and played the most astounding solo i've ever heard in my life, upright and wiggling, skipping as she did so. she only paused because the violin player was kicking his heels up and she was laughing too hard to continue.
two weeks ago my friend and i met in the basement of her apartment complex so she could work out a piece of choreography. we have a language barrier - i'm not as good at ASL as i'd like to be (i'm still learning!) so we communicate mostly through the notes app and this strange secret language of dancers - we have the same movement vocabulary. the two of us cracking jokes at each other, giggling. there were kids in the basement too, who had been playing soccer until we took up the far corner of the room. one by one they made their slow way over like feral cats - they laid down, belly-flat against the floor, just watching. my friend and i were not in tutus - we were in slouchy shirts and leggings and socks. nothing fancy. but when i asked the kids would you like to dance too? they were immediately on their feet and spinning. i love when people dance with abandon, the wild and leggy fervor of childhood. i think it is gorgeous.
their adults showed up eventually, and a few of them said hey, let's not bother the nice ladies. but they weren't bothering us, they were just having fun - so. a few of the adults started dancing awkwardly along, and then most of the adults. someone brought down a better sound system. someone opened a watermelon and started handing out slices. it was 8 PM on a tuesday and nothing about that day was particularly special; we might as well party.
one time i hosted a free "paint along party" and about 20 adults worked quietly while i taught them how to paint nessie. one time i taught community dance classes and so many people showed up we had to move the whole thing outside. we used chairs and coatracks to balance. one time i showed up to a random band playing in a random location, and the whole thing got packed so quickly we had to open every door and window in the place.
i don't think i can tell you how much people want to be making art and engaging with art. they want to, desperately. so many people would be stunning artists, but they are lied to and told from a very young age that art only matters if it is planned, purposeful, beautiful. that if you have an idea, you need to be able to express it perfectly. this is not true. you don't get only 1 chance to communicate. you can spend a lifetime trying to display exactly 1 thing you can never quite language. you can just express the "!!??!!!"-ing-ness of being alive; that is something none of us really have a full grasp on creating. and even when we can't make what we want - god, it feels fucking good to try. and even just enjoying other artists - art inherently rewards the act of participating.
i wasn't raised wealthy. whenever i make a post about art, someone inevitably says something along the lines of well some of us aren't that lucky. i am not lucky; i am dedicated. i have a chronic condition, my hands are constantly in pain. i am not neurotypical, nor was i raised safe. i worked 5-7 jobs while some of these memories happened. i chose art because it mattered to me more than anything on this fucking planet - i would work 80 hours a week just so i could afford to write in 3 of them.
and i am still telling you - if you are called to make art, you are called to the part of you that is human. you do not have to be good at it. you do not have to have enormous amounts of privilege. you can just... give yourself permission. you can just say i'm going to make something now and then - go out and make it. raquel it won't be good though that is okay, i don't make good things every time either. besides. who decides what good even is?
you weren't called to make something because you wanted it to be good, you were called to make something because it is a basic instinct. you were taught to judge its worth and over-value perfection. you are doing something impossible. a god's ability: from nothing springs creation.
a few months ago i found a piece of sidewalk chalk and started drawing. within an hour i had somehow collected a small classroom of young children. their adults often brought their own chalk. i looked up and about fifteen families had joined me from around the block. we drew scrangly unicorns and messed up flowers and one girl asked me to draw charizard. i am not good at drawing. i basically drew an orb with wings. you would have thought i drew her the mona lisa. she dragged her mother over and pointed and said look! look what she drew for me and, in the moment, i admit i flinched (sorry, i don't -). but the mother just grinned at me. he's beautiful. and then she sat down and started drawing.
someone took a picture of it. it was in the local newspaper. the summary underneath said joyful and spontaneous artwork from local artists springs up in public gallery. in the picture, a little girl covered in chalk dust has her head thrown back, delighted. laughing.
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Do you ever think about how Kirk had a "best friend" on the ship before Bones in Gary Mitchell, a man who:
a) deviously manipulates him into heartbreak for Mitchell's benefit,
b) shames him for not being "fun" enough when he's in a position of power,
c) openly insults intelligent and powerful women,
d) treats everyone cruelly as soon as he gets power and tries to seize everything for himself,
e) finds it fascinating that he can stop a person's heart for fun, and
f) tries to murder Kirk instead of admitting that he's a danger to the universe,
and then chooses to replace him with Bones, a man who:
a) tries to save Kirk from heartbreak at every opportunity,
b) gets him to smile and relax by being genuinely interested in how he's doing and telling him that he's great and respected just as he is,
c) openly toasts intelligent and powerful women,
d) treats everyone kindly as soon as he gets power and tries to use it to help as many people as he can,
e) cries about how people suffered when medical treatments were less advanced, and
f) says, "Jim, I can't destroy life, even if it's to save my own. I can't."
because I do
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thoughts about time travel shenanigans where robin jason and bruce are thrust into the future and find themselves on a rooftop during a stormy night? because listen.
they both find themselves on this random rooftop in gotham, but they're not alone because right in front of them is batman of this year and a man wearing a red helmet. this wouldn't have raised much of a concern-- they probably could've just asked the future bruce what happened and how to get home-- except this batman is more violent than jay or bruce anticipated. they watch, stunned, as this batman repeatedly rains his heavy fist down on the other man's face, chest, ribs, and wherever else he can reach.
they watch as the man with the red helmet struggles weakly, consciousness slowly leaving him, before they catch sight of his face in the crack of his hood. both jay and bruce realize at the same time who it is-- that this is future jason despite the hard lines and large ragged body so different from jay's own.
the realization hits right there-- that bruce is beating down on jason more violently than batman has handled any villain.
the bruce of the past feels it before he sees it-- his jay flinching away from him and his tiny hand ripping away from his cape in fear. bruce looks down at his son, his child, and sees the absolute terror in his eyes. after all, why wouldn't jay be so upset? didn't bruce promise never to lay a hand on him like so many adults in his young life already have? didn't bruce swear, crouched down in front of his little boy and gently holding his hands, that he would keep him safe now?
and yet as they stare at each other with horror-filled eyes, the jason of this time finally loses consciousness as his bruce drags him away by the cracks of his helmet, bloody knuckles pressed over his swollen eyelids.
bruce distantly remembers the way jay had shyly called him dad just two days ago. now, he stares as his sweet boy takes a trembling step back, tears threatening to spill down his wide eyes. bruce doesn't think he's hated himself more.
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