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littlemrcaprisun · 4 years

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Team Dimitrescu || Lady Dimitrescu x Ready {NSFW}

{This is for and thanks to @gayllamafromspace and @themagnacarla for the prompt and workshopping/brainstorming}

{Also it’s spicy}

Alcina always knew she would end up killing him. She just didn’t think it would be over something quite… ridiculous. It all started a month ago when Heisenburg thought it would be hilarious to bring a box set of the human “Twilight” films. Everyone sat down, ready to hate them, and ready to quit watching halfway through the first movie. You knew that the movies were pretty silly but you were still pretty excited to curl up with Alcina on the elaborate sofa for even just a little bit. But two days later they had torn through all five of the movies with a disgusted intrigue that shocked all of them, especially Alcina. The girls wouldn’t shut up about Team Edward or Team Jacob, Heisenburg kept insisting that werewolves weren’t creepy and don’t even imprint at all. Alcina really thought she was going to lose it, and you were stuck watching the chaos unfold.

Then came the books. When they found out the movies were based on books of course everyone had to get their very own set. You even got on board with this, seeing as you had never read the books when they were popular, and why not join the book club? You were always looking for some way to bond with your new weird family. Alcina refuses to get involved, she won’t even touch the books as though they would burn her skin with a mere graze. Every time she passes by any of you reading you catch her rolling her eyes and turning her chin up towards the ceiling. So dramatic.

The girls and Heisenburg finish reading before you do, impressively, and you think it must be some sort of supernatural reading ability… or just the ability to focus. They have a meeting everyday to discuss the books for hours, a meeting you’re not invited to.

“You haven’t finished the books, therefore you cannot discuss them with us.” Sofia states sternly when you try to sit around the table with them.

“Yeah but I’m half way through them, I can at least listen.” You reason, desperately hoping this will work but knowing it will fail. Dani comes over and sighs.

“Listen, why don’t you go make out with Mother or something. She much prefers your company.” She gives you a little shove backwards out of the room. Alina, as usual, comes to your rescue and offers a warm reassurance.

“Don’t worry, I’ll catch you up later. I’m sure we won’t talk about a lot today. It usually just ends up with Uncle H yelling about how wrong the werewolves are.” Alina soothes. How is she different from her sisters and mother?

“Hey! It’s true! These guys seem like creeps.” He declares from the table behind them. You swallow the lump in your throat, hold your head up high and nod. You won’t let them beat you down anymore.

“Yeah it’s no problem. Don’t want to hear you shit talk something I enjoy anyway.” You turn and head down the hall, as you leave you hear them murmuring about you.

“Why does your mother keep it around?” He whispers.

“It must taste good or lay well.” Sofia responds, less hushed. Dani laughs and Alina shushes her.

You continue walking toward the library where you gather your book and journal, unsure if you can continue reading after that. You don’t see much point in it now, without anyone to discuss it with. You meander back to your bedroom and let out a sad sigh when you don’t find Alcina there. It isn’t common for her to be there at this time but you were just hoping for something good.

You curl up alone in your massive bed and continue reading. You’re trying not to gag on the sickly sweet dialogue and the choppy narrative when you hear the door open, your heart soars. Swooping in with her big hat and white dress, Lady Dimitrescu arrives in her towering glory. You push up your glasses and give her a once over. She looks divine.

“God, you’re reading that cursed book. And you’re wearing those pathetic glasses to do so.” She scoffs and makes her way to her personal wine storage kept in the room.

“Lovely to see you too, dearest, my day wasn’t great thanks for asking.” You give her the most sarcasm you can muster before returning to the book. She stops pouring the second glass of wine to look over her shoulder at you.

“What happened? The girls?” You hate the way she knows it’s them. It is always them. You give her a hum as a response which earns you a growl. She glides over to the bed and sets your glass of wine, blood free, on your night stand before making her way to the vanity. “I have had many talks with them and reprimanded them many times. I simply think you will have to try harder to get along, they are not easy to manage.”

You don’t give her a response, you don’t even look up at her from your book, which infuriates her. She loves the way you watch her nighttime ritual with pure adoration in your eyes, but now these insufferable books are ruining everything.

“At least drink your damn wine.” She grumbles, as a passing statement, full of jealousy. How dare something so useless take your full attention away from her? “Or perhaps put down that fucking book.”

This makes you raise a brow. She never uses such strong language, she’s too much of a lady for that, so she must be fed up with this. You keep reading out of spite. Suddenly, she’s on the bed next to you, the smell of her intoxicating you and making you want to give in so bad, but you keep reading. You’re going to make her beg for a change.

“Y/n, if you don’t put the book down…” She’s trying hard to steady her breathing and stay calm. You can’t help but think that it��s kind of cute that she's so desperate for your attention. However, she takes cute to the next level in a split second when she’s suddenly on top of you. The book is smashed into your chest, the hard corners and sharp edges digging into your skin, but completely forgotten. You stare up into her dark eyes and know that she thinks she’s winning. You can’t let that happen.

You wiggle until your arms are free and replace the book in front of your face, but you aren’t really reading anymore. You can hear her teeth grinding together from the other side of it. She wants no part in the game you're playing even though she knows she’ll win. You both know she’ll win, but it’s oh so fun to make her squirm. But soon you’re the one whose squirming as her hand makes its way under your shirt, cold skin making you shiver and sigh but you hold out. She’s playing dirty now.

She teases you until you can’t feel your nipples anymore she still doesn’t remove her hand, knowing she can overstimulate you easily from here. She’s watching your face from over the top of the book, waiting for resignation but when she doesn’t find it her hand wanders lower. She isn’t gentle, not tonight. Tonight isn’t really about you, it’s about her getting you back. She makes quick work of cutting away your pants and underwear with her elongated nail. You fucking hate those things sometimes.

There’s no slow build up or sweet foreplay, she goes straight for your clit, catching you completely off guard. You moan loudly and press the book against your face for just a moment before you remember this is not how you’re going to lose. You refuse to lose even as her fingers work hard and faster and drive her higher up the wall. You refuse to lose as she roughly slip one, then two, then - fuck - three fingers inside you.

You forget what game you’re playing when you throw the book on the floor as soon as she pulls you into an oblivion of pleasure. As soon as you come back to earth she starts to pull out of you but you grab her wrist, trying to keep her hand inside of you, but she jerks it away.

“Ah, ah. This wasn’t for you. This was for me. I wanted my baby back so I got my baby back.” She says very matter of factly as she presses her used fingers to your lips. You accept them into your mouth and clean them with your tongue, full attention on her. “Much better.” She smiles, much calmer and genuinely happy.

“Now, whose team are you on?” She asks, allowing you to speak around your fingers.

“Team Dimitrescu.”

#lady dimitrescu #lady alcina #lady alcina dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu x reader #alcina dimitrescu x reader

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tanadrin · 3 years

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Dev Patel and the Green Knight

I finally got around to seeing The Green Knight. Overall, I enjoyed it--David Lowery does a good job capturing the essential weirdness of the tale, which is very much about taking a mundane circumstance (a Christmas feast) and suddenly catapulting the reader into a mythic otherworld through the intrusion of the alien and monstrous, and the fantastical costumes, dramatic lighting, and dissonant score all contribute very well to a sense of otherness that permeates the original story.

But I find it interesting--and, I'll admit, a little frustrating--that no modern film adaptation of medieval literature is really capable of taking the story it's adapting on its own merits. This isn't an objection to modifying the source text, or taking it in new, non-literal direction. I can think of plenty of adaptations of work that play with the source material in interesting ways, and are better for it. Even very faithful adaptations like Peter Jackson's Lord of the Rings are inevitably going to alter the source based on the need to adapt it for the screen and the whims of the director. But when it comes to medieval classics, texts like Beowulf or Gawain and the Green Knight are always held at arm's length. An ironic layer is always interpolated into the original story, and even in modified form the story is never allowed to stand on its own.

Contrast, for instance, modern retellings of Arthurian legend; or Wagner's Nibelungenleid; or something like Neil Gaiman's book of Norse mythology. These are all adaptations of much older stories, all medieval; and the authors typically happy to let the stories operate on their own terms. In fact, that is often a selling point: dipping into these tales is a way of sampling an alien culture, one that is remote from us in time rather than space, and part of the sense of heightened drama is the understanding that these stories do not necessarily depict the world in the same way that modern realist prose does. They are fairy-stories, in the Tolkienian sense, and something not quite even like "high fantasy," which, although it is a genre which owes much to the mythic tradition, is usually *told* in the same manner as other realist fiction. And you could take these stories and re-cast them in a realist mold--that's definitely been done with Arthurian legend, either via anachronism or trying to place them in an era-appropriate historical context, and even that yields something quite like the original in tenor, even if the language used to relate the story is often very different.

Watching this movie, I was *strongly* reminded of Robert Zemeckis's Beowulf, in that this did not feel like an attempt to adapt Gawain and the Green Knight for the screen. It felt like an attempt to tell a story *about* Gawain and the Green Knight (the text), a story which does not stand on its own. You don't have to have read the text to understand the movie (although I think some directorial decisions would be a bit mystifying if you hadn't), but the movie definitely situates itself *as a response* to the text. Which is an odd choice! Actually, another good point of comparison is Spike Jonze's Adaptation. It started life as an adaptation of Susan Orlean's The Orchid Thief, but Charlie Kaufman sort of gave up writing that halfway through and wrote a movie about the difficulty he was having writing *that* movie, and the result is something very weird (and very good) that is full of metafictional elements that depend on the existence of this other work, in a way that a straight retelling of The Orchid Thief for the screen obviously would not. And while The Green Knight isn't that extreme, it is definitely playing on the structure of the medieval poem, and replying to it.

The core of the movie (as I understood it) is a tension between young Gawain's aspiration to knightliness, his ambition which is born at least in part from his mother's encouragement, and his own failure to live up to the heroic ideal of greatness. Not chivalric--this is a movie in which the ethos of chivalry makes not even the briefest of appearance, which is weird given that it's nominally an Arthurian romance, and that the chivalric ethos is extremely important to the original text. Instead we have a generic greatness being described, one which is associated with renown, with taking part in mythic events, and with achieving high rank and honor. In the service of seeing her son obtain all this, Gawain's mother seems to cast some kind of spell, whereupon the titular Green Knight appears at Arthur's Christmas-feast; and as in the poem, a game of beheadings is proffered. Gawain accepts the challenge, beheads the knight, and the knight rides away, promising he'll meet Gawain a year and a day hence at the Green Chapel. So far so straightforward. When Gawain sets off a year later to meet the knight, his mother gives him an enchanted belt to keep him safe from harm. Gawain goes on to have a couple of side-of-the-road adventures and mishaps, the kind of thing that's par for the course when you're telling an Arthurian romance, until he arrives at the house of a mysterious benefactor, just about a day away from the Chapel, who grants him hospitality until the day of his challenge.

Now, in the original story, this is where Gawain gets the magic belt, and it's hugely important: Gawain and his host promise to exchange anything they might receive at the end of each day, when the host has been out hunting all day and Gawain has been in the house recuperating from his travels. During this time, the host's wife repeatedly tries to seduce Gawain; and Gawain is trapped between the imperative not to sleep with his host's wife (a major violation of the rules of good chivalric conduct!) and the imperative not to offend the woman (also a violation of those rules). He succeeds, for the most part; he is forced at one point to give his host a kiss at the end of the day, since the wife kissed him; this is shown as him holding nothing back and acting in good faith on the vow he made to his host. When Gawain finally rebuffs the wife for good, she insists that, even if he won't sleep with her, he should at least take a magic belt she has woven that will keep him from harm. He does; but he does *not* give this to his host. When he finally goes to the Green Chapel, the Knight returns the original blow as promised--but only nicks Gawain lightly. He reveals himself to be none other than the host who was sheltering him; the nick was his reprimand for withholding that final gift, but because of his good conduct he is otherwise left unharmed. The whole thing was a test of sorts, one which Gawain passed. Despite flinching at first from the blow, and keeping the belt secret, he shows himself ultimately to be a man of good (albeit not perfect) conduct, and *that* is why he wins honor from the whole affair.

The movie takes this basic narrative and alters it in key places, completely changing the valence of the whole thing. First, Gawain gets the belt at the beginning of his quest, as mentioned; he loses it on the way, but when he reaches the castle, the wife of his host (who succeeds in seducing him with a handjob) presents it to him as if she had woven it herself. He does not actually engage in the game of exchanged with his host, who is *also* not the Green Knight. And we're treated to a monologue about the color green from the wife that feels beat for beat like it's been ripped off from someone's undergraduate essay about Gawain and the Green Knight, which is a little weird even in the context of the rest of the movie. Finally when Gawain reaches the chapel, the knight goes to return the blow--and Gawain completely chickens out and flees. We are then treated to an extended sequence of Gawain returning home; being feted as a hero; earning his knighthood (presumably by lying about what happened); succeeding Arthur as king; him abandoning his low-class beau once she bears him a son, and marrying a princess; going to war; his son dying in a war; and finally, as an old man, being trapped in his throne room as a besieging army breaks its way inside. Just before they do, he removes the magic belt from around his waist, his head fall off, and bam--we're shown this has been an Occurrence At Owl Creek Bridge thing this whole time, and the Green Knight has not yet landed his blow.

Gawain finally takes off the belt, throws it aside, and tells the knight to go ahead--and the knight bends down and congratulates him. In context, the reading seems to be this: the belt is a talisman of Gawain's mother's influence, of external expectations for what kind of man he is. The Knight is Arthur or perhaps an agent of his, and the test in *this* case is whether Gawain can be his own person. All the events leading up to this point are perhaps a part of the original magic Gawain's mother cast, an effort to Lilith Weatherwax her kid to greatness by putting him into an epic story. Implicitly, then, the Gawain and the Green Knight we all know is the false version of the tale, the tale as Gawain's mother would have it told.

This is all very clever. But I'm afraid it's so clever it falls apart in the end. Because the structure of the original story that this depends on is dependent in turn on taking the whole notion of chivalric virtue seriously, which this movie plainly does not. Gawain is shown as irreverent and lustful and a bit of a party animal--lovable and good hearted fundamentally, but definitely not an Arthurian hero. That's fine, but that's a very modern sort of character, one that feels out of place in a movie that is trying very hard also to be tonally unmodern, firmly embedded in a mythic otherwhen of Arthurian legend. Moments of slice-of-life mundaneness, while charming, strain mightily against the epic tone the movie tries to take in other places, and strange events like a ghost seeking her lost head or immense giants striding the landscape. We are jostled: are we in the land of myth? Or are we in historical Britain? We cannot be in both!

And this is a movie that was definitely made by people who had read the original text; not just the original text, but also a great deal of criticism *about* the original text. The movie namechecks the theme of fivefold symmetry that's incredibly important to the structure of the poem; there's the aforementioned undergrad essay about colors about 3/4th of the way through; and there's the fact that the structure of the original plot (down to Morgan LeFay in disguise as an old woman in the host's castle) is present in altered form in every detail. But none of these details add up to much. There's a weird homoerotic kiss with the host that implies that in fact *he* wanted to sleep with Gawain, in addition to his wife; the ghost Gawain encounters early on tells him the Green Knight is in fact someone he knows (and therefore *can't* be the host; I think it's implied to be Arthur, like I said, but this is never quite confirmed), and while all these things *about* the original poem are shown, none of them ever get integrated thematically into the plot.

I think as a result, whatever Lowery was going for, the whole movie kind of falls apart in the end. And that's a pity, because somewhere in there is just a really weird, visually striking, really gripping, embellished-and-polished-for-modern-sensibilities-but-also-thematically-true-to-the-source retelling of Gawain and the Green Knight. And that would have been a much better movie! What are we to make of this, a movie that purports to be telling a story-behind-the-story, but one that leaves no room or context for the original? After all, Gawain in the end does *not* flee, does not return home a coward and a liar; presumably, he earns his honor, and can be honest about what happened. But if he is honest, none of the rest of what we have been shown makes a lick of sense, or has any point.

One feels a bit as if modern directors, when confronted with medieval texts being a bit weird, a bit alien in their worldview, instead of realizing that's actually something people like some of from time to time, feel like they have to construct an artificial bridge between the Middle Ages and the present day. But because it is invariably metafictional and self-referential, as if to say "don't worry, we know nobody REALLY wants to watch a bunch of boring medieval shit played straight," it comes off as cringing and ashamed of its source material. This isn't a plea for historicity! Gawain and the Green Knight is not history. But one does occasionally want to see an adaptation of one's favorite works without directors being ashamed of the text they are adapting! And since most people will not have read the original, I am rather confused about what the director intends for the audience to get out of all these references that are dependent on it, but don't stand on their own merits within the narrative of the movie itself.

The acting was good, the set design and costumes were terrific, I loved the slow and measured pacing and the weird score, and the design of the Knight himself, and the landscapes and almost everything else about the movie. So I don't think it's a waste of time, especially if you have read and enjoyed Gawain and the Green Knight, in the original or in translation. But it's definitely a pity to see a movie that was, well, *almost* great, but ended up merely OK.

#gotta put that undergraduate degree to work from time to time #we spent a *lot* of time on this poem

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tennessoui · 3 years

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oh my god literally every single prompt on that list is gold and i'd love to see your obikin take for all of them. hmmm... if i had to choose i guess first 13. co-stars au?? thank you lots of love !!!

ah bless!! thank you so much!! i'm slowly working my way through most of the prompts on that list so you might see many many more before I'm done with my ask box. I think after two more, I'll put em on ao3 to keep em more organized too. this has been soooo fun!!

13. Co-Stars AU(/7. Fake Relationship AU)(2.5 k)

“No.”

“Ani, darling, you can’t say no.”

“Don’t call me that. And secondly, I can. I just did. This is my personal life, the company has no control over that.”

“While you’re filming its movie and it’s giving you money, you’ll actually find that it does, Anakin.”

Anakin sits down heavily on the bench outside his trailer, leaning forward until he can put his head in his hands. He wants to run his fingers through the mess on his head, but they’re in between takes right now and the make-up department will definitely kill him if they have to fix him up again.

“Asajj, please. You know how hard it was to get to come out as bisexual. If the first person I date after that is a woman, no one will remember! It’ll just be completely erased, and I’ll be Anakin Skywalker, Playboy Actor again.”

“But you do like women,” Asajj points out. “So either way, you’d be confirming your sexuality.”

Anakin sighs and leans his head back against the metal of the trailer. “And it would be different if I was actually in love with Padme, but she’s just my co-star and--”

“Anakin, she’s your co-star. You’re in a blockbuster movie where you dramatically save her life and then kiss her as the credits roll. This is just business. You like her. You’re friends. Think of it less like dating, and more like going to grab lunch together. And coffee. Maybe a fancy dinner. Several times a week.”

“For how long?” Anakin asks, resigned and despairing and hating the fact that he ever got into acting.

Asajj sounds relieved. “Just until the movie’s out and sales are doing well.”

That could be months. That would be months. “And I have to?” he asks.

“Yes,” she says. “I’m sorry.”

Anakin doesn’t say it’s fine. It doesn’t feel like it is fine.

“They’re not looking for anything to be confirmed. If asked about your relationship with Padme, tell them you think she’s a great woman and you’re enjoying spending time with her. No comment on any sort of serious relationship.”

“Because a break-up afterwards might hurt the chances for a sequel?” Anakin asks drily.

“Exactly! We’ll get you a head for the business yet, Anakin. Okay, I have to go, but I’ll send you the information now, just so you know what you’ll be expected to do. We’re thinking a dinner tomorrow to start things off strong, and then slow afterwards!”

She hangs up before he can say anything else and he slumps back boneless against the metal trailer. God.

It’s not that he doesn’t like Padme. Ventress is right. They were friends before this project and Anakin knows they’ll be friends after as well. They genuinely get along, and it’s probably one of the reasons Anakin was cast in such a big name production: the chemistry between them when they’re acting is undeniable. She’s one of his favorite people in the entire industry.

“Anakin?” One of his other favorite people in the entire industry asks hesitantly from in front of him. “Are you alright?”

“No,” he says.

“May I sit?”

“Yeah,” he says.

Like he’d ever turn Obi-Wan Kenobi away.

“Are you wearing your costume?” he asks, without opening his eyes. Obi-Wan’s playing the villain of the movie, and Anakin has a hard time focusing on anything else when Obi-Wan’s around him wearing that skin-tight white turtleneck and cape combination, with his hair slicked back and fake glasses perched on his nose.

Obi-Wan sounds amused. “No, I’m finished for the day. Heading home now. You don’t have to see how silly I look today.”

Anakin smiles slightly, despite everything. In one of his better acting moments, he’d told Obi-Wan that his costume was distracting because it looked so funny on him. Really, it was just hot.

(Of course, Obi-Wan had taken his criticism seriously and gone to the director and the costume department. They had decided that it would make Obi-Wan’s character more threatening if he pushed up his sleeves in almost every scene to reveal heavily tattooed forearms. Anakin had hated himself and his big stupid mouth for days afterwards.)

“Is...there anything I can do to help, Anakin? I hate to see you like this,” Obi-Wan places a hand gently on Anakin’s knee, and Anakin has to fight a shiver at the touch.

They’d met at the script-reading for the movie, a handful of months ago. Anakin had set two clocks in his head the moment their hands grasped each other and Obi-Wan smiled charmingly up at him. “So you’re the one to kill me?” He’d winked. “Tall order.”

One clock signified the weeks it would take for him to fall in love with the older man. The starting number was pitifully small, but Anakin had been watching Obi-Wan’s movies and interviews for years before meeting him. He’d known something about the man, which of course had paled in comparison to knowing the man himself. They’d spent two weeks choreographing the steps of the final fight scene, just the two of them in a repurposed ballet studio.

Looking back, Anakin isn’t sure how he’d survived. And he had never wanted it to end.

Which is the other clock, still ticking down in his head. The moment filming ends, and they go their separate ways. They’ll probably keep in touch, but Anakin won’t see him constantly, won’t be able to lean into the weight of Obi-Wan’s hand on his shoulder, his knee, sometimes even on his cheek when he leans down in between takes to tell him how good of a job he’s done.

“Anakin?”

“Sorry,” Anakin snaps to the present. “Sorry. I was in my head. I. I don’t think so, no.”

“Oh,” Obi-Wan says, tensing his hand as if he’s planning to remove it, which Anakin wouldn’t appreciate in the slightest.

“My agent says that the executives want me to date Padme. To drum up hype for the movie. Because I guess people will think it must be good if the co-stars start fucking each other?” He runs a hand across his face. “Um. Sorry, excuse my language.”

“Anakin, I’m forty-one, I think I’ve heard someone say fuck before,” Obi-Wan sounds amused again.

“Yeah, I just. Don’t want to? I guess maybe--I mean you probably didn’t see, but I came out as bisexual a year ago, and I haven’t dated anyone since, and I just know the way the rags will write about me and Padme if we’re seen together. And it’ll be like I just. Never came out.”

Obi-Wan makes a sympathetic noise but doesn’t interrupt. It’s one of the reasons Anakin loves talking to him.

“And my agent just sent me this contract, or I don’t know, list of things I have to do because there’s no way for me to get out of this and it just makes me feel trapped. But they don’t even want me to confirm if we're dating or not dating, they just want to create rumors about it, but it’s my life. I want to do what I want to do with my life, date who I want to date.”

“Do you...have anyone you want to date?” Obi-Wan asks, hand stilling from where he’s been casually rubbing circles on Anakin’s knee.

“No,” Anakin says too quickly and then grimaces. Does he really get paid for acting? He’s always so terrible at lying.

Obi-Wan hums. “I could...take a look at whatever papers your agent sent you?” He suggests. “I’m obviously not really an expert, but I have been in the business a fair bit longer than you.”

“You’re not that old,” Anakin responds by rote, but hesitates, curious despite himself. “You wouldn’t mind?”

“I’ve nothing planned tonight except to have a glass of wine and pet my cat, Anakin. It would be a pleasure to help you any way I could.”

“Okay,” Anakin says, reaching out to lay his hand gently on top of Obi-Wan’s. He’s never done that before, never responded so openly to Obi-Wan’s touches. It’s an amazing thrill.

Obi-Wan flips his hand around until they’re holding hands, basically. In the middle of a public area. God, Anakin’s letting his crush get the best of him when Obi-Wan isn’t even gay. “Thank you,” he says, standing up and pulling away from the older man. It’s the right thing to do. The last thing he wants is for Obi-Wan to think he’s...predatory.

A harried looking crew member spots him as he stands and gestures to him to get back to the set. He smiles ruefully at Obi-Wan who gives him an unreadable expression but also a soft goodbye.

Later, in between takes, he forwards Obi-Wan the emails Asajj sent him, both the papers and the message at the top that says “dress nice for tomorrow at Delfino’s!” followed by a little smiley face he can’t believe she’d ever mean.

He knows nothing’s going to come of it, but. But he has to try.

----

Padme’s dressed to the nines in front of him. He’d compliment her outfit, but he’s already complimented her hair and her make-up, and he thinks she’ll scream if he continues to act as stilted as he’s being now.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs quietly after the waiter leaves with their drink orders. “I know I’m being--awkward. I just.”

They’re seated in the middle of the restaurant, and Anakin knows there’s two paps already outside, taking pictures through the windows. The rest will have arrived by the time they pay the bill and leave. It’s a circus and he’s the main event.

“I understand,” Padme responds, the angel that she is. “I don’t particularly want to be doing this either.”

Anakin presses his hand to his chest, jokingly wounded. “What are you trying to say, Padme, my beloved, my dearest?”

She laughs and he does too, but in the back of his head he can hear the sound of a camera’s shutter clicking. Everything feels fake, and he feels like he’s about to crawl out of his skin.

A hand lands on his shoulder with startling familiarity and for a second he thinks it’s a very brave member of the wait-staff, before Obi-Wan Kenobi is swinging into his field of vision, pulling up a chair from god knows where and sitting right in between Anakin and Padme, never once removing his hand from Anakin’s jacket.

“Sir--” someone says in distress, “This is a two-person table.”

Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow and looks down at the table. “Well it certainly can fit three, so I would go as far as to say that tonight it can be a three-person table. Anakin, what did you order to drink?”

“The house white,” Padme supplies when Anakin makes no move to respond, instead choosing to gape at Obi-Wan like a fish out of water.

“Excellent choice, darling,” Obi-Wan says, rubbing at his upper arm absent-mindedly. “I’ve never been here, tell me. Do you serve a good seafood dish?”

The waiter stammers. “We have an acclaimed oyster platter, sir--”

“Oysters?” Obi-Wan smiles at the man, all teeth. “The aphrodisiac? What are you trying to get these kids in the mood for?”

Anakin blushes. “Obi-Wan!” He hisses, aghast. Obi-Wan’s eyes cut to him for a second before he smirks back at the waiter.

“I’ll take the oysters for the main course,” he says dismissively.

Somehow it’s that sentence that tips Anakin off, more than anything else he’s done tonight. Obi-Wan spends hours talking to the people that run the crafts table. He would never be so cold or rude naturally. He’s...playing a character, one that Anakin recognizes as being the villain from their movie (although without all the blood and murder).

Anakin only recedes into personas when he’s nervous about something. Can the same be said for Obi-Wan?

Padme, at least, looks amused. “Hello, Obi-Wan,” she says. “I see you’ve decided to crash our very romantic date.”

“Well that’s interesting, isn’t it?” Obi-Wan replies, turning to face her but keeping his hand on Anakin, although it slides down to rest on the crook of his arm. “I had Anakin send me the paperwork, mild curiosity, you know how it is, and I realized the strangest thing while I was reading over it.”

“Oh?” Padme asks.

“It never states which co-star Anakin should be seen with, just that he must be seen with a leading actor. And I don’t want to focus on the numbers here, of course, but in the rough-cut of the movie, I have thirty-four minutes of screentime. And you, my dear, have thirty-two and fifteen seconds.”

“Tragic,” Padme says, taking a sip of her water. "You may be considered more of a leading actor than I am."

“Certainly,” Obi-Wan gives her a friendly smile. Anakin is still stuck on the fact that Obi-Wan is here, that he read the paperwork, that he’s arguing semantics for the purpose of--of--

“And I suppose you’re here to offer yourself as a replacement?” Padme asks, leaning her head on her hand as she watches the two of them.

“Only if Anakin wouldn’t mind,” Obi-Wan says, turning to face him.

Anakin isn’t sure what he’s thinking right now. “But you’re not interested in men.”

“I am,” Obi-Wan says.

“But...you’re not interested in me.”

“I am,” Obi-Wan says.

“You are?”

“Excuse me,” Padme says. “I’m going to go to the restroom.”

“We’ll wait to order until you come back,” Obi-Wan reassures her, without taking his eyes off of Anakin.

Anakin bites his lip and hesitantly brings his hand up to sit palm up on the table. Obi-Wan doesn’t hesitate to intertwine their fingers again, like they had been just yesterday.

“I’m a very private person, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says quietly, all traces of any sort of persona dropped from his voice. “I’ve never come out, never wanted to. But I was so proud that you had when you did. And I--well. I suppose. You already get to fake-kiss Padme on screen, I thought that perhaps you’d like to try to fake-kiss someone else for a change.”

Anakin ducks his head and gathers his courage. He can’t not ask. A fake relationship with Padme would be awful, but one with Obi-Wan? That would be torture. Cruel and unusual punishment. He’s still reeling from the information that apparently Obi-Wan does like men and apparently he likes Anakin enough to come out for him.

But does he like Anakin enough to touch him and mean it? He has to know. He looks up at Obi-Wan’s earnest face from beneath his eyelashes. “What if I want to real-kiss you?”

Obi-Wan blinks, and a smile breaks out across his face. “Then you don’t even need to have to ask, darling. Kiss me all you want, if you’re okay with a clingy old man in your bed.”

“Not that old,” Anakin argues, smiling so hard he’s afraid his face will crack in two. “But I don’t want to kiss you tonight.”

Obi-Wan turns solemn, although his grip on Anakin remains tight. “We can go as slow as you’re comfortable with.”

“Oh, you can have me later,” Anakin says, waving his free hand in the air. “I just don’t want our first kiss to be for the cameras.”

Obi-Wan catches Anakin’s palm and brings it up to kiss lightly. “You’re right, Anakin. That should just be for you and me.”

The rough brush of his lips over his skin causes Anakin to shiver. He’s never felt so on edge, as if his body is a live-wire. “Good thing you ordered the oysters,” he mumbles, blushing bright red as Obi-Wan laughs loud enough to fill the whole restaurant with its sound.

#asks #my fics #obikin #the next prompt is gonna be wayyyy more angsty so enjoy the fluff rn is all im saying #prompt fill

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somnianus · 3 years

Text

On Eastern dramas vs Western dramas

Part 2: On Theatricality and how it transfers into Chinese/Eastern Dramas and Cinema

Part 1 Part 2

Here, I reference a fantastic article from the Asian Theatre Journal, 2008.

So to recap, the problem I’m exploring is this: Why do some East Asian dramas/movies look so over the top? Overacted? Overemotional? Why is it not more realistic?

My answer is in part 1, on the concept of mo, which is the traditional Chinese thought that emotional revelation is more important than accurate realistic depictions in art. Western audiences are more used to plot-heavy, realistic depictions of dramas, whereas traditional Chinese audiences are used to the opposite. They find the plot not so important, but focus more on the content of the work, the spirit of it, how it makes you feel.

1. How traditional Chinese drama translate into cinema/screens?

Making the jump from Beijing/Peking opera stages, or jingju, to cinema screens caused a lot of trouble.

a. Production-wise, early 1900s

It was difficult to adapt the very open, 3d stage into a “realist flat screen,” which was much more advantageous to Western eyes because the camera lens was invented based on “Renaissance principles of fixed point perspectives and foreshortening.”

b. 1950s-60s

Many still tried to adopt the Beijing opera style into film, but it was still very hard because the two mediums were so contradictory. Beijing opera relied on live, grand aesthetics along with the knowledge that the important aspect of drama was emotion and internal struggle, vs film at the time was very focused on accurate “mimesis,” or imitations of real life. One such example was critics actually laughing about the adaptations because the opera actors mimicked riding a horse in the traditional style - that is, minus the horse. Film would have them ride a prop or real horses.

Eventually, many changes were made to the style to better incorporate it into film, and it still kept a lot of its original roots (i.e. makeup/grandiosity in costume, emotions, etc). Western concepts of a limited stage, and emphasis on plot and tragedy were expounded upon. And eventually you have the modern-day dramas (1970s+).

2. Japanese Noh 能 theater - Kurosawa’s Ran

Noh is a Japanese form of theater that is a dance-based dramatic work. It tells stories of supernatural beings transformed into humans and etc. One of its major notes is its very stylized conventional use of specific gestures to portray emotions. Iconic, specific masks are used to portray the roles of the actors such as the ghosts, women, deities, and demons.

Akira Kurosawa’s Ran is lauded as one of the greatest films ever made. It’s a Japanese-French production heavily inspired by Shakespeare’s King Lear. There are many many detailed videos on YouTube about his precise filming methods and movement aesthetics. The body language can be seen as “over-acted” if you come from a Western background. Why? Because it takes from traditional Noh theatre:

Long periods of static motion and silence, followed by an abrupt, sometimes violent change in stance. Heavy ghost-like Makeup. Highly emotive gestures, sometimes repetitive to emphasize the characteristic of a character. All very unrealistic, but that’s not the point, right? Because this also displays mo, it takes the emotive expression, the revelation of fear/action/hope to the front of the stage.

3. Japanese Kabuki theatre - acting style is also larger than life

Kabuki actors also make great effort to express themselves in highly stylzed gestures (i.e. the men play women’s roles and over-act their femininity).

One major difference between Kabuki and much of Western theatre is that kabuki actors make less of an attempt to hide the “performance” aspect of the work. They’re fully aware that they’re performing, and the audience isn’t there to get “lost in the moment.” Everything -- actors, costumes, dialogue, is larger than life. Realism is far less emphasized, the form generally favoring what is often referred to as “formalized beauty.”

One example of this is the highlight of an aragato kabuki performance: the famous mie. The mie is a dramatic pose adopted by the main (oftentimes male) character during moments of emotional intensity. (The proper phrase for this action is mie o kiru, or to "cut a mie.") Announced by the beating of wooden clappers, the actor freezes in a statuesque pose and crosses one or both eyes. Often it's preceded by a head roll. The idea is to capture the highest moments of tension into one physical gesture and to more or less hold the actor and the audience in a breathless trance. After a few seconds, the actor relaxes and the play continues. A mie can be cut in various specified positions, depending on the character and the moment. When exiting, an aragoto character may perform a roppo exit, which combines several of these poses in rapid succession, before leaving the stage.

The mie pose

This is not to say that modern Japanese dramas and works directly descend from Kabuki or Noh or other theatrical traditions. But like the Chinese beijing opera, the concept of aesthetic beauty/mo, emotional revelation, these ideas all combined with Western influence and modern Western perceptions of good story-telling/acting to make up the modern Eastern dramas of today.

4. How do all of these things combine into the supposed “cheesy/corny/over-acting” of modern Eastern dramatic works?

All of these cultural roots combined with Western depictions of a modern story (i.e. Shakespearean tragedy in five parts: Exposition, Rising action, climax, falling action, and denouement, ofc there are other ones but this is the one I learned in school), I believe make up what we see today in modern Eastern dramas.

A. Acting Comedy: My specific examples are first, comedic examples from the famous 1986 Journey to the West

Comedy and the feeling of happiness and joy are also very important aspects of emotional revelation. Journey to the West depicts one of the most beloved comedic characters, Sun Wukong, who goes on a journey with Tan Sanzang, a Buddhist priest, to find the sacred Buddhist texts. His exploits are highly unrealistic and highly comedic. It is one of the epitomes of the “spirit” over the “form,” the internal emotional journey over the actual realism (or unrealism) of the journey. Many of the characters exhibit over-the-top facial expressions, some expressions too subdued, and the plot can be very winding and haphazard, but that’s not the point! If you’ve been reading this far, you’ll know why. It’s about how his adventures make you, the audience, the reader, feel.

B. Acting Villainy: More modern Chinese dramas i.e. The Untamed & Word of Honor

I cannot attest to the quality of the acting nowadays, but it’s a common idea that the supporting cast of the international hit, The Untamed, was a bit weak in terms of acting. If I were to step into my Western lens, I would agree that yes, many characters over-act (i.e. Xue Yang, below):

And Wen Kexing, Word of Honor:

And Journey to the West, Underworld Lord:

However, now with all that cultural context, I can see this choice of acting in a different light. The over-acting and depiction of villainy is over-the-top because it’s meant to inspire that emotion of (this guy is whack, like really). It’s not supposed to be realistic villainy, like how a real person would look if they were these people in real life. To judge it by a completely Western lens is doing a disservice to them I think. You could say that maybe they just can’t act well, but in a Chinese/Japanese/Eastern cultural theatrical context, their acting is actually par for course. It’s even more subdued than the traditional roots of Eastern theatrical performances actually.

This goes for many other C-dramas / Eastern dramas that have these instances of highly emotive performance. It’s a product of hundreds of years of Eastern cultural theatrical/artistic production combined with Western acting styles and cinematography.

Is it cheesy? Maybe. Is it over-acting? Could be, but what is “over-acting” vs what is “enough?” Is that not the distinction between mo and Western realistic imitation? For me, as someone who’s very used to this uniquely different style of dramatic production, I’m not too bothered by it. It, after all, makes me feel such an incredible range of emotions that the acting is just a fun, interesting perk.

Thinking that these dramatic productions were originally seen as extensions of poetry, I can see why the exaggeration is necessary to fulfill what mo means:

If I feel some intent, I must write it - it becomes a poem.

If that’s not enough, I must sing it - it becomes a song.

If even singing isn’t enough, then I sigh, and have to express by dancing - it becomes a performance.

Part 1

#cdramas #jdramas #kdramas #eastern cinema #acting #theatricality #asian cinema #east asian cinema #chinese culture #the untamed #word of honor

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ciggylungz · 4 years

Text

Show me yours

Blurb night- 1.8k words

(Request: Maybe more catholic school H but there bestfriend and there both v innocent and its their first time trying _______ (whatever you want) just a thought? (For the possible blurb night.)

“Did you hear what Lily was saying about Connor?”

y/n looked up when she heard Harry’s voice, the two of them in his room trying to finish their shared art project. They had to do a joint painting of the schools logo for the competition being held to pick a new art piece for the Catholic school. Y/n was currently trying to fix her minor mishap of mixing the purple too dark on the lower corner of the canvas.

“No? what happened?” her attention was divided between the art and Harry’s bite of gossip he was finding the correct verbiage for. “Lily said her and Connor did it!” his tone was slightly lower, whispering the last word so no one would hear a slight blush creeping onto his face. The revelation made the girl snap her head towards her best friend, eye’s widened a bit. The two of them were rather sheltered, they had attended the same private Catholic schools from the time they were in kindergarten up to the present as they were both in their second year of secondary school. The most rebellious thing they’ve ever really done was taking a second sip of the communion wine during mass, so hearing that their classmates may have had sex was very shocking to the pair.

“No way!” the project now took a backseat, y/n now fully invested in the drama Harry was relaying to her. “I swear! She said they did it in the bathroom!” , “Oh my gosh!...did she say anything like detailed?” the girl was just as nosy as her best friend. She wanted every drop of information she could squeeze from him. Harry smiled awkwardly, nervous repeating the words he’d heard from the two teens in question. “Uh…well she said they had s-sex in the bathroom, and Connor said she uh…’went down’ on him at his house..” while y/n knew the basics of sex, she didn’t exactly know much beyond ‘sex is between two married people and makes babies’ , so she questioned his revelation. “what does that mean?” , Harry wasn’t sexually experienced by any means, he was a kiss-less virgin but he would be lying if he said he didn’t know what certain sexual acts involved…he may be a good boy but he’s also a teenage boy with internet access.

His blush grew a few shades darker, opting to clear his throat and make sure the door was closed while he tried to find his voice again. “Uh..well-“ a uncomfortable chuckle escaped him while he tried to choke out the dirty words. “It’s when a girl puts their mouth on a boys private parts…” Y/n gawked at Harry, totally shellshocked at the fact that was a thing! She couldn’t fathom why anyone would want to do that, “Wait what?! Isn’t that dirty? Don’t you pee from there?!” the girl was now standing on her feet her innocent mind trying to comprehend this new information. “Well…yea but I don’t think it’s dirty? If you don’t shower maybe, and the boy doesn’t pee in their mouth…” a nervous hand reached up to scratch the back of Harry’s flushed neck.

“that’s so…weird….h-have you ever done that?” Y/n asked him with a slight bow of her head locking eyes with him, “No! I’ve never done it! I’ve just s-seen it before tha’s all…” the boy shifted uncomfortably, “You’ve seen it? Where?”

“in…porn”

Once again, a comically dramatic gasp ripped through the air from Y/n. she knew of porn, her brother had gotten caught watching it once and that’s the first time she found out people have sex on camera. That was another huge shock to her, yet this one seemed bigger.

“You watch porn?!”

“shush! you’re going to get me in trouble y/n” Harry shot her a glare, yanking her forward to sit on his bed with him, his palm moving to cover her mouth. “Don’t yell that! It’s a secret” Harry cast a nervous glance towards his shut bedroom door before removing his hand from her face. Y/n giving his chest a nice swat with furrowed brows. “Don’t do that again, jerk” Harry simply rolled his eyes. “Then stop being so loud!”

Y/n pouted slightly, crossing her arms over her chest and huffing. “Or what?” she challenged “Or ill glue your mouth shut.” His fingers moved to flick her forehead, which was a mistake since Y/n then chose to start yelling “MISS AN-“ yet she was silenced by his hand once more. “I’m serious Y/n stop it!”

Y/n suddenly got an idea, decided she’d bargain her way out of this one.

Harry knew that look, his eyes widened realizing she was about to suggest something that he may not want to hear. Y/n was a sweet girl, but she had a bit of a bossy side too.

“If you show me the video, I won’t tell.”

Well, Harry expected something, but definitely not that one. “W-wait what?” he couldn’t believe Y/n had just asked him to show her porn! What was he supposed to say? He knew if he showed her he’d have to take a cold shower, but he didn’t want his mom knowing he watched the videos either. “If you show me the video I won’t tell.” Her statement was very level, the angelic doe eyes coming back to persuade him, and well Harry was a sucker for that look.

Soon enough the pair were sat against his headboard, Harry’s laptop open to a private tab with Pornhub opened on it. He chose on of his favorites, a simple pretty tame blowjob video.

“are you sure you want to see it?” his palms were sweating, knees twitching every few minutes trying to control himself and keep his pants from tightening. “Play it, Harry.” Y/n took control, tapping the space bar to start the video.

The logo played before it got to the video, a man sitting on his couch filming his girlfriend kneeling in front of him slowly moving to undress the man in front of her. Y/n watched the screen intently while the woman went to work, tugging the mans cock free and stroking it but Y/n being Y/n the video didn’t suddenly change the atmosphere like it does in a romcom, instead she was full of questions and comments.

“Wow, I didn’t know boys privates looked like that. It looks kind of like a snake.” Harry was happy Y/n wasn’t making the situation too serious, laughing a little breaking the tense atmosphere listening to her talk. He tried to focus his gaze more on the wall in front of him then the porn playing on his computer so he didn’t pop a stiffy in front of her. “Uh…kinda? I guess…” , “Does your penis look like that too?”

Harry choked on air a bit, suppressing a cough. He sweats he can feel himself burning alive from the blush on his face. “I don’t think my penis looks like a snake y/n, no. I think it looks like a penis.” His response got him a ‘hmph’ from his friend which he of course, laughed at. Yet he wasn’t entirely prepared for her next sentence.

“Show me yours?”

This time Harry’s eyes were the ones wide as saucers, his jaw slightly slack and body gone tense. “What?!” Y/n giggled, finding his reaction a bit silly since they were already watching two people engage in oral, how is this any more shocking? “What? Show me yours” she shrugged slightly, Harry was trying to keep his head from exploding but an idea popped into his brain right before the urge to combust took over.

“I show you mine, you show me yours?”

“Harry I don’t have a penis.” Y/n replied with a ‘duh’ eye roll, causing an annoyed groan to come from her friend. “I am aware of that, smarty pants. I mean…if I show you my penis, you show me your boobs.”

He expected to get a smack or a immediate refusal from her, but surprisingly Y/n nodded, “That’s fair, I’m not putting your penis in my mouth just for the record.” She gave him a pointed look as her hands traveled up to loosen her uniform tie and start fumbling with the buttons of her shirt.

The boy felt frozen in place watching his best friend start to undress in front of him. His teenage boy mind was going crazy, this was the first time he was going to get to see boobs in person, he was a bit scared he might keel over and die from a hormone overdose.

“What are you waiting for? You’re supposed to show me yours. I’m not taking my boobs out if you’re not holding your end of the bargain up ,Harry.” Y/n’s hands stilled, giving him a pointed look that broke his trance quickly fumbling with his pants to shove them off his hips the outline of his plumping cock showing against the white and grey checker print of his boxers.

“Who’s gonna go first?”, his throat felt painfully dry while he talked swallowing hard after he finished. “You duh!” the girl pushed his shoulder lightly and pointed to his crotch waiting for him to reveal himself.

The boy took a deep breath, his hands shaking slightly as he tugged his cock through the flap in the front of his underwear. He grunted quietly, the cold air hitting his swollen tip. For a few moments nothing was said, Y/n quietly observed his organ taking in the details and pondering her thoughts before speaking, “Yours looks better than his, it’s prettier. Still kind of looks like a snake though.”

Harry sighed, he was glad she didn’t make a comment on his size or anything negative but the snake comment wasn’t exactly the erotic language he needed to get himself off, and then he remembered the deal. “Your turn.”

Y/n nodded, giggling a little bit as she unhooked the clasps of her bra and let them slip down her arms. Her breasts finally came into Harry’s view and god his balls were already constricting. He feared he’d really be the guy who cums in 2 seconds just looking at a girl, but this would be the right situation for it. Y/n didn’t have any clue how long boys lasted so if he was to bust then she probably wouldn’t tease him she’d just have more questions.

“God…they’re pretty Y/n.” The girl smiled shaking her chest a little so they bounced in front of his eyes. “Thanks, I grew them myself. I’m a b cup” she was adorable, so blissfully unaware of what she was doing for him. A smile and playful giggles still radiating from her while he was trying to keep himself from passing out.

“Can I touch-“

His request was soon cut off, not by Y/n but by the door swinging open and his shocked mother standing behind it.

#harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles angst #harry styles smut #harry styles blurb #harry style drabble #blurb night #harry styles writing #harry styles au #harry styles x yn #harry styles x reader #harry styles concept #harry styles request

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lemonietrinket · 4 years

Text

how 127 would react to accidentally hurting you

genre: fluff, some tiny spicier elements, but they’re so mild, attempts at humour, tiny bits of angst in some? wordcount: 5k warnings: a few instances of foul language an: none of the instances are serious, nor are they cases of emotionally hurting you, just them... being clumsy for example. gender neutral reader

~ all members below the cut ~

taeil

after sidling into the kitchen after your search for your boyfriend proved fruitless, you finally found him as the culprit for the sinfully delicious scent wafting all throughout the dorms. he didn’t notice you right away, his attentions focused on the several pans simmering before him. it was always a immense task cooking for so many kids members, so you waited for him to take a step back before announcing your presence. as soon as he heard your small ‘hi’ approaching him, he looked up with a shining smile.

“hey, love!” he greeted with a peck to your cheek.

“need any help?”

“ahh...” his head whipped to the stove top at the sound of spitting oil and he immediately picked up a spoon, “...actually, yes, the bowl by the sink can go through, i think.”

“got it,” you chirped, following his instructions though not without some wandering gazes as you passed. he was wearing a cute little apron, and as his partner, there was no real harm in admiring what it accentuated. what? you were looking respectfully...!

“cute butt.”

he hushed you with a glance at the door, leaving you to snicker.

reaching the sink you found your bowl. seeing the food inside made you almost drool, but you kept yourself together—you were nothing less than dutiful. though in that moment, you were also nothing more than a bit dumb too. figuring it was safe to hold, you went to pick up the bowl, only to drop it suddenly with a clatter with a hiss. of course it wasn’t as cool as you thought it was at all.

“love?” taeil was at your side in an instant, holding the back of the injured hand that you were staring at so intently.

“the bowl is still really hot,” you pouted. it hadn’t fallen far and the ceramic as well as the food inside were all safe. your fingers were just a bit reddened.

“here, run them under cold water,” taeil turned on the tap for you, before guiding your hand underneath the icy stream, “feel better?”

you nodded, though your eyes swept back to where the rest of the food was. “a little, but i think the eggs are going to over-boil.”

he cursed under his breath as he followed your line of sight, before meeting your gaze, “i can trust you to stay here, can’t i love?”

you rolled your eyes with a smile of your own and nodded once again.

“good,” he grinned before pecking you on the cheek and scurrying back to the stove.

“your butt is still cute.”

“shhh!”

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

johnny

there was no denying what a view the surrounding valley made, its gleaning emerald sheets cracked with narrow crevices and streams of water. you’d climbed all the way to the summit of a pile of disjointed slate just to reach a divot in the cliff side where johnny could take his photos with a better vantage. the climb, however, seemed to take nothing out of him, as he practically skipped up excitedly like a mountain goat. you on the other hand, were left quite out of breath at the steep clamber to the top. he waited for you for most of it, reaching out to help you up, but soon you waved him along. once you’d reassured him you didn’t mind him going ahead, he gave your hand a squeeze before continuing up the rest of the way. truth be told you didn’t want him to see just how much of mess you were. you really wished you’d gone to bed earlier the night before.

as soon as you reached the top, you made a beeline to the nearest big stone that you could perch on and rest your legs. johnny was already by the edge, camera raised an gazing into the distance with a bright grin on his handsome face. he could take your breath away just doing the bare minimum—it was a shame that you had already lost most of it to the climb.

slowly you regained your breath and felt the twinge in the soles of you feet ease. noting how beautiful he looked with the dramatic backdrop behind him, you snuck a photo of your own on your phone, before deciding to join him.

unfortunately, after you ambled over the uneven ground, just as you quietly came came to his side, johnny realised the strap of his camera wasted caught up with the tethers of his hoodie. and so he decided the easiest way to rectify it would to pulling his hand holding his camera abruptly to the side.

knocking you in the cheek, you yelped as soon as he made contact. head whipping across to you he sweeps you to his chest

“oh baby, i’m so sorry!” his head immediately whipped over to you, and shoving his camera round to his side, he swept you to his chest. “i’m so sorry, baby, i didn’t see you there.”

as you grumbled, he kissed your cheek carefully and ran the pads of his fingers across it. when you didn’t flinch and merely whined, he simply laughed sheepishly—thankfully it didn’t hurt too much, but there was no way you weren’t going to tease him with it as comeuppance.

“johnnyyy—how could you do such a thing!”

“i’m sorry, really i am!”

“yeah, you will be.”

“what does that mean?”

you didn’t respond.

“...yn?”

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

taeyong

having gotten all dolled up and ready for your date, taeyong offered to tie your shoelaces to save you having to readjust your outfit. obviously he was so cute and attentive you agreed. watching him carefully tie your laces with a dopey smile on your lips, you winced at how tight he pulled them. you didn’t say anything though, since you figured you’d get used to it after a bit of walking. unfortunately though it was not to be.

after leaving the house and making your way to the restaurant beneath the starlit autumn evening, your arm in his, you found yourself struggling to keep up. taeyong was a gentleman, and he’d slowed to match your pace several times. in fact he hadn’t even registered how tiny your steps were now, rambling on about his plans for his animal crossing island.

“at first i thought i was going to do a summery beach town vibe, but then i saw these really cute bricks paths online, and i realised i had to change everything to fit them—”

there was no doubt he was adorable, doe eyes glittering with the silver of the streetlights above as he glanced forward and back to you. his gaze never roamed far, he always returned to you, your cheeks, your lips. normally he could distract you from everything, the whole world moving past behind you like a dream, while you hung off his every sweet word. however, it seemed you had found the one exception.

your shoes were squeezing your feet too tight—something they never did before—and it all pointed to the laces being done up too tight. you internally grimaced every time you considered bringing it up to him, because you didn’t want to make him upset. nor could you just stop and retie them, since the street was lined with nowhere to lift your feet high yet discreet enough.eventually the inner turmoil and the ache of your feet gave way and you came to a stop.

“yn? sweetheart? are you alright?” taeyong wouldn’t even take a step further ahead, his arm slipping from yours just so he could stand before you and check you were alright.

“i think you did the laces too tight, yongie,” you admitted shyly, “i’m really sorry.”

to your surprise, he didn’t get upset one bit—or at least, not at what you expected.

“oh sweetheart, why didn’t you say?” he asked, concern etched on his features as he got down on one knee. the position shocked you too at first, though you knew he was just going to do your shoelaces again. undoing them and retying them, before glancing up at you with those big eyes that made you melt every time you met them, he checked if your shoes felt looser.

“much better,” you stuttered, watching him shyly as he stood, his signature squishy smile returning.

“i’ll always be more careful from now on, love, ok?” he stroked some hair behind your ear and kissed your nose. “ready to keep going?”

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

doyoung

it was a simple matter of neither of you checking where you were going.

on the living room side of the door, you had stood from your seat to head into the kitchen to fetch some snacks for you and taeil. friday night, because of how you and your best friend’s schedules convened, had become movie night and after babbling for nearly an hour you decided to get on with starting your film before the gamers wanted the tv.

on the other side of the door, meanwhile, doyoung was listening to jungwoo tell a story that he swore was true that happened way before they had met. the storyteller in question was perched on the stool by the island in the centre of the kitchen, leaning on his hands neatly and watching as doyoung searched for a phone charger.

“jungwoo are you sure there isn’t one by you?” he’d interjected, running a hand through his dark fluffy hair while scouring the other counter-tops once again.

“hundred percent!”

doyoung sighed. “sorry woo, i’ll be back, just going to ask johnny if i can borrow his.”

reaching the door at the same time, you had been calling over your shoulder to taeil after he asked which studio ghibli film you wanted, when the door swung open into you. you managed to swerve your body out of the way, though you weren’t as lucky with your foot.

wood met your big toe and you hissed, hopping back to rest against the arm of the nearest sofa.

“oh my god, yn!”

taking to your side in a rush with a panicked look on his face, you smiled sheepishly up at him from where you were leant against the arm of the nearest sofa. “i’m ok, doie, i promise.”

your response however didn’t stop him from fussing over you a single bit. apologies stuttering from his lips as his hands brushed across your shoulders to your fingers and up to your cheeks, you just chuckled him as you rubbed your toe gently.

“this isn’t funny yn!” he insisted while cupping your chin and stroking hair out of your face. “i didn’t know you were there and—are you ok? do you want any ice?”

you exhaled deeply, calm in the face of his frantic, searching eyes. “kim doyoung. i’m fine.”

and with that, you pressed a kiss to his nose quickly, and within seconds of his affection-caused stupor he found you already back on your feet, passing him by into the kitchen with a bump to his hip as you went. he stared speechless as you left him, to just greet jungwoo as if nothing had happened. the man in question responded sweetly as he always did, but then turned to doyoung and his smile grew too wide for his own good.

“go away jungwoo,” he mumbled, to which the younger looked offended.

“it’s not my fault you’re adorable!”

it won’t last super long, as hell pull away to check you’re ok, a hand on your back. “yn, i’m sorry i didn’t know you were there, are you alright? ”

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

yuta

“honestly, i can’t believe he even told me that. like you’d think there are just things that you would never admit to, even when drunk but—”

“he’s a solid lightweight, yuta! that much alcohol and he might as well have been a puddle; a sappy, emotional, puddle of—”

after a successful date, the two of you were walking home hand in hand when you came across a small group of kids playing football on the green near your apartment. you didn’t think much of it, until the ball rolled away from them just a few steps ahead of you. without a second thought, yuta let go of your hand to retrieve it for them, and you could already tell where this would end up going. coming to a stop with a sigh and a laugh, you watched as the events all unfurled just like how you expected.

the ball would be by his feet, he’d pull some cool little tricks that would make the kids stare up in awe, and within minutes he’d be attempting to teach them how to bounce a ball behind you your heel.

it never stopped amazing you just how he insisted on subtly showing off to you, even so far into your relationship. you always felt yourself urged to laugh and tell him he didn’t have to anymore. “you’ve already won me,” you would joke.

but you never did. guess that meant it kept working.

grinning from ear to ear at the adorable sight of yuta acting like a father, you had to bite your tongue to stop yourself from cooing when one of the eldest of the group took to him like duck to water. he’d knelt to be closer to her level, holding the ball and helping her get the angle of her foot right all while she gazed at him eagerly. the whole scenario began to spin thought in your head, second-guessing the answers you had given in a special conversation not too long ago. unfortunately, it mant you didn’t see the ball coming your way.

you had to admit when you hunched over out of reflex at the contact that the girl had a mighty kick. your shin was practically throbbing. however you were well aware of the panicked faces staring at you, frozen in gasps with hands smacked over their gawping mouths, and so you straightened as quickly as you could, playing off the ache of a bruise that was no doubt forming as yuta called out to you.

“yn, love, are you ok?!”

“y-yeah!” you cleared your throat as soon as you heard your stutter. “she’s got a strong leg that one!”

because of the soft tone yuta spoke in and the distance, you couldn’t discern what he said to the young girl who looked on the verge of tears. whatever he said however, worked, and within seconds she was wiping away her tears with a giggle. before your thoughts could trail back to where they had squirrelled your attentions away and got you in this small mess, yuta was bidding them goodbye and jogging over to you.

“i’m so sorry, love, i should’ve checked which way she was facing. are you sure you’re ok?” his arm was around your shoulders in an instant, his free hand hovering by your cheeks as if waiting to be allowed to hold them again.

“yeah, i’m alright, i think.”

his eyes seemed to brighten carefully with a playful glint, “i don’t need to carry my princess?”

you snorted, slowly easing the two of you into a slow space.

“what? you know i always will if you ask!”

you hushed him and swatted at his hand by your jaw. finally relaxing with a laugh, his arm slipped from your shoulders down to your waist where he pulled you close, and his lips planted a kiss into your hair.

“you’ll always be my princess,” he whispered gently. and in that moment you felt yourself melt. truly you didn’t need him to carry you home, but there was nothing wrong with letting him help you only a little bit right? and so you gave in, leaning into his side and resting your head on his shoulder, your eyes fluttering closed.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

jaehyun

you hadn’t been overly convinced about jaehyun’s suggestion for your holiday destination. however, now you had to admit that you were thoroughly won over. the town was so peaceful, the air so fresh, and if this gentle path was anything to go by, it felt like the gentler adventures in a ghibli movie.

lined with arching trees dripping with wisteria you were stunned by its beauty. even when you glanced away your attentions were enraptured were more colours. the hydrangeas and other bushes you couldn’t recognise, their scents lifting your spirits and mottled lilacs shifting into branches of pink and blue being truly satisfying to take in even at a distance. coming closer you could see the soft fuzzy balls of gold and onyx bumbling about the flowers, and you couldn’t help but try and take photos of the bees.

it proved harder than you expected—who knew bumble bees could be so fast when they wanted to be. noticing that you had only managed to catch blurs so far, you became acutely aware of jaehyun sneaking glances at you. again. like he always did. admiring your smile instead of the beauty around him like you always lightly chided him for. “you’ll miss out on what’s actually worthy of your attention at that moment!” you always found yourself saying, but he always shook his head and swore otherwise. you did suppose your words made you a bit of a hypocrite though—it wasn’t like you didn’t watch jaehyun too, and almost just as often as him for that matter.

shaking your head and pretending to not notice his gaze you crept even closer to the flowers, where your eyes suddenly picked up on the perfect moment encapsulated in the bud of fresh crimson. a bumble bee, fast asleep in the cradle of a flower. you felt your heart melt as you took a cautious photo, not wanting to wake the little bub. strangely you couldn’t stop yourself from making the link between it and jaehyun. the way it was curled round just reminded you of how you always found jaehyun in the morning, especially after a particularly rough day. he always made a cocoon of the duvets for the two of you—perhaps without even realising it—and he often curled up. it wasn’t what you had expected of him, but you didn’t care—playing little spoon was just as fun to you.

feeling the need to hold him again you left the small bee in peace and crept towards the man you held so close to your heart. you found his attentions turned to the canopies above rather than you, so you figured it was a prime opportunity to strike. with a back hug. you were feeling too soft.

jogging to catch up knowing full well he was probably too out of it to notice—he could get so deep in his own thoughts sometimes—you managed to get right behind him, when he suddenly stopped dead in his tracks.

you crashed into him with an ‘oof’, and immediately jaehyun turned around to see you rubbing your nose with a pout.

“ah, sorry baby!” he chuckled simply, kissing you cheek gently in an extra apology, before scooping you round and into his arms.

you didn’t think any more of it, and merely sank into his embrace. his hugs were always so warm and you absently nuzzled your cheek into his chest. perhaps you would have worried about coming to a stop in the middle of the path, but honestly, you had more important things to worry about. like, how you were practically a ragdoll in his arms. you hoped you wouldn’t stumble when you had to walk again like last time.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

sicheng

hazy images of a peaceful corner store blinkered out like an old tv set as you were suddenly awoken with a jolt. a dull ache pooled at your hip and you grumbled as you forced your eyes open.

what you found was enough to bring a drowsy smile to your lips. you knew full well you had fallen asleep facing away from your boyfriend, but now you were much much closer, meaning both of you had shimmied towards one another throughout the night. in respect to the pain in your side, you traced your eyes down where the blankets had receded—sicheng was such a blanket thief, and with the single thin layer you both had swivelled round his legs, tonight was clearly no different—to where you spotted his hand.

loosely flung across your waist, it was cold thanks to the open window sending a breeze through your room, and clearly the culprit to your sudden awakening.

still, he looked so sweet with his face scrunched into his pillow, hair splayed like a mussed crown and soft lips in a pout. and so you opted to just move on. he was lucky he was so cute.

shifting closer to him, you entwined your leg with one of his and reached across to stroke a lock of his fringe out of his eyes. he shifted at your touch in his sleep, revealing his face from the cloth of the pillow. in the shadows of the early morning you saw his sleeping scowl soften when you ran your thumb across his cheek soothingly.

feeling satisfied, you tucked your head beneath his and held his hand by his chest, before finally giving back into sleep.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

jungwoo

bright lights shining in the face of a brilliant fading sun, faces passed you by as you strode down the sidewalk. perhaps on a normal occasion you would’ve slowed down, but there was no way you could in this situation—you were too excited. your boyfriend was home.

turning the corner and narrowly avoiding an elderly lady, as the crowds dispersed you came to a stuttered stop. the world around you faded away just like it had done the first time you had kissed, as your eyes met his. they widened in awe, brimming with a starlit sky, before he smiled, and you felt your heart stop.

you hadn’t expect to miss him so much. it was only two weeks, you had insisted to yourself for the days leading up to his tour, others have had to wait longer, you’ll be fine. you had believed it with your whole body, but as the days winded like paths in a lost forest and the pressures winded you down, the weight of his missing touch had swollen to where you could barely bear it.

and maybe you were being dramatic—you chided yourself for it as if you were—but as soon as soon as his arms were around you, you felt the tears prickle in the corner of your eyes.

“y/n, i missed you so much,” jungwoo murmured, sweet voice so soft it could have been swept away.

you rested your head upon his shoulder, where it belonged and breathed in the scent of home. everything that had plagued you before felt manageable once again.

“i wish you could have come with me, it felt so weird without you—and i bet it would have been ten times as fun! not that it wasn’t fun, just...”

you chuckled at his ramblings, gripping at his hoodie as he squeezed you tighter.

“ahh, i missed you...!” he drawled, voice playfully gritty as he pressed his cheek into your crown.

still laughing and feeling the tears long gone, you ended up tugging at his back, “woo! i—can’t... breathe!”

he pulled away with a yelp, his hands coming to rest at your cheeks instead and apologised softly over and over again, though a bright smile remained on his lips. his touch—like always—lingered, and so his fingers traced up to stroke your hair, while he leant in to plant kisses on your cheeks through your laughter.

“i missed you too,” you whispered, linking your hands behind his neck when he stilled.

he pressed his forehead to yours wordlessly, his eyes fluttering closed. it had obviously been a tough time for him too—he liked a lot of affection, so there was no doubt he was just as touch starved as you were.

of course though, your luck would inevitably run out and it did so in the form of donghyuck calling over to the two of you.

“hey lovebirds, some of us actually want to eat, you know?”

the time away had also let some of the others clearly forget some things too.

“come on, we’d better go before youngest decides to go feral,” you said.

“you think he’d do it?”

you peered up at your boyfriend with an exaggerated look of disbelief. “you have met hyuck, right?”

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

mark

“ha! nice try!”

“that was close! you gotta admit that was close!”

after your friends all decided to go camping and finally bought a tent big enough for a few extra people, you asked mark if he wanted to go too. he’d answered yes without a hesitation of course, and before you knew it the day before the trip rolled round and it was time to pack. of course, you and your boyfriend could never stay focused for more than three minutes when together, and it led to the two of you going from passing clothes to one another to neatly pack into your suitcases to just straight up lobbing socks at one another.

“is this one of your socks or mine?”

“definitely yours, i would never wear such a thing.”

“are you hating on melons?”

“watermelons cancelled, avocados superior—mark!”

it had only digressed from there. now your bedroom was littered with random socks and the odd shirt and you were taking cover behind your side of the bed. with a balled up sock in one hand, the other feeling around for more ammunition behind you, you were waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

“you’re gonna miss,” mark teased from his makeshift trench.

“oh really?” you couldn’t hide the smile that was evident in your voice. “how about this:i’m going to hit you bullseye, and you—you want to know where your sock is going to go?”

“where’s it gonna go, babe?”

“it’s going to go aaall the way over there!” you pointed to the door on the other side of the room. the only issue with that was a blur of navy suddenly shot past your hand, forcing you to retreat further behind your cover.

“ha! you missed!” you exclaimed, before twigging the silver lining. “also, thanks for the ammo.” stretching out a leg to retrieve the sock, you unfortunately found it just out of reach. you cursed.

“what’s wrong babe, too scared to face me?”

you scoffed. “what’s scary about you mark? no offence, but i feel like i’m being threatened by a cupcake.”

you had an exaggerated gasp from the other side of the bed, and took it as the prime opportunity to strike. get him while he’s still reeling. a fantastic plan.

however, in the joy of concocting what you thought was an infallible plan, you completely failed to consider your boyfriend’s frankly inhuman reactions.

and so you stood, raised your arm, and then got pink cotton in your mouth.

you sputtered, staggering back, as mark's hands flew to his lips. “oh my gosh, baby—!”

despite the dryness that quickly left your tongue as you batted it away and how startled you were at the accuracy, you fell into fits of giggles. “mark, you shit!”

he didn’t share the same sentiment however, and once he’d overcome being frozen to the spot he began to hurry to your side. “baby, i’m so sorry, are you ok? are you sure you’re alright?”

he was met with a balled up sock bouncing off his forehead.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

hyuck

the movie was nowhere near as good as you had all expected it to be, which meant it was only a matter of time before the whole dorm descended into madness. it had been jisung, oddly, that had been the first one to speak up about how ridiculous one of the characters was behaving, and it had led all the others to join the bandwagon and begin cackling at all the plot-holes—and boy were there a lot of them.

you had mostly stayed quiet simply because the way donghyuck posed his jokes and criticisms was something you could never compete with, and you would much rather listen and laugh about what he had to say rather than do so. the two of you had cozied up together beneath a blanket, but as soon as the chaos ensued he had shifted away, ripping on the film with wild hand movements and adding onto the points that jaemin proposed with a huge grin.

you watched him, only glancing over at the tv screen whenever some horrifically edgy dialogue was grumbled, as he impersonated the main protagonist—the stereotypical grisly ‘morally-grey’ hero who was really just a dick. in an instant mark’s famous high-pitch laugh lilted across the air, and you were left reeling with everyone else.

unfortunately, it was cut short. your boyfriend, forgetting your proximity, decided to continue with one of his points, dipping into genuine criticism that even you were proud of, but happened to fling his hand out in emphasis.

his knuckle whacked your arm, and though it wasn’t hard it did hurt a bit and you immediately whined, “owwww!”

as the rest of dream choked on their own laughter or waited to see if you were ok—what an angel jisung was, and as for the rest you made a mental note to kick their asses later—donghyuck’s words stopped dead in their tracks as his attentions turned solely to you, as he reflected your hurt tone.

“ahh, yn, i’m so sorry, i’m so sorry, please forgive meee.” he rubbed your arm gently before peppering your face with kisses, which was enough to get your to crack a smile once again.

“hmmm,” you pretended to think about it for a moment, “i’m not sure though... what you did was pretty—”

“ynnnnn!”

you scoffed teasingly, but pulled him into your arms nevertheless. letting him drape himself across your shoulder, you took his hand into your own and wrapped your free arm around him to pull him closer.

“i forgive you, duck,” you reassured, petting his hair when he hummed in response.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

~~~

an: this actually took me so long? like i worked on it over the span of like a week

masterlist

~ pls dont forget to offer comments on my work! they mean the world to me and really motivate me to work more :)) tysm! ~

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phantomnostalgist · 4 years

Text

Ethan Freeman Phantom interview

An interview with Ethan Freeman from about 1994 or 1995, printed in “Beneath the Mask” #8 (which I haven’t found my print copy of yet, but the interview was reproduced on our old POTO fan site).

Also of note about Ethan: at the time he was one of the two youngest actors to have played the Phantom - he and Anthony Warlow were both 28 or 29 when first cast in the role.

Are there any differences between London and Vienna - if so, what are they? The general tone of the production in Vienna was slightly more Operetta-like, probably due to the language, the sound of the translation and style of acting of some of the players. The tempo was also at some points quite different depending on who was conducting, and would undoubtedly feel strange to me now. The audience tended to be less tuned in to the humorous moments in the show in general, and some scenes like "Managers I & II" for example, simply run better and are more clever in English.

How did you get the role? I got the role of the Phantom after auditioning for Hal Prince and Gillian Lynne and the Viennese producer and musical staff. They appeared very excited about the audition. I'd sung "Music of the Night" which they praised in a friendly manner (Hal is always positive and encouraging), and they sent me off to learn the segment from the Final Lair "Order your fine horses... This is the choice. This is the point of no return!" When I came back the next day to do it (the Phantom candidates appeared by then to have been reduced to three) Hal said "OK Ethan I want you to scare me!" So I did the section with as much power and venom as I could muster (Id never seen the show - I think Id heard the record once or twice...) and after it was done, Hal just said "Great. You scared me!" and that was that really. Later that day they explained to Alexander Goebel and me what they would like and would we be willing to share, obviously with Alex, who was very well known, being the dominant of the two. So we split 5/2 which frequently ended up being 4/3 as the run went along.

How did you research the character? I read the novel finally, all the way through. Ruth Hale, my partner in "Cats" at the time, later to premiere as Mme Giry in the Hamburg production, gave me a copy as a present. I'd seen several of the films over the years so I knew there wasn't much to be mined from those - although Lon Chaney Snr did display some magnificent body language, and I've nicked at least one dramatic gesture from him. Principally though, I had several long meetings with Hal in New York to talk about the role and show. He instructed me to go watch Michael a few times then come back and talk some more. Crawford was magnificent, at the peak of his vocal power and still fairly fresh in the role and I was moved and impressed as I have not been since by a Phantom. (Though Dave Willetts, I must say, also made a huge impression the first time I saw him, for his power and well-delineated psychotic behaviour.) At first I thought boy, you've got your work cut out for you on all fronts. So, I would say my "research" of the role was principally based on my own discussions with Hal and also largely on my own thoughts and feelings. Obviously most of the physical manifestations of the role, make-up, costume, blocking, etc were predetermined so there wasn't much scope for change. To be honest, I feel some of the Phantoms I've seen tend, in an effort to be different, to stray from the basic line of the drama and weaken themselves as a result. Michael's acting was extreme, yet very clear and economical at the same time, and I also try to offer the audience a complicated and ambiguous character going through clear, unambiguous moments of his life - otherwise it's so easy for the audience not to "get" everything that's there - or to "get" things that aren't intended to be there at all.

How do you feel on stage? So varied in thought and feeling that I can't really give a concise answer. I feel quite differently now to how I felt 600 odd shows ago. I used to have to concentrate on staying concentrated - now it just happens. I know what to achieve and just try to let it happen. I'd say I'm both in and out of Erik at the same time and he in me.

Do you think it's based on a true story ie. did the Phantom exist? I doubt it - I haven't read this newer novel "Phantom" yet and don't intend to until I finish playing the part. However I've been to the Palais Garnier and in all senses of the word it is a 'phantastic' theatre, one which easily conjures up many stirring images - beautifully represented in the Phantom designs, I'd say!

What do you think of Erik? I wish he'd let me have a little more time to myself! Oh, I don't know. He's a sad, bitter, brilliant man. He has a great brain and can be a real bastard. I find him easy to understand - he's motivated by a terrible profound loneliness and has been forced to create his own universe which has its own laws. Anyone who has known some kind of loneliness or feeling of apartness when they were children or growing up can tune in to this crucial aspect of the Man, which is his great mythical attraction. He is so powerful, awesome, in control and yet so hurt and vulnerable. He must epitomise great beauty and great ugliness at war with each other, reason and insanity, God/Satan, Id/Ego battling it out. In the end, he learns about sacrifice, shows mercy and is redeemed by love - a great, archetypal Romantic drama - another reason why the story has always been so popular. I can't stand it when I see Erik played as a "nutter". Yes, he goes "crazy" a few times, but in general he is not insane in the pathological sense. I feel if he is played as a schizophrenic or a psychopath, the romantic ideal of the story is dashed, because both of those conditions would indicate a "determination" that makes any hope of redemption impossible, and would break with the "Romantic" style. He is very melancholy, angry, egocentric, neurotic perhaps, and goes off into rages of frustrated sexuality, but he is not insane. And I'll kill anyone who thinks otherwise!

What do you think happens to him at the end? That's our little secret! I think the different fan magazines have probably spent pages on that so I don't see I need to contribute. He goes!

Why do you think the show is so appealing? Some lovely songs, great orchestrations, a nice mixture of melodrama and light comedy, some stunning sets and a lot of good theatrical magic: and on the thematic side, many of the things I've mentioned before, which I suppose you could define as the archetypal Beauty and the Beast scenario which, if honestly portrayed, can tug the heartstrings of even the most urbane Japanese businessman.

What is your favourite role of those you've played? Obviously Phantom is the supreme role in my repertoire to date. I did however, really enjoy my stints in other Lloyd Webber shows as well. Che in "Evita" was very cool to play and Gus/Growltiger, while exceedingly 'uncool' thanks to the heavy knitted costumes, was a joy to play, despite being totally knackering, and one that I was surely born to do. I really enjoyed doing Hajj, the Poet in "Kismet" with the BBC Radio 2 last year, working with the composers, and would love to have the chance to do that again on stage someday.

What role would you like to play? I'd quite hope to have a go at Sweeney Todd somewhere down the line and would still like to play the Celebrant in "Bernstein's Mass" at some point. (I've nearly done that a couple of times.) Add to that a heap of great operatic roles I'd love to do but probably never will and whatever new, unknown roles lie lurking up ahead. We'll wait and see!

End note from me - Ethan’s wrong about schizophrenia, but hey, this interview was 25 years ago and actors can’t be expected to be experts on mental illness. But I really love this interview, the depth he goes into, and how his sense of humour comes through too.

#the phantom of the opera #phantom of the opera #ethan freeman #classic phantoms #poto #poto legends #phantom legends

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rjhpandapaws · 3 years

Text

Cue and Call

Ch 1: Subtle as a Brick

Gavin hadn’t really thought about source checking the article when he saw the first one, or any of them really. He just skimmed over it while he was drinking his coffee in the morning. It made him think of Hank, he loved speculation pieces like this. It wasn’t that he necessarily believed them, he just enjoyed learning what people hoped would happen. He checked the time and then sent the article to Hank. He was on set right about now. He was six hours ahead so he probably would be able to look at it for a while. Gavin was fine with that. He just wanted Hank to know that he had been thought of. They weren’t a couple exactly. While they were interested in one another, Hank wanted to wait to try anything until both of their schedules calmed down. So for now it was text messages whenever one of them had the time, and if they were lucky maybe a phone call in the evening. Dodging the press was definitely the most exhausting part. They could only give so many evasive non-answers before the smartest of them began to suspect that something was up. Which would have been fine. Hank was great at being subtle; Gavin, on the other hand, was not. He felt like it was written all over his face whenever someone so much as mentioned Hank.

It wasn’t even that Gavin wanted people to know. They just didn’t want the press and thereby the rest of the world finding out until they were sure about whatever this was. There were some people on Gavin’s end that knew; his high school friends Chris and Tina; and Richard who had found out when Gavin had a little too much to drink and pilled his guts. They had all been sworn to secrecy of course. Hank got back to the states about three months after the first article had cropped up. They planned to meet for drinks that weekend before he and Hank were both whisked off to work on separate projects. Gavin’s was just a bit of voice work and then he would be off again. Hank hadn’t said what his next thing was. Gavin was looking forward to seeing him again. They didn’t get to see each other in person outside of work very often. On the Friday before they were going to meet up the plan changed. Hank decided he would rather join Gavin at his place than go out. Which was something Gavin could understand, being surrounded by people so soon after coming home could be exhausting. After being over seas with an entire filming crew Hank probably wanted something that was easy and quiet. There was also the added bonus of by staying in they wouldn’t run the risk of being seen. All Gavin had to do was decide if he wanted to cook or order takeout.

He decided to cook, it was something not many people knew he was good at. Spending Saturday morning grocery shopping made him regret that a little, but he could think of worse things he could be doing with his day. There was something about cooking for the people you cared about. Gavin was inclined to believe it was a love language of its own. Gavin had decided on lasagna. Both his mother and his grandmother taught him that is was a dish you made to welcome someone home. In the years since he had moved out he tweaked the family recipe for convenience sake in ways that would make his grandmother roll in her grave. Tonight though, he was using the one he had learned growing up. He had plenty of time today. Hank rang the door bell as Gavin was putting the lasagna in the oven. He set the timer and then answered the door despite the fact that his kitchen looked like a bomb had gone off and Gavin had been on of its unfortunate victims. Hank eyed him with an amused smile as he stepped inside. “You look like you’ve had an eventful day.” He said in way of a greeting.

“Yeah.” Gavin laughed, “As it turns out tomatoes will try and get revenge if you forget to put the lid on the food processor.” Hank stared at him as they made their way into the kitchen and Gavin wasn’t sure if his expression was one of amusement, disappointment, or both. “You forgot to put the lid on your food processor?” “Well yes and no.” He clarified as Hank sat at the bar, “I thought I could shave off a little time if I put the ingredients while the thing was running. So when I needed to put the garlic in I took the lid off and then didn’t put it back on.” Hank shook his head with a laugh, “I would have thought that you of all people would have invested in a food processor with an ingredient lid.” Gavin looked up from where he had been scrubbing at a particularly stubborn tomato stain, “With a what?” Hank took out his phone and after a few moments showed him a picture of a food processor that looked like it had a chimney shoot on the lid, “One of these.” “That’s the one I have, I just didn’t realize that was why the lid was so fucking weird.” He remarked.

That earned him another laugh from Hank, “Only you would buy something designed to make your life easier and still do things the hard way.” Gavin gestured like a showman to his warzone of a kitchen, “The one and only.” “So what made you decide to cook?” Hank asked, “The last time I got this sort of treatment from you was when you held me hostage after my car accident.” “You mean when I was making sure you were taking care of yourself.” He shot back, “You were gone for a long time, I figured you would want something home cooked.” He moved on from cleaning the counter to cleaning the stove, “How was filming?” That earned him a very dramatic groan, “If I never have to work with that director again it will be too soon. He refused to listen to any of us and fired anyone who questioned his decisions on the spot.” Gavin grimaced, “Yikes.” “The thing is probably going to flop anyway.” Hank continued, “By the end the crew was too small to make anything of quality. Which sucks because we started out with such a great team and a lot of potential, Then the director went and shot us all in the foot.” He gave an annoyed sigh, “It is what it is I suppose. Not like there is anything I can do about it now.”

“So what about the D:BH thing?” Gavin asked to change to a lighter subject, “How do you think that’s all going to pan out?” “Assuming that it’s real, I think it is going to do really well.” Hank replied, “They’ve got some pretty big promises to keep though.” “You’re excited then?” He asked as he finished cleaning the worst of the mess and came to sit behind Hank. “Oh fuck yeah.” Hank laughed, “I get to harass you and get paid for it.” Gavin rolled his eyes, “Yeah, yeah, fuck you too.” They moved on to lighter topics after that. Gavin drank more than he probably should have should have at dinner, but it had been a long time since they had been able to do something like this. On top of that, Gavin had the tendency to lose track of himself with Hank. The conversations came easy and his carefully constructed walls crumbled like sand in the wind. Hank never seemed to mind, or if he had he hadn’t let on. Though come morning Gavin didn’t remember much after they had moved to the living room, so he couldn’t be sure if Hank had said anything or not. He woke up on his couch with good night and good morning texts from hank so he found it safe to assume he hadn’t done anything too out of line.

The next time he heard from Hank was when he called at ass-o-clock in the morning to tell him the show had been approved. Gavin had given a tired hum in response and had been back asleep before he could be given anymore details or properly hang up. Usually he was left in the dark because of his tendency to talk about the projects he was in online. Silas had been nice enough to add him to the group chat though, so that was fun. He was excited to see everyone again, but what he was looking forward to the most was getting to work along side Hank again. They would have to mind themselves around everyone else though. So this, whatever it was, would stay under wraps. It was going to be difficult, but Gavin was pretty sure he could handle it. He was alright with being subtle. “You’re staring.” Richard’s voice made him nearly jump out of his skin. “No I wasn’t.” He replied and made a point of looking anywhere but at Hank. “If you say so.” Then with that he was off to talk to Connor again. So maybe this was going to be more of a problem than he had thought. That was fine. He would figure something out, eventually.

#Cue and Call #CaC #Hankvin #dbh Hank #dbh Gavin #dbh fic #dbh

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yoondoze · 4 years

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make a wish | jjk - 2

jeongguk didn’t know it, but his wish came true. as the best things in life do, it comes back around.

alternatively: a compilation of scenes in the after of “make a wish” and how they pile up and weigh you down until it’s too much to handle.

pairing: jeon jeongguk x reader

word count: 6.4k

genre: angst, fluff, romance, best friend!au, mutual pining... shh

warnings: language. besides that, this is pretty tame! only slightly edited bc its 2 in the morning and i just want to get this up lol

a/n: didn’t mean for this to be so long but i got a little carried away. this wraps up make a wish, so i hope you guys like it! also, feedback is always appreciated in any way shape or form <3 muah!

It’s just as you’re leaving when Jeongguk’s phone rings. His eyes widen in disquiet as he stares at the number displayed at the top of his phone. In preparation, he shakes out his limbs dramatically and takes a deep, exaggerated breath. Considering it’s for your entertainment, you roll your eyes and wave him on.

He picks up.

“Hello?”

The voice on the other end is muffled as you try your best to listen in. Your heart pounds in anticipation, gripping onto the straps of your purse with white knuckles.

“Yeah. Okay. Okay, great.”

He paces around the room aimlessly. His fingers fiddle with a loose thread on his sweatpants as he listens closely. You’re sure he’s already sweating, more nervous than you could imagine despite the playful act he put on before answering.

“Yeah. That’s fine! Okay, thank you so much. Alright, bye.”

He’s facing away from you as he clicks the end call button. Just as you’re about to ask, he spins on his heel, lips pursed as he holds back a grin.

“Guess who got the job?”

A toothy grin spreads across his face as he singsongs. Jeongguk’s expression of pure excitement is a privilege to see. It’s impossible to deny how it lights up your own.

“Oh my god, you got the job?”

“I got the job!”

His bangs bounce as he jumps with both fists raised in glory. You squeal, going in for a tight hug and swaying back and forth as you congratulate him.

“I’m proud of you, Gguk,” you say into his shoulder. “Really, I am.”

And when you say it, you mean it. After so many months of struggling at his old company, he took the leap and applied for a position at a more well-known film studio. The late night introduction practices with you, which included him reciting prepared resume-esque lines and weeks of tiring interviews had paid off like you knew he deserved it to.

“Okay. I should get home,” you try, voice strained as his arms crush your diaphragm like walls in a deadly escape room. Upon hearing your winded sentence, he loosens his grip.

You don’t even think about what it might mean before you place a departing kiss to Jeongguk’s cheek, fueled by the elation running through you at the upward turn of events. It’s an accident, it just happens naturally as if it was something you’ve done a thousand times. It only hits you that you shouldn’t have after it’s already done.

Sure, you make out and kiss all the time, but the difference is that’s only when you’re taking advantage of the benefits you worked out. That kissing is all attraction, nothing chaste or romantic like this. So when you pull away from the hug, you expect to see his eyebrows furrowed in confusion and giving you a look of disgust.

“Uh-” you sputter, ever a wordsmith, trying to think of some rational explanation to excuse why you might have kissed him like that. The previous bouts of joy sparking in your heart fly out the window.

However, his eyes only show a mild, innocent surprise. At his silence, it doesn’t seem like he’s going to address it, and you assume he’ll assume it was just congratulatory. You can work with that.

“Bye. I’ll text you when I get home,” you blurt as untroubled as it can come, spinning on your heel and hurrying out the door. After closing it behind you, you slump back against it for a breath.

God, what were you thinking? Were you fucking stupid? Your fingers find your forehead finds as you try to convince yourself it wasn’t that bad. You’re prone to over analyzing, anyway. Jeongguk’s too occupied to think about it like that. He just got his new job, he has a thousand new things to worry about. He won’t read into it. If he does, he’ll think of it as a heat of the moment sort of thing.

Right?

Inside, Jeongguk pauses, staring at where you were standing just a second ago and scratches the back of his neck. The corners of his mouth turn up slowly.

He finds himself checking his phone every five minutes for a text from you, which never comes.

☆☆☆

At the end of the day, it was your fault.

It was your thoughtless action that made Jeongguk think that incorporating romantic gestures like that into your relationship could still be platonic. You rocked the boat with that one, but it wasn’t enough to completely capsize your vessel, and for that you were grateful.

Still, your heart now tore itself into smaller and smaller pieces every time he kissed you goodbye or grabbed your hand to swing it back and forth or wrapped his arm around you after cleaning up.

“By the way,” he says, tossing you one of his shirts from his place in front of his dresser. He pulls on a clean pair of boxers as you cover up. “There’s this work dinner I have to go to next week for networking and stuff, and it’s a buffet-type thing so they charge you for a spot. But, I found out that there is a couple’s discount and was wondering if maybe… you’d want to come with me?”

The hopeful sparkle in his eyes is one you just can’t ignore. Doing so would feel like a one-way ticket to hell, the only valid consequence for such a rotten crime.

“Yeah, sure.”

His smile at your compliance takes away all the apprehension you might have had, at least for a second. He wears it like a medal.

“Okay, good. I have to talk to a lot of people so I’d just feel better if you were there.”

Your brows draw together as you watch him get dressed. “But Gguk, you’re good at talking to people,” you say, going as far as to admit teasingly, “You’re fairly charming.”

He laughs, hopping into his slacks. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I don’t freak out inside. It’s scary!” The dark brown mop of hair atop his head jostles into his eyes as he adds, “There’s gonna be a lot of well-known people there so it’s my chance to make some connections.”

Despite that, you’re sure he’ll be just fine. By nature, Jeongguk is inviting and easy to talk to. That is one of the reasons why you became such fast friends, and probably why you lasted so long. Along with his agreeable presence, his captivating looks probably wouldn’t hurt in striking up a deal either, though you’d never say that to his face.

“What’s the dress code?”

“Semi-formal I think?” He says, looking out of the corner of his eye. “I don’t know what that constitutes in terms of dresses but…”

A certain memory tugs at the back of his head. He considers just leaving it there, maybe slightly sentimental for his usual image, but what’s the harm in bringing it up?

“Do you remember the dress you wore for my brother’s graduation dinner? The blue one?”

You, on the other hand, are just surprised he remembers something like that. It must have been years ago by now. Still, it’s a good memory. It was a breezy evening by the shore to celebrate his brother’s graduation from college. The dinner was nice, but the best part was when you and Jeongguk ended up sneaking off to go sit on the beach later on in the night.

Jeongguk is intertwined into nearly every lasting memory you make. It’s hard to imagine a world where he isn’t a part of each story you retell or each thought that crosses your mind.

“Oh, yeah, of course. It’s probably buried in my closet somewhere.”

He’s relieved you don’t question him.

You might have to do some digging when you get home to find it, but you definitely still have it. It’s not like you have the money to be purchasing new semi-formal dresses for every occasion.

“That would be good. Or something like it, I don’t know.” He finishes buttoning up his shirt and tugs on the cuffs to straighten them out. His reflection in the mirror sends you a beaming smile, at this point accepting how his heart rate seems to spike every time he sees you in one of his shirts nowadays. He’s gotten very good at lending them to you casually.

He continues after a glance at the clock tells him he’s been letting his time with you slip on for more time than he can afford even though he wishes he could stay. “Anyway, I have to get going so make sure you lock the door behind you when you leave.” And then he’s padding out the door, car keys jingling in his hand as he picks them up from the dish on the kitchen counter.

“Oh, and Y/N?” He pokes his head around the hallway entrance to see you. “There’s coffee out here for you when you want it.”

He dashes off before you have the chance to react or even say thank you, a sheepish grin tugging at his features as he walks to his car. When you go out to see, it’s already made with cream and sugar, just the way you like.

☆☆☆

“You look really pretty tonight, Y/N,” Jeongguk says, voice soft as ever, eyeing your dress as you step out of the car. “Seriously, I mean it.” The heels you wear click evenly like a metronome’s beat on the pavement as you walk around to join him at his side.

You ignore the heat in your cheeks, rather offering an endearing grin as you grip the clutch in your hand. “You too, Gguk. You’ll do great tonight. I wouldn’t be surprised if you made everyone here fall for you while you’re at it.”

His initial thought is to ask if that includes you, but his better judgment tells him it’s too bold. Instead, he just laughs and hands his car keys to the valet.

The dinner is a week later at a stunning three-floor, dimly lit fine dining restaurant decorated with dark hardwood and intricate chandeliers that make the soreness in your neck seem worth it while observing them.

Jeongguk cleans up nice, and even though you’ve already known this for a long time, you consider it a treat since this attire rarely, if ever, sees the light of day.

He props out his elbow and nudges for you to take it, which you so graciously do. Together you walk to the glass doors, through which you can see the party has just started. You can already hear the muffled music and chatter in the background.

“By the way,” he says, leaning down to your ear, like what he’s about to tell you is no big deal. “I… might have told my coworkers that we’re engaged-”

“Engaged!?” you whisper, eyes wide and staring at him incredulously.

So maybe he should have told you earlier. In his defense, he needed the extra time to produce an irrefutable excuse. In the end, it was only sort of reasonable, but he was hoping you would just roll with it. Isn’t that what the two of you always did?

“I know, I know! But listen. It just makes more sense in terms of you being my plus one and it also makes me seem like I have my shit together. And it’s always good for me to seem like I have my shit together, right?”

You sigh, narrowing your line of sight at him. “Okay. What do I do if someone asks why I’m not wearing my ring then?”

He mutters, “Oh, yeah.” Then he’s fishing through his side pocket and out comes a shiny silver ring with a small diamond placed into the center, held so flippant between his fingertips. “It’s my grandma’s. Borrowed it from home for this weekend.”

His heart pounds. Was that smooth enough? He has a lot of talents, but he isn’t sure if this was one of them just yet. Jeongguk tenses as he waits for your reaction. Best case scenario, his carefree attitude about it will rub off onto you.

“I figured it’d fit you,” he adds.

When it slides on perfectly, you know there’s no going back. Yet somehow, it is completely in character of him. You should have expected something like this because Jeongguk always has and always will be a man of spontaneity.

You’ll have to ask him how he knows your ring size sometime.

Inside, he introduces you to his coworkers. There are too many to remember but you catch a few here and there that you recall him talking about before, like Namjoon, the diligent Production Assistant and Taehyung, another member of the crew who he often eats lunch with. It’s an initial blur of faces and few-worded exchanges before you can take a breather off to the side.

“Not bad?” he asks, his thumb tracing circles over your knuckles. The way it makes your heart flutter is addictive. He has you in his palm and he doesn’t even know it. Unfortunately, you don’t know if it’s something you can give up yet, not without it being messy.

There’s a short line behind a board that displays the seating arrangement, and though it’s moving quickly, it allows you a moment of space from the other guests.

A tired smile pulls at your lips. “Not bad.” You squeeze his hand in yours.

The people in front of you move from the board into the dining hall so both of you can inch up. Jeongguk’s eyes trace the small handwriting, eventually spotting the two of you in the far corner of the room.

Dinner goes well, and Jeongguk does the most of the talking. It’s nice to see him so bright as he laughs with his coworkers. It’s that part of him that he’s had since he was a kid, the part that made him fit in so naturally and charm every person around him. Seeing it out in the open and no longer repressed from emotional baggage is heartwarming. Compared to a few months ago, you might not recognize him at all.

After a while, Jeongguk wipes his mouth with his napkin and pushes his chair out from the table. “Alright, I’m gonna head to the bar lounge for a little while and see who I can talk to. Are you gonna be fine on your own?”

He’s nervous, you can tell. By the way his eyes dart around the room, the way he’s biting the inside of his bottom lip.

“Yeah, go ahead,” you nod, taking a sip of water. “I’ll just stick around here.”

He gives himself a once over and wipes his palms on his slacks.

You tap his shoulder, bringing him down so you can whisper to him a small, “You’ll do great.”

He pulls back with a shy, one-sided smile. “Thank you. I hope so. Text me if you need anything.” Effortlessly, he plants a chaste kiss to your cheekbone that has your face ablaze and excuses himself from the table. The feeling of his lips on your skin sticks well after he’s gone.

Ryujin, the script supervisor, puts down her drink with a roll of her eyes. “Finally, all the boys are gone. I’ve been trying to talk to you the entire time but he’s always butting in!”

It pulls a laugh from you. “No, no, he’s just trying to help,” you explain, “I’m new to everyone here so he just doesn’t want me to feel awkward.”

“Yada yada,” says a bubbly Chaeryoung, a PA, waving it off with her hand. “I expected him to be protective with how much he talks about you, but wow. It’s cute though. Sometimes I wish I had someone like that.”

“Yeah, I’m really lucky,” you nod, reminded that you’re just pretending. You’re lucky, but not that lucky. “But… wait, what kind of stuff does he say about me?”

Ryujin chortles at your worry. “Oh, only good things. Just stuff you do together, jokes, those kinds of things. You’re involved in a lot of stories in some way or another.”

“Like, “This one time in high school, Y/N and I got in a fight...” or “Last week, we went to this new brunch spot and Y/N got this sandwich…’” Chaeryoung clarifies, but it only makes you want to pry further.

As she says it, both of the memories come floating back clear as day. You can’t remember what exactly you argued over, but it had been when you were paired as partners in a history class. The sandwich, you recall, was heaven on earth. The images are picture-perfect despite how they’d been buried.

The fact that Chaeryoung remembered things you didn’t is mildly startling, but you’re more surprised that Jeongguk shared so much. Not that it’s an issue, you just didn’t think you’d find yourself being perceived by so many people you had no prior knowledge of. The idea of him spilling your high school gossip fits like a puzzle to his persona, but the thought never occurred to you that he might think about you when you’re not there.

But you won’t let yourself become too optimistic.

“Yeah,” you laugh, “I think it’s different since we grew up together as family friends. He’s in a lot of my stories, too.”

“Ugh, that’s cute,” Ryujin sighs. If only. “So when did you start liking each other? Or start dating?”

You take a deep breath as if you’re looking back on the day when in reality you’re just trying to come up with the most believable love story you can manage. It’s also your most ideal. Maybe if your current situation went the way you wanted.

“I think we liked each other at different times over the years. Y’know, I liked him when we were kids, he liked me when we were teenagers, kind of on and off like that. But sometime after college, I think the cycle lined up once and for all and…“

Do you think you could manifest it by speaking it into existence?

“...here we are.”

That thought was stupid. You make yourself forget about it. Stop with the hope, remember?

When you finish your spiel, you think you’ve finally made it in the clear. Until another question comes.

“So what was your first date like? Was it weird?”

You know they’re just trying to make conversation, but god, you’re not ready for this. You’re preoccupied with other problems. If only they knew how your brain was short-circuiting in an effort to think up an explanation that will make you sound versed and most importantly, convincing. You go with what you wish had happened.

“Um, a little bit, but since we had been close friends for such a long time, I think we had that mutual understanding of how things were so we could laugh about it. We just…” you say, shaking your head along, lips pursing as your train of thought rolls through the detailed daydream you know so well. “...went out to dinner one night... and it was sort of a process to transition to something more romantic, I guess, but it just kind of happened.”

But it feels nice to be Jeongguk’s girl. Even if you’re just playing a part. If you sink yourself into the atmosphere, tune into the clinking of the glasses, and the relaxing jazz in the background, you can pretend you’re really engaged and sharing your love story to whoever will listen.

Would it hurt too much to hold out on it one day become reality?

“I’m always so happy when the company hosts these events,” Chaeryoung comments, leaning back in her chair to take in the room. “It’s the only time I can come to a place like this since you know I can’t afford it with my own money.” A small talk sort of laugh bubbles up from her as she says it. There is an inkling of confusion that strikes you at her words, but you think you’ll just brush it off for the sake of being casual.

Ryujin looks to you as she adds, “And they even let you bring a plus one for free! You know, I was thinking of bringing my boyfriend, but I just felt like it might have been too soon…”

Your brows furrow as you recall the conversation with Jeongguk. Didn’t he say that it was a pay per guest scenario?

“So the company pays for these dinners?” you ask out of pure curiosity and with no hint of suspicion weaved in your tone.

“Yeah!” says Chaeryoung. “It’s all from the company’s budget since this is technically a networking event. Usually, people swap ideas or come up with deals that turn into projects a couple of weeks down the line.”

You nod along as she explains eagerly, but all you can hear is that there never was a price to pay to begin with, and more importantly meaning that there never was a discount. Not one that Jeongguk needed you around for.

But why would he lie?

Maybe Jeongguk was embarrassed asking for your company or didn’t want his ego bruised by telling you it was free and he wouldn’t have to pay for you. It’s the benefit of the doubt for your best friend (and love of your life, but that’s a separate issue) that makes it your first thought. In reality, thinking about the boy you know, it doesn’t make sense. At this point, he shouldn’t have to feel like that when it comes to you.

Whatever the case may be, you hope that he knows he’d never need an excuse to invite you somewhere. It’s not like you’d ever refuse. You’d never refuse him, not in any life.

☆☆☆

It’s the middle of the night when another bad dream jolts you awake with a pounding heartbeat. Your eyes flutter open, brimmed with tears, to reveal that the moon is still high in the sky above the towering buildings, and a shift to the side facing the nightstand lets you know you have another three hours before you have to start your day and leave Jeongguk’s apartment.

The last few weeks, the dreams have been growing more and more common. Not enough for you to dread going to sleep just yet, but definitely something you’re quickly getting sick of. At this point, you’re tired of going to sleep just to wake up freaked out in a cold sweat. You chalk it up to the stress piling on you, not only that of regular adult life but that of your messy relationship with your best friend.

How ironic that must be, considering the whole reason it started was to relieve stress when now it’s your main source.

You empty your lungs with a shaky sigh and slide to the edge of the bed, intending to fetch a glass of water to calm yourself down. Before you can reach your feet, Jeongguk’s arm catches you at your waist, and then you’re being reeled back under the covers.

“Easy,” he mumbles, his voice grainy and low from sleep, “You’re fine. Talk to me.”

You swallow thickly, the scenes from your subconscious flashing back to you. “Um, that’s alright. Not a big deal.”

You wish he’ll just leave it at that and fall back asleep like he usually does. When his breathing steadies, you think you’re in the clear, but you are horribly mistaken when he yawns and adds, “You’ve been having a lot of nightmares recently.”

Is it another prompt for you to talk? You’re not sure what to say.

In fact, you’re never sure what to say anymore. Never sure what’s too much, what’s too little, what the difference is between what you say and what you mean. The line blurred months ago and now you’re wandering blind.

You’d enjoy moments like this if it wasn’t for the stark fact that the person you’re with doesn’t love you like you love him.

“Yeah…” you agree. Right now, your chest is heavy and not strong enough to support a conversation. You hope that he’s not too drowsy to take the hint.

A small sound from him makes it seem like another sleepy sentence is in the works, but fortunately, the tension in your chest begins to fade when nothing comes out. His hair shuffles against the pillow and he presses a featherlight kiss to the back of your neck, lips lingering there for a second too long before he sinks back into his position.

When you’re sure he’s slipped under the veil of slumber again, you carefully slide out of his grasp and squeeze into your own space at the edge of the bed. You don’t know how much longer you can last like this.

☆☆☆

“She texted me.”

The sentence makes you stop chewing. Your movements stop aside from an absent blinking, gears spinning overtime to process it.

“She uh, she wants to meet up,” he tacks on. “I think I should go.”

“Why would you do that?”

Jeongguk slowly twists the pasta around his fork, taking a blatant newfound interest in his dinner. He takes a deep breath, but when he opens his mouth, the words catch in his throat.

“I don’t know. I think we need to talk about what happened.”

You scoff, and he takes an immediate offense to it. His eyebrows knit together as a wounded expression takes form on his features.

“What happened? Gguk, she dumped you because you were going through a hard time and she didn’t want to ‘deal’ with it.”

It’s not just you playing the protective best friend role and trying to talk sense into him. It’s not jealousy, either. And sure, maybe you never liked her to begin with, but for good reason. She ended up doing exactly what you thought she would - shattering his heart into a million pieces and leaving it for someone else to pick up the pieces. And considering that’s been you on a multitude of occasions, you think your point of view is valid.

“Listen, I don’t blame her… That can be really hard on someone.”

“So it’s okay for them to just pop in out of the blue, say they can’t handle your emotional issues and bounce? Someone who they claimed to love for over a year and a half? Someone who they were thinking about marrying?”

Jeongguk purses his lips as you speak, a hefty exhale coming through his nose in frustration.

“I just miss her sometimes!”

And you really wish Jeongguk would love you back, but we can’t all get our way, can we?

Not to throw yourself a pity party, though. It’s not like he owes you anything for what you do because you brought it on yourself. He doesn’t control your feelings, even when you want to blame the nerve he has for smiling because it makes you get all jittery.

“She doesn’t even give a shit about me anymore! She’s out with other guys, doing all this shit, posting it everywhere. I… I loved her so bad and she acts like she has no clue.”

You give him pep talks when he’s about to go out with someone else. You comfort him when he’s distraught over someone else. You love him when he loves someone else.

And then-

“You don’t know what that’s like.”

You freeze. Your heart leaps to your throat, closing the gate on your lungs until you forcibly open them again as subtle as possible. A stinging feeling you know all too well burns in your eyes as you try to hold back. Jeongguk doesn’t notice in the slightest as his gaze is still fixated on his food.

Your initial reaction is anger. All you want to do is yell, tell him wrong, tell him that you know it all too well because you love him and he’s pathetically oblivious whether by his nature or by choice. Everything you want to say, shouts and confessions, float across your mind and bounce around the walls as each one brings you further to opening your mouth and letting them spill. Then you just want to cry.

But you won’t do any of that. Your situation won’t allow it, not if you want to risk losing him. It’s not a risk you’re willing to take, even if it means suffering in it by yourself and letting the irony of his words go unrealized.

“Yeah, you’re right,” you sigh, the fork gripped by your white knuckles tapping mindlessly against the side of the bowl as you swallow the feeling back down. Your hand comes up to scratch at the corner of your eye, wiping away the wetness beginning to pool composedly so he won’t notice.

“I don’t.”

☆☆☆

It’s on a Tuesday evening a couple of weeks in the future when you next see him.

Maybe more than a couple. Maybe a few. Maybe too many. Just enough for his tone to turn to something more confrontational than just casual when he sends you a text saying that he wants to see you again. Particularly when he specified that no, he needed to see you again.

He suggests the park by the river. You’ve been there a few times with him for lunches and to hang out, but the energy is different this time around. Both of you know why you’re here, even though you never thought you’d have to be.

For a while, you didn’t want to make things weird, so you’d come over when he’d ask and leave as soon as you could in an attempt to curb the damage on your heart. It wasn’t until three weeks ago that you actively started flaking on him. You’d let his calls ring until he hung up or left a message and say you were busy when there was absolutely nothing going on.

He stopped by your apartment at one point, too. You were freaking out after he texted you he’d be visiting, pacing around and wondering what to do, what to respond, if to respond at all. The knock at your door came sooner than you expected. Before you were about to pull it open and face what you’d been so casual about denying for so long, it occurred to you: You could simply not open the door.

So you waited. He knocked a few more times, sighing so loud you could hear through the door. He called out your name softly, as if he knew you were right on the other side. He stayed for a few more minutes. Then came the sound of his footsteps padding away. You were safe for another day, but the awful feeling stuck in your chest for days.

It stuck in his, too. He knew he should have never gone that far, never said anything that night, but he also wondered if he could have done it any other way. Standing at your door and having to face the fact that you were undeniably steering clear of him, because of him, was a nightmare. It was stupid of him, but you’d see past it - wouldn’t you?

And now you’re seeing him live and in person for the first time in god knows how long. It’s a foreign feeling you’ve never felt with Jeongguk before, and you hate it. It’s been long enough for the sense of familiarity to fade, or at least be buried by time.

Is this how a comet feels when it passes earth again after so many years apart? Does it feel new every time seeing how things have changed, or are they old friends who pick up where they left off?

“ So… what’s been going on with you?” Jeongguk asks nonchalantly, leaning back on his elbows and shaking the hair out of his eyes. “It’s been a while.”

“Uhh, I don’t know,” you shrug, vision focused on the calm waters in front of you. You tug at the grass under your fingertips, loosely hugging your knees to your chest as you sit beside him. “Not much I guess. Just work as usual, you know.”

“Yeah, but how are you?” he presses, trying to find your eyes as you avoid his.

He knew something was wrong from the evident distance and your attitude, but he didn’t think it’d be this bad. He didn’t think he’d fucked up this bad.

Your laugh is awkward and forced. “I’ve been fine. Been good.”

Thinking about the past few weeks, it’s not hard to remember but incredibly hard to grasp. It’s the same moments over and over, sourced from a lonely routine. Day by day spending time with yourself, missing Jeongguk, thinking about texting him but never doing it. Wash, rinse, repeat.

His face turns from you and you miss it the second you can’t see it. The feeling is off and both of you know it. He sucks his lower lip into his mouth, biting at it as he thinks of what to say. If the wrong thing comes out, he’s worried he’ll chase you even further away. It took so much to even get you here.

“Listen, can I be honest with you?” he says.

Honesty is the best policy, isn’t it? He’s tired of beating around the bush. The two of you know so much more than bland small talk.

“Sure.”

He takes a deep breath. “I always thought that nothing could ever be uncomfortable with you and me. Like we could be straightforward and blunt without it being weird. But things right now are really weird and I don’t know what happened. You’re avoiding me and you don’t want to see me. It’s not like it used to be.”

Your nails scrape beneath each other, entangled in your lap. Clearly things aren’t the same, but you don’t have the energy to be snarky. There are so many things to address and you’re ignorant on where to start.

“I know there wasn’t a discount for the work dinner.”

He nods, looking out over the river. “Yeah, figured.”

“So why’d you lie?”

It’s his turn to shrug. “I just wanted you there and I didn’t know how to ask you. I… was starting to feel the shift and I wasn’t sure what to do about it. Saying that just gave me an excuse to take any of the weight off.”

He adds quietly, “Your turn.”

“Gguk,” you start, shaking your head as you try to find the right words. You think of the kiss, the dinner, the ring, the argument.

“We act like a couple. We do things couples do. We pretend we’re a couple. But... we aren’t a couple.”

He’s silent. He knows where you’re going. He knew it before you even got here because if you didn’t bring it up first, he would have.

“I think you already know what’s going on, but if you need it spelled out for you, I kinda caught feelings for you. And then you give me your grandmother’s wedding ring and tell me you love me and it hurts so fucking bad because I know you don’t mean it like that. Not the way I wish you did.”

The words dissipate into the fresh evening air, soon filled by delicate chirps and birdsongs. Distant laughter floats around the park, with muffled ferry horns layered behind it all.

“How do you know?”

Your hand pauses, chlorophyll green blades pulled taut between your fingers. No fucking way.

“What?”

He scratches the back of his neck before locking his eyes with yours. “How do you know... that I don’t mean it like that?”

He’s not playing with you, is he? No, he wouldn’t. You respond slightly confused, hesitant to lean into his words just yet.

“Are you saying that you do?”

He laughs and it makes your chest feel like it might burst open. “You’re kidding, right? I’ve been saying it. I mean, I thought I was being obvious.”

You suppress the excitement bubbling in your stomach for a second longer to throw him a questionable expression with an extended palm for emphasis. “You told me you wanted to go see your ex-girlfriend and were talking about how you loved her.”

He exhales through his teeth as he squints at you. “Yeah, that went a little far...”

“Only a little?”

“I’m apologizing, so let me, please?” He says, eyes wide with a small smile tweaking up at his lips. “It was stupid. I wanted to see what you would say or if you would get jealous. ‘Cause I thought you might have felt the same and at the time that was the only thing I could think of doing.”

Your expression falls.

“Wait, so did you actually meet up with her?”

“No, no!” He exclaims, rushing to refute such a bizarre idea. “Yes, she texted me, but I said no. Everything you said was right, so… it wasn’t worth it.”

He thinks he’s done, until he sees your stare still lingering on him. What’d he miss? He flops over on his stomach, elbows in the grass as his chin rests on his palms to look at you.

“You also said I didn’t know what it was like to love someone who didn’t love me back.”

A cheeky grin grows on him. “Okay... but technically you don’t because I loved you back the whole time.” One of his arms lowers to the ground, his fingers finding your own. He weaves them together with an affectionate squeeze. “You just didn’t know.”

The way your heart flutters is different this time. Gone are the tiring nerves and teary eyes and the weight of stress on your shoulders. It’s a comfortable sort of excitement, one that you’re in love with almost as much as you are with the boy himself.

“Since when?” you ask shyly, feeling the tingle in your cheeks.

It’s a relief to have Jeongguk back. A life without him wouldn’t be one you could ever get used to.

He was there at the start, he’s here now, and he will be here for as long as he possibly can. When it comes to you, there’s no doubt. He’s yours every time.

His deep brown eyes sparkle under the setting sun, golden and glowing, as he makes a point to find your own. Tone dulcet and tender, he says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Since always.”

#jungkook scenario #jungkook fanfic #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #btsguild #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook x reader #jungkook oneshot #jungkook x you #jungkook fic #jungkook imagine #bts fanfic #bts angst #bts x reader #yoondoze

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fuckyeahisawthat · 4 years

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So I finally made it all the way through Trust episodes 1 and 2 last night and I feel like I had some kind of filmmaking revelation about how deeply who you position as the protagonist influences how we perceive a story. I mean, this is stuff that I knew and I have talked about before, about how who you choose as the protagonist is the most important decision you make when creating a story because you’re telling us where we’re supposed to place our empathy and who we’re supposed to have hopes and fears for and who this narrative belongs to. But it’s striking to find an example that illustrates this so clearly.

Film language has a certain grammar that we’re used to reading whether we’re conscious of it or not, and the order in which we see things has a lot of power to shape what, and who, we perceive to be important. At the beginning of a film story, we’re used to seeing: Here’s a person! Now, here’s their problem. Watch how they try to solve it despite obstacles. That’s what this story will be about.

If you just watched the first episode of Trust and then I asked you to tell me what you thought the show was about, you would probably say it’s about Getty the eldest and his succession problems. The first episode sure sets us up to think that he’s the protagonist, which is a problem, because he’s not just a horrible person I don’t want to spend time with; he’s boring. He’s boring in a narrative sense, because he has no real obstacles in his life. He’s surrounded by people who are at his beck and call; he has all the power in every relationship around him, and so there are no real stakes for him, dramatically.

Lucky for us, he is not actually the protagonist. Little Paul and Primo are. They’re co-protagonists with parallel stories. They are the people whose wants we are following throughout the story. Little Paul wants to get out of this kidnapping alive, and Primo wants the ransom money. And the person standing in the way of both those things happening is Grandpa Getty. Functionally, narratively, he is the antagonist in both of their stories.

(This is why there are so many moments where, despite the fact that Paul is Primo’s prisoner, we see them hoping for the same thing to happen, and it sort of glues them together emotionally--both for us the audience and for the characters themselves--in a really interesting way.)

If you watch episode 3 as if it were the first episode of the series, who the protagonists are is really obvious, because we meet Little Paul and Primo, in sequences that tell us a lot about them, back to back right at the top of the episode.

If you watch the series in order, Little Paul’s character introduction happens when he shows up at his uncle’s memorial service in jeans. He is introduced in relation to Old Paul and Big Paul, as a problem and a disturbance in their worlds.

If you treat episode 3 as if it were the first episode of the series, Little Paul is introduced in his own world, living the kind of life he wants to live and having a blast. Then, we very quickly see his problem (he owes money to dangerous people) and we watch him try to solve it, fail several times, and then come up with the kidnapping idea which launches the main plot of the entire series. If we view it that way, everyone else in his family is introduced in reference to him, which is actually an accurate reflection of the structure of the story.

If we put episode 1 after episode 3, episode 1 suddenly becomes a lot more interesting. Because it’s no longer a story about Old Paul and his rich people family problems, it’s a story about Little Paul trying to get money from this rich asshole, money we already know Little Paul needs to solve a very urgent problem in his life. Suddenly the stakes are very clear and very high, and the whole episode is actually a microcosm of the main plot of the series as a whole. Little Paul needs a comparatively small amount of money to get himself out of a life-threatening problem, and his rich-as-fuck grandfather won’t give it to him.

Switching the POV and storytelling order around also gives episode 1 something it sorely lacks if you watch it as the intro to the series: suspense. Because we already know before Little Paul arrives at Sutton Place that he’s going to fail, and this will put him in the predicament that launches the main plot on its way. But Little Paul himself doesn’t know he’s going to fail, and we the audience don’t know how he’s going to fail, so things like the scenes of Little Paul charming his grandfather in various ways suddenly become interesting, because we’re waiting to see how and when all of this will blow up in Little Paul’s face. Even scenes of Old Paul being horrible to various people become ways of heightening the stakes, because we’re thinking about the fact that Little Paul’s life depends on getting money out of this motherfucker.

Big Paul also suddenly becomes more interesting, because the only thing that elevates him in this story from pathetic self-involved wallowing to a passably interesting tragic figure is the way his emotional self-involvement damages other people, particularly his own son. Now, instead of Little Paul showing up as a problem in Big Paul’s story, it’s the other way around. Viewed this way, Big Paul’s actions in episode 1 become a way of foreshadowing his actions in episode 7, which I think is a really effectively-told tragedy. Episode 7 ends with Big Paul finally doing the thing he’s been wanting to do this whole time, which is stand up to his father. But he manages to do it in the most selfish and destructive way possible, in a way that puts the lives of all of the characters we care about at this point at risk--Little Paul, but also Primo and Leonardo--and launches us into the tension of the pivotal episode 8.

Switching the episode order also makes a whole bunch of tiny details in episode 1 pop. We know Little Paul is lying when Old Paul asks him if he does drugs, so we’re waiting for that lie to blow up. The crucial detail of the Playmen magazine shoot is also highlighted, because we’ve already seen this photoshoot in the opening montage of episode 3 and we recognize the damning cocaine t-shirt instantly.

In addition to being an exercise in how directing the audience’s POV controls our emotional experience of a piece of media, this is also a really good example of how telling a story non-chronologically, in a way where the audience already knows how a plot point resolves, doesn’t kill the tension but can often heighten it. And in general this is something that Trust is very effective at--perhaps most masterfully so in episode 5, where we spend the entire episode knowing that Little Paul and Angelo are not going to successfully escape but still get extremely invested in them trying.

As for why the creators set the series up in a way that foregrounds the least interesting characters and buries the natural starting point of the story in episode 3...I don’t know. Desire (or pressure from the network) to frontload the actors who were best known in the US? Confusion about how (un)interesting these rich people actually are, and why? Who knows. But I think this contributed a lot to the mostly lukewarm critical reception when the show first came out (especially knowing that most reviews were only based on the first three episodes, which is what critics were allowed to see in advance of the premiere.)

In conclusion, now you have the correct viewing order for Trust; thanks to Luca Marinelli for being compelling enough to make me skip to episode 3 and get invested in this show; and if I ever teach a filmmaking class I am definitely using this as an example when teaching a lesson on suspense, POV, and choosing the most interesting protagonist.

#trust fx #primo nizzuto #long post #storytelling #script analysis #filmmaking #story structure #trust alternate watch order

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legionofpotatoes · 3 years

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alright here’s ma thoughts on that flick I mentioned

we hatewatched a*my of the dead because we were CONVINCED “zombies in las vegas” would be an impossible concept to screw up, but in so assuming we obviously invoked a holy wager with the universe and got reminded, once again, that hoping for improvement from someone who’s dependably put out bad art is never a wise choice 😐

but we were honestly kinda roped in by the marketing??? and expected a goofy fast-paced flick with the odd traditional undead metaphor thrown in, framing some sort of relationship drama maybe or hell even nothing at all! we’d have taken pure indulgent storytelling, idk italian job with zombies in las vegas, I don’t know fucking anything but??? whatever this was???? spoilers below for it is time for One Of My Rants

I mean the main reason I really want to write all this and complain. this film here probably has the most unappealing cinematography I have ever experienced in my life and that is saying something. who the fuck signed off on that CONSTANT shallow-ass depth of field that imprisons your eyeline and turns every shot into bokeh paste???? and I mean every shot almost!!!! I promise if you think I am overreacting just throw a dart at the seek bar and watch twenty seconds from wherever it lands. it is horrifying to look at. at least it gave my girlfriend a good visual shorthand for what it’s like when I lose my glasses

why was sean spicer in this movie. did they pay him to be here. was sean spicer paid hollywood money for his scene in this film because fuck everyone who was involved in that decision

the legitimately baffling hints at the extraterrestrial origins of the infection that went absolutely nowhere and had no dramatic or plot-level bearing. we love to see the franchise sprouts fellas

yet another big budget waste of everything hiroyuki sanada has to offer. and bautista too I guess? I like him but man was this an odd career move

what was the crux of his conflict/resolution with his daughter btw. I understand it was rooted in miscommunication over their forms of grief irt mom but uhh… it was all rather clunky and didn’t land for me. I tried I really tried to buy in but something was wrong fundamentally with the groundwork there, it did not click and their catharsis felt unearned. I know there’s massive amounts of tragic baggage being projected there from the author so I’m not slapping any judgment down really;

but again it would be an easy thing to wave off if they just had a vibrant cast of lovable simpletons with good chemistry and the kinetic sense of plotting the trailers promised (and this premise never discounts good drama, either). but instead it was just two and a half (!) hours of meandering into situations the filmmaking instincts had no idea how to flow in and out of

to wit. I know talking about “bad pacing” is associated with armchair bullshit but consider the example of the scene were dieter does an out of nowhere little dance after childishly screaming but then still-killing a zombie, with the film framing this as a micro character triumph, and not a second later the bg soundtrack instantly fades into an orchestral score dramatizing a nearby mcguffin reveal, completely 180 degreeing the tone without a semblance of deft insert shot stitching or even I dont know a fucking jump cut maybe. now imagine this whiplash for 2.5 hrs uninterrupted

I will keep complaining about the length yeah because this was not a story requiring this much real estate to be told. Uhh in my humble and personal opinion, of course

[man sees zombie tiger] “this is crossing the line!” you can in fact write dialogue that is not utter nonsense that falls apart once you drill down its single fickle layer of referential meta winking. what line are you talking about. you have rules in this insane situation you’re in? total nitpick moment I know but it got burned in my brain for some reason. like a microcosm of the mismanaged dramatic instincts paired with weird writing that dots this movie. I am sure the director calls this either satire or genre deconstruction. I am SO sure

tumblr domino meme that goes from “dude getting sucked off while driving” to “entire las vegas literally nuked”

tig notaro is always great to see but once you know she’s been filmed as a separate greenscreen plate months after photography wrapped - cause she had to apparently replace some abusive asshole but that’s a whole other pig not worth fucking - it becomes impossible to unsee her odd detachment from everyone else in the movie lmao. it doesn’t really “ruin” anything on its lonesome but it is hard to unsee

why. was. sean. spicer. in. this. movie

a very simple key ingredient missing from fully turning lip service sympathy for main uruk hai dude into actual empathy that would generate meaningful conflict with hero family would be to spend a bit more time articulating what he internally wanted the most. because he was obviously trying to do something here with pointed agenda. a family, to have kids, build a caste system, save his wife’s head, return to his planet??? all of these could represent the bigger context in his psychology that spurred his vengeance but none of them are dramatically emphasized long enough for you to cheer him on. I’m not asking too much I promise. Articulating interiority of a mute character is pretty doable with deft cinema language, just gotta linger and hold a shot here and there for a few seconds, frame as his POV, donezo. I know this is also one of those like. “who cares” moments but the movie does, very evidently so, in making this guy an actual character. you can kinda piece it together and create a framework of sympathy for him, sure, but then again he ultimately becomes a foil to be killed and not defeated, so. Ehh whatever

quarantine zone stuff was not a wildly childish covid allegory quarantine zone stuff was not a wildly childish covid allegory quarantine zone stuff was n

the rooftop helicopter fakout at the end was such an ass-backwards, manufactured moment of what could be a simple setup/payoff it just pissed me off??? you gain nothing by giving sad dad five seconds of pointless crisis that flips right back to previous status quo ANYWAY, except for a weaksauce waste of runtime, which could be used instead to get inside notaro’s head and actually SHOW the remorse form as she took off, literally maybe even a frown playing on her face as she’s headed for safety right before we cut back to drax and the kid. just a simple-ass, minimal, momentary setup for what is the most basic filmmaking trick of creating macro catharsis moments. Just???? g o d if you can’t even land that shit why are you even doing any of this

that lil run final pam did was very very charming and super choreographed in a way that was the tiiiniest bit overdone

the whole intro with the simul-backstories and posing with family photos was just… oddly motivated. what was the goal? “here’s what we’re fighting for” vignettes? why? it’s not a functional setup in that vein. what was all that

also I am sorry if this is insensitive but the reasons most characters end up articulating to justify going back into the hell that destroyed their lives makes them sound seriously insane

I dont like complaining about CGI (honestly) but so much of it in modern movies can achieve higher fidelity if the animation is simply subdued. Do not overengineer and over-apply 2D cell methodologies and kinematics to each tiny twitch and movement in a hyper 3D model and I promise you. it will look a thousand times more natural. look at thanos in those last two movies. your rendering and detail are absolutely perfect with the tiger you just have to let stuff sit instead of constantly simulating swaying hair strands and firing off all facial muscles at once. great moment at one point where makeup zombie horse and CG zombie tiger are both in one shot together and just by unnecessary amounts of movement alone you can tell who doesn’t belong. again; detail, rendering, compositing, lighting, all picture-perfect; but y’all just gotta let the animation breathe sometimes, and chill it out

plot holes don’t really matter to me but it was kinda funny how lilly decided not to mention the enormous wrinkle in intel pertaining to an actual territorial tribe of intelligent zombies that require human offerings to let you pass, just so that reveal could play out in real time through the joyous punishment of the cartoonishly misogynistic dude

total chad move for mister uruk hai and final pam to rule from a rusted swimming pool complex

the ending with vanderohe oh my god. with the. cash stacks at the airport register. and specifically them working in his favor. that is literally something you do to get arrested under suspicion of theft. it was almost played for laughs and I respect that. coulda been goofier. make these movies goofy ya dorks

anyway, weird, weird movie. bad marketing. message unclear (something something sins of the father???), baffling editing instincts, literal worst-looking cinematography I ever laid eyes upon. Confidently dying on that last hill

#text #long post #aotd spoilers #aotd critical

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