#Grease Live!

[aaronstveit]

Aaron Tveit as Danny Zuko for @cosettepontmercys ♡

[gavincreel]

i'll be waiting by the radio, you'll come back to me someday.

[henry-the-queer-artist]

this is just every queer friend group:

[whitewaterpaper]

Den som väntar på något gott väntar aldrig för länge. @kulturdasset lär bli mäkta imponerad av några av månadens filmval. Det är klart. Värt att vänta på vad det också. 😜

65 (2023) [👍] Riktigt bra SF om en utomjording som hamnar på jorden under dinosauriernas regim.

Australiens (2014) [👎🆓] En budgetstinkare från Australien. Går på komisk knock men svingar vilt i luften.

Dungeons & Dragons: Honor Among Thieves (2023) [👍🔁]

Grease Live! (2016) [👍🎭🔁]

Hairspray Live! (2016) [👍🎭🔁]

Hocus Pocus 2 (2023) [👍🔁]

Kapten Våghals / Captain Scarlett (1952) [🆓] Intressant, och mot alla odds, kombination av Robin Hood och Röda Nejlikan. Hollywood! Vi vill ha en remake franchise!

Lair, the (2022) [__] Neil Marshall, åter i samarbete med Charlotte Kirk, och precis som i The Reckoning inte dåligt men når heller inte riktigt ända fram.

Lost City, the (2022) [👍🔁]

Love of Three Queens / L'amante di Paride (1954) [👎🆓] Spretigt sömnpiller med Hedy Lamarr.

Mord i Venedig / A Haunting in Venice (2023) [👎] När jag tänker tillbaka till Kenneth Branagh föregående exkursion som Poirot (Döden på Nilen, 2020) kommer beskrivningen ”välpolerad yta och dyra färger” för mig. Men vad gör man inte för Michelle Yeoh liksom?

Saga of the Viking Women and Their Voyage to the Waters of the Great Sea Serpent, the (1957) [🔁🆓] Vikingraffel signerat Roger Corman. Den här hade jag tydligen sett tidigare... Ett upptäckt som är ett omdöme i sig.

Ski Troop Attack (1960) [🆓] Skidåkarraffel signerat Roger Corman, han har verkligen fått till det i den här filmen. Om oinspirerat sidåkar-pang-pang är vad man längtar efter. Jag tror storyn tog en annan nedfart, för den minns jag inte mycket av.

Totally Killer (2023) [👍] Hallå, hej! Amazon får till en underhållande liten skräckkomedi som andas klassiska grepp och tillbaka till framtiden. Me like! Kommer antagligen ses igen.

Vidioten / UHF (1989) [__] Idag kanske mer ett underhållande tidsdokument om tiden innan YouTube gjorde videostjärnor av svenssons.

WarGames (1983) [👍🔁] Idag, i skuggan av AI kanske ännu mer aktuell än någonsin. Står fortfarande stadigt utan behov av remakes. Lekte med tanken att se uppföljaren, tills jag såg att den bara fanns på hyr-tjänsterna.

@kulturdasset lär börja drägla över husguden Neil Marshalls senaste, hen bör dock trycka på play där med något nedskruvade förväntningar. Resten tycker jag skall ge Totally Killer eller Kapten Våghals en chans. Den senare är kanske inte A-klassad underhållning, men väl värd en chans.

För den nyfikne med ett sug efter en utmaning såg jag the Reckoning i februari 2021.

[the-invisible-queer]

Choose a fictional Joe Jonas

[onelegmissing]

"Grease" Backstories

Sandy Olsson/Yung/Dumbrowski

In “Grease Live!” Sandy’s family is from Utah, and her parents are extremely controlling, to the point of not allowing her to attend school dances. It’s believed that in this version, her family are strict Mormons.

This background works for most any time period. But if we want to tie her story closer to the ‘50s, and/or just want her to be from Australia or someplace else, here’s another idea:

Sandy’s father has a prestigious position in….some business or another. The “change of plans” that caused the family to abruptly move to another state/country/side of the globe happened when his longtime business associate was Blacklisted as a Communist. Mr. Olsen/Young/Whoever ended that partnership on the spot and moved his family as far away from that associate as possible.  He is obsessed with his family’s good, upstanding, “family values” reputation.

And Sandy of course just wants to be a teenager.

Danny Zuko:

“You’re lucky to have parents who care so much; mine don’t care about anything.”

~ Danny Zuko, “Grease Live!” (2016)

This single line goes worlds to explaining Danny’s dependence on the T-Birds, and why he’s drawn to a sensitive girl like Sandy.

So why don’t his parents care about anything?

Danny is the result of a shotgun wedding. Dad the veteran unknowingly knocked up Danny’s mom just before shipping out to Japan. Mr. Zuko returned from the War with untreated PTSD, and a son he didn’t plan on. Because of the time period, Danny’s parents were pressured to get married. They don’t exactly fight, they just exist in a loveless marriage, begrudgingly raising their kids in a house full of untreated PTSD and substance abuse.

Kenickie:

Note: I have absolutely no clue where the Grease Wiki gets the “Kenickie Murdock” from. The name “Murdock” is not given to Kenickie in either the movie or the TV version, and I can find no evidence of it being in the stage version either. The only “Murdock” in the play/movie is Mrs. Murdock the shop teacher, and there’s no indication of any relationship to Kenickie, bar maybe the car connection. In any case, Kenickie itself is a last name.

Kenickie’s “Mom” tattoo is pretty damn corny, but if you can get past that, it’s a detail that drops a bombshell of backstory hints.

For all his edgelord behavior, Kenickie is stunningly chivalrous when he learns Rizzo may be pregnant. Even nowadays, a true asshole would run out on her. Here it’s the ‘50s, he wants to be there for her and his hypothetical unplanned kid.  Rizzo knows what a hardass Kenickie is, yet thinks crying in front of him is “the worst thing I could do”--worse than dating his enemy and telling him “it’s someone else’s kid.”

Here’s my spin: Kenickie’s mom died from some disease like Cancer or radium poisoning. It was slow and emotionally scarring, and Rizzo knows about it. She knows seeing a woman he cares about in emotional distress again would break him.

His father is alive, but absent, if not literally then at least emotionally. Kenickie was apparently gone the entire summer, none of the other T-Birds knew where he was for three months. The Bargain City he was lugging boxes at was apparently out of town. Who was he living with for the summer? His grandparents? A friend of the family? Who knows.

Betty Rizzo:

She’s “the school tramp” (“Grease Live!”) and the neighborhood thinks she’s trashy. Yet she doesn’t seem to live in a ghetto or anything, if the opening cartoon is anything to go by. She’s from a working-class family that just has a bad reputation, probably for incredibly stupid reasons given that it’s the ‘50s.

Betty’s mom had her out of wedlock and didn’t bother to hide it. She did eventually get married—to the neighborhood gambling addict. The last person to find out that this guy wasn’t Betty’s rea father was Betty. Since having that bomb dropped on her, Betty’s one scruple is that she doesn’t lie.

Frenchie:

Has a relatively normal family. She’s Jewish (because Didi Cohn). No one in her nuclear family has any numbers tattooed on their arms though; they’ve been in the States since the Twenties. Why does she have her own TV in her room in the ‘50s? She doesn’t; the Pink Ladies just commandeered the family set for the night.

What do her parents think of her academic decisions? They’re a bit exasperated by her dropping out, pursuing that beauty-school pipe-dream, and having to stay in high school a bit longer to make up for it. But it’s not of the world. Frenchie has a relatively normal, if sit-commy family.

Jan:

The only thing really making her an outcast is that she eats a lot and she’s quirky. Mom frequently gives her grief for her unhealthy eating habits and sketchy friends, but on the whole Jan has a pretty normal life. Or maybe not-so-normal by ‘50s standards. Nothing gets Jan down. Not being called “fat,” not being compared to a cartoon beaver, nothing. Her family doesn’t adhere to the ridged rules of ‘50s society. Her parents are beanik-y artists.

Doody:

His skittish personality runs in the family.  His father is hyper-paranoid that the Russians will nuke us any day now, and upkeeps the family bomb shelter obsessively. Dad has so much unnecessary crap hoarded up for the supposed Armageddon that Doody has no trouble finding parts for Greased Lightning right at home.

Sonny Latierri:

…has been flukning school a lot. It’s implied in the TV version, and goes universes to explaining why he particularly looks so old in the movie even compared to the other “teenagers.”

Putzie:

Even with your slash-goggles off, his character screams “in the closet” pretty hard. He takes ogling girls to extremes, and “jokingly” feels up Kenickie during “Summer Nights” in the movie. The only indication that he might be into girls for real is his admittedly adorable flirtation with Jan, and even could just have been playground-romance. Or he could be bi.

Marty:

Having boy-toys all over the world means that Marty probably has some familiarity with the different subcultures overseas. She has a feu greasers here in the States and one in Canada; a Teddy Boy in England; a drag-racing Raggare in Sweden; a Bōsōzoku in Japan; and a wildly-dressed Halbstarke in Germany, who sends her the weirdest gifts.  

Crater-Face:

…is not the token racist, because that’s just lazy writing.  

Aside from that, I don’t know that I can give him a serious backstory, because his movie-counterpart is just so distractingly old for the part. I jokingly head-canon that he’s a conman in his 40s hiding from both the mafia and the law, trying unconvincingly to live the false identity of a high school student.  

Or maybe he’s a cop on assignment to infiltrate teenage drag-racing gangs.

Principal McGee:

The tight-laced principal doesn’t want any of her students to know that when she was in high school, in the Roaring Twenties, she was the wildest flapper in California.

Mrs. Murdock

As a young woman in the ‘30s, she was part of a small gang of robbers akin to Bonnie and Clyde or the Dillinger gang. This is what led to her prison time. She got a shortened sentence for her work as a wrench-wench during the War. She misses the old times, which is why she assists the T-Birds in their illicit vehicular activities.

[toxintouch]

yk how in veres likes on his character sheet it says he like cooking (badly)…… WHY HAS NO ONE DONE A FIC ABOUT THAT YET‼️⁉️⁉️ THAT SHOULD NOTTT BE A WASTED OPPORTUNITY. i’m not even joking im ab to send this to so many people because i can’t let this go to waste 😞

Here u are anon!  For the record, you are completely free to send this prompt around wherever you’d like!  It was such a fun idea, I’d love to see more takes on it. ^^

Warnings: Vere talking Innuendos? Innuendos.  So many, and I don’t guarantee that they are funny lol.  Just a general silly vibe and imo: absolutely  tooth rotting fluff.

‧₊˚ ⋅ 𓐐𓎩 ‧₊˚ ⋅SOUS CHEF ‧₊˚♡₊˚

You find yourself wandering through Lowtown during the lunch hour, trying to decide what sounds like a good meal.

Your mouth waters at the scents being carried on the breeze, a plethora of pleasant aromas wafting out of the eateries nestled inside the Amaryllis District, so fragrant that you can smell them all the way down on the bustling streets of Lowtown as long as you stay downwind.

However, if there’s one nice thing about knowing Leander it's that you also know you don’t have to go that far (or spend that much) for a delicious lunch. 

Near enough to the Wet Wick, there’s a series of side streets that make up an eclectic amalgamation of Lowtown and the Amaryllis District, and in it: a small and inconspicuous eatery.  The menu changes often, though you aren’t sure if that’s out of innovation or necessity, but the food is always filling and reasonably priced.

You follow the winding streets, getting lost for a brief moment before correcting your course, traveling until you see colorful chipped girih tiles and wide, clean windows.  You let yourself into the shop, the now familiar sound of hinges in need of an oiling welcoming you.  

There’s an assortment of goods on display–jars of honey and spiced fruit and loaves of braided bread with seeds–all kept safely locked away beneath an enchanted pane of glass.

Looking around, though, you don’t see anyone selling said fantastic wares.

You call out, expecting the shop keep or her wife to come running but instead you hear…silence.

Followed by a loud metallic clatter.

You freeze, unsure what to do, what the threat is–if there’s even a threat?–but before you can make up your mind, you’re greeted by a most unexpected sight.

Vere comes out of the kitchen area, his hair swept into an artfully stunning up-do that reveals the long line of his neck and clavicle, blemished only by the heavy collar locked around his throat. 

He’s wearing a weighty linen apron over his clothing, presumably to protect his outfit, though–his long gossamer sleeves are completely discordant with the notion, making you think that maybe the apron is more of an aesthetic choice.

“What’s this–?  A mouse?  In my kitchen?” Vere asks playfully as you continue to stare, dumbfounded.  He wields a spatula in his hand like a weapon–swatching it into his off-hand like a riding crop with a decisive snap.

“Where is–?”

“–The shop keep?  Wherever she pleases–the shop’s closed on Mondays.”

(You really don’t like the way he’s watching you…  Or the way he keeps inching closer…)

You take a step backwards, your eyes never leaving his.  “Oh,” you say, bandaged hands reaching blindly behind you.  “I didn’t realize.  The door was unlocked, so…”  You trail off.

You find the doorknob at last.  You attempt to turn it only to find that it won’t budge.

“Was it?”

Vere saunters up to you, tail swaying behind him.  You manage to tear your eyes away from his predator stare to search for possible exits, though you know for a fact you won’t be fast enough.   You look back and he’s already in your space, crowding you against the entryway.

(He smells really good, actually.  Like leather and spice and the subtle cling of perfume and incense.  And beneath that, something–earthy–animalistic, but in a way that’s intoxicating as opposed to unpleasant.)

“I was just about to make myself a snack–how nice that a snack came to me.”

“Stop playing around.” You try to steel yourself and inject the perfect amount of scolding into your voice while combating his heated stare.  “I know you’re just fucking with me to try and get a reaction; you and I both know you’re not going to eat me.” 

If he was, he would have done it by now.  Sometime within the weeks you’ve known him.  …Probably. 

Unless he just likes to play with his food.

“I didn’t realize you knew me so well,”  he says, looking amused.  “Perhaps I didn’t plan to, but now I simply can’t resist.  You look so absolutely delectable, how could I possibly contain myself?”

You don’t get the chance to reply.  Vere’s countenance changes suddenly–you watch his ears flatten a second before you hear the screaming whistle of a teapot.  His ears twitch in annoyance at the sound, his perfectly sculpted face showing a sour sneer.  He gives you a sideways glance, calculating.

“Then again.  I find myself in need of a sous chef.  Congratulations on your promotion.  Come along now.”  He hooks a finger into your cloak and pulls you easily into the kitchen.  (To be fair, you don’t struggle.  Anyone would want to see where this is going, right?)

He releases you once you’ve crossed over the threshold, waving his fingers uncaringly towards a second apron affixed to a hook on the wall as he beelines to remove a glass teapot from the stove and stifle the noise.  He moves quickly as you watch, casually throwing aside the spatula in his hand in favor of an ornate silver teaspoon.  He measures a vibrantly colored tea into the inlaid steeping container of the equally ornate teapot and takes a pleased inhale as the tea’s fragrance blooms, humming as he flips over a delicate hourglass to keep track of the steeping time.

There’s silence for a moment–

Him watching the teapot and you watching him.

“Well?”  He asks, without looking up.  You’ve seen this look before, you think – this pensive, almost lonesome look that makes your heart ache against all better judgment.  “Staying or going?”

He grins when you put on the apron.  You search his face for some sincerity, but he’s all sharp teeth and tall ears, covering any glimpses of deeper emotion with a sheen of smugness.  He circles you once you have the apron on, taking in the image.

“Mm, don’t you just look adorable.  Very domesticated.”

You’re pretty sure that the word he’s looking for is domestic. But of course, he knows what he said and he meant to say it.  You decide that he’s probably betting on your correction, already armed with a witty retort.  You smooth the apron down while pointedly looking away, deciding that you won’t give him the satisfaction.  You hear him chuckle.

Since you’re avoiding looking at Vere, you look around the kitchen for the first time.

It’s a spacious workspace–moreso than the storefront, even.  There’s a large iron stove unlike anything you’ve ever seen, covered with magical runes and dials, with a large hearth built into the belly of it.  A plethora of pots and pans have been placed on the burners, left to sizzle and pop in the red hot heat.  

Oil is singing from the heated, shallow basins but you don’t see anything cooking inside.  

There’s a slab of meat diced into neat squares and a heaping bowl of lumpy batter set to the side of the stove top.

“What are you making?”  You ask, trying to make sense of the scene.

“Panko crusted fish filet.  And there’s a pasta in the oven.  For dessert, I was thinking–” he gives you a sly look, one that makes your ears feel warm, “hmm, well.  I just had a much better idea in regards to dessert.”  He makes a show of licking his fangs, the movements of his tongue slow and sensual.

You think you tied your apron too tight; your airway is feeling a little constricted.  It seems to be getting worse the longer you watch.

You clear your throat, tearing your eyes away.  More ingredients, most partially prepared, and a host of dirtied pots and pans greet you.  You turn your back to him as you explore, fully engrossed in all of the views that the mess of a kitchen has to offer.  You’re almost afraid to ask: “So, what am I here to help with?”

“Oh?”  You don’t hear Vere come up next to you, but you feel him brushing up against you.  “Does my darling sous chef require…instruction?  A guiding hand, so to speak?”  You freeze, feeling his breath against your ear, shivers running down your spine at his light and teasing chuckle.

But then he’s breezing past you, making a wide dramatic gesture toward the large tome perched surreptitiously on the counter.  “Lucky for you, I’ve a recipe.”  His tail wags swishes elegantly behind him as he beams with pride.

His tail knocks the whisk out of the mystery batter beside the fish filet but he takes no notice.

Vere hops gracefully up onto the counter, reaching for the batter.  He does an impressive twist in order to grab hold of another whisk and you take the time to appreciate that.  Then, with Vere occupied and seemingly ignoring you, you take a look at the recipe book.  

The text is old and withered with the occasional dash of sprawling spidery script painting the margins.  (Said writing is utterly illegible–you’re actually not sure if it’s in a language you can read, though if you squint you think you can see something that looks like the word ‘cake’.)  The page it’s opened to is ripped in half, rendering precious steps of the recipe lost to time.  You spot a mysterious bite mark piercing through the corner of the leather cover.

And can’t stop yourself from surreptitiously glancing over at Vere.  He’s moved on from the batter (which looks as lumpy as it did a minute ago) and is now eating skewers of raw fish with his nails.

“You’re not supposed to eat while you cook,” you say, the time worn words out of your mouth before you can examine your personal stance on them.

“Says who?  Some limp dick?  No shame in indulging, pet.”

“You’re not even gonna have anything left to cook,” you warn.

“Hum, sounds like my sous chef should get to work covering them in batter instead of just standing there before I eat them all.”

You roll your eyes, but follow through with instructions.  The space is unfamiliar and your movements are slow and unsure with Vere looming over you from his perch on high, watching.

One of the pans of oil gives an ominous pop.  “Hmm, sounds like it’s hot enough,” says Vere.  “Move over.”

“Is that safe?”

“For me,” Vere says simply.  “And it’s faster.  Now stand further back or you'll get splattered–and not in the fun way.”  Idly, he tosses a batter covered filet into the shallow pan.  The resulting hiss makes you both cringe.

As if on queue, the hourglass for the tea gives a gentle chime, lighting up with a golden glow.  (You’re beginning to wonder how this humble shop can afford all these magical items, but then again this is the city of secrets.  You’re probably better off not knowing.)  Vere’s ears perk up, pleased.  He tosses the remaining fillets in the pan without a fuss, setting lids on top of each to contain the oil, acting as if doing so is going to stop any potential disaster.

Main course forgotten, he moves on to digging something out from inside one of the many cupboards.  “Be a dear and cut this for me, will you?”  He hands you a delicate peach before heading to the tea pot, stirring the contents and adding what must be a priceless amount of honey.

The peach in your hand is overripe but still vibrant–amazing, as you haven’t seen fresh fruit at all since you came to Eridia.  Your mouth waters anew as you remember what led you here in the first place–your quest for a meal–and you’re almost tempted to take a bite, follow Vere’s advice and sink your teeth in.

“My, my.  I’m almost jealous.  I thought you only looked at me like that.”

Vere shushes the denial from your lips, bossing you around regarding how he wants the peach sliced before shooing you out of his way and finishing his remaining tea preparations,with the look of an artist at work.  The tea is a warm oolong color, made only more alluring once the infusion of peach is complete.

It’s refreshing, too, once Vere serves it to you over ice.

You can almost ignore the great plumes of smoke coming from the oven.

Vere cooks how others might enjoy a leisurely stroll. 

Which is to say, he seems to be having fun, but you’re not convinced he intends on really going anywhere.  Still, there’s a rhythm to it–a dance, though he leads you in expected loops and turns, changes the tune at a moment's notice.  He’ll get bored of the task at hand and find some new spice to peruse, demand you taste test an ingredient or give your opinion on a dizzying new flavor he’s concocted.

(He manages to convince you to sample a bit of cucumber soup from the cold box.  You retch, proclaiming it salty, downing another glass of delicious peach oolong–

“I can still taste it in the back of my throat…!”–and he cackles wildly.)

Thick locks of hair are falling out of his up-do by the time he’s satisfied, framing his face and bringing your attention, again to the inviting line of his clavicle.  He tosses his loose hair over his shoulder, preening.

The recipe book is basically ruined, and the pasta is null and void, but some of the fillets look mildly edible.  The artful garnish is beautiful, at least.  The kale and orange slices really bring out the crispy burnt bits.  Vere seems to enjoy plating the food a great deal, humming and rearranging and circling the display until he deems it arranged to perfection.

He’s elegant when he takes a bite, biting down with a crunch.  His tail goes very still for a moment, then shivers microscopically as he chews.  He swallows in a manner that you can only describe as dignified, dabbing his lips with a napkin.  You wait in anticipation, but Vere says nothing for a long time.  Then, he quietly takes the old recipe book and throws it away.

Thankfully, he doesn’t insist on you trying it too.

You end up snacking on some of the pre-made goods, drinking the remaining tea and lounging at one of the shop’s cozy little tables.  The mood is light and easy, and the view is magnificent.  Outside, there’s nothing but trash littered streets and urchins, but inside…the afternoon glow coming from the window illuminates Vere like a sunset, painting him in dazzling shades of gold and red and bronze.

Vere hums, peering at you pointedly through his sooty lashes.  “So, dessert?”

You can’t imagine the look that comes across your face–whatever it is, it makes Vere laugh.

“What are you giving me that look for?  My intentions are pure.” His voice is a masterclass in syrupy false-innocence.  “As clean as Leander’s bed sheets after–”

“Please don’t finish that sentence and give me any mental images,” you beg.  “I have to sleep there tonight, I’d rather not know.”

“Ignorance is bliss.”  Vere agrees, closing his eyes and appearing to bask in the sun for a moment.  His face does something that you don’t quite catch–some hidden expression–but then, he’s smiling easily.  He must really be relaxed if he can still smile seconds after thinking about Leander.  You’re still admiring him when the shadows against the walls flicker, and suddenly he isn’t sitting next to you any more.

Instead, he’s returning from the kitchen, a tray in hand.

He sets it down in front of you, revealing an assortment of strawberries and an ornate silver porringer of what appears to be melted chocolate.  Vere sets it down on the table, plucking the small dessert spoon from the chocolate once he’s seated across from you again.

“Occasionally, life does offer up something sweet to savor–only for those willing to go out and take it.”  His tongue darts out to lick the chocolate off the spoon in his hand.  He maintains eye contact as his tongue laves across the basin and–embarrassingly–you think you get a little lightheaded from the intensity with which your blood rushes to your face.  The crinkles at the corners of his eyes tell you that he know exactly where your mind has gone.

Setting the spoon down, Vere instead picks up a bare strawberry, leaning in closer to press it gently to your mouth.

The chocolate is overly bitter–a little burnt, perhaps, but you can’t find it in yourself to care when you’re tasting the remnants of it on Vere’s lips.

(Before leaving, you plop a few coins down on the counter as payment.  You brought enough to cover your food…but definitely not enough to cover the mess in the kitchen.  There’s really nothing you can do about that.  

You hope you don’t get blacklisted.  You’d like to come back next Monday.)

Hope you enjoyed if you made it this far! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

[ashleyslorens]

AARON TVEIT + The Eras Tour Poster

[sapphosclown]

“i still hate you.” “okay!”

[aaronstveit]

Aaron Tveit as Danny Zuko • Grease Live! (2016)

[naffeclipse]

So, do Grease and Hawthorn actually live somewhere (like a specific tree or a junkyard) or do they just keep moving around? And why does MC live with Calmo?

Hawthorn has a nest in a tree deep within the woods, far from where any human should wander. It's very comfortable despite looking like a great arrangement of twigs, grass, and spider silk. He will steal MC away for a night of cuddles there.

Grease has no place of refuge, but he thinks MC would like it more if he did, so he finds and converts the basement of a condemned building on the outskirts of town into a makeshift home. The first time he takes MC there, MC thinks he intends to kill MC. But no, Grease is only proud of this terrifying murder-y basement place and figures it would do the trick of impressing MC. He is wrong.

Calmo lives with MC in MC's small house due to how MC stumbles upon a garage sale nearby looking to sell a lot of old junk. MC is searching for a cute teapot but finds what appears to be a 90s computer setup. It's unlike anything MC has seen due to being strange and malformed. The man selling it gives it away practically for free to MC, saying it belonged to an uncle of his before he died, and MC takes it home with the intent of maybe finding out if it's worth anything to collectors or people into old 90s tech. Maybe make a buck or two off of it. Instead, when MC touches the computer, a slight shock jumps off of MC's fingers and into the computer, the sort that collects when walking around with socks on the carpet. MC hardly notices and continues to try and find a way to turn it on but fails. Ultimately, MC leaves it be for the night only to wake up to a robotic figure standing at the foot of MC's bed with brilliant red optics cutting through the darkness.

A scream or two later, MC officially meets Calmo. Calmo has lots of questions about, well, everything. MC allows him to stay because he needs a home and help with... whatever he is. Thus, Calmo lives with MC.

[henry-the-queer-artist]

my taste in movies and shows and plays is weird because what I like can range from the literal darkest grittiest stuff (Like Minds, Les Mis (to a degree)) to the most ridiculously whimsical silly musicals ever (Grease, Wonka, etc.)

[hyrulianhobbit]

Big Theatre: “we can’t record live theatre shows, then no one will come see them!!!!” 😡

Me, watching Phantom of the Opera for the millionth time: “I would give literally anything to be sitting under than chandelier again.” 😭😭😭

[the-invisible-queer]

[onelegmissing]

Grease Live! (2016)

In terms of the music, there’s no contest. The songs in this TV stage adaptation range from okay to atrocious, and the opening theme is unfortunately the worst by far. But “Grease Live!” makes up for that by doing so much more with the characters and story than the film version does. 

The entire cast is great, giving their own spins on the characters. My only complaint is that the T-Birds are hard to tell apart at times, due to all having such similar hair and coats in this version. 

In this version, Sandy has ultra-controlling parents. Thus, her bad-girl makeover at the end comes off more like her own choice, rather than giving into peer pressure. Danny is also considerably more likable, bar his big lie at the beach, which gives Sandy more of a reason to be upset when they reunite at Rydell. 

THAT FRIGGIN DINER ! 

Cameo! 

Marty is arguably the biggest improvement in this version. In the 1978 version I found her to be the least interesting or memorable character. Keke Palmer gives Marty her own swag. Though she also has the unfair advantage of getting to sing Marty’s one solo “Freddie My Love,” deleted from the movie version.

Vanessa Hudgens’ father died the night before “Grease Live” premiered--live--on TV. But she performed phenomenally as Rizzo.  

Eugene plays a more significant role in this version, not the least of which contributes to making Danny more likable than in the movie. 

If you’re a Rizzo/Kenickie fan, this version is definitely worth checking out. She comes to Thunder Road, this time. 

“Beauty School Dropout,” sadly, is another point against this version. Not the least because you can barely hear the singers!

Just a funny pause. Caption at your leisure. 

I love how this version ties Kenickie’s head-injury into his plotline with Rizzo. And I also love the face of that one guy on the right (Sonny I think?) 

Danny’s reaction to Sandy’s makeover. 

If you love “Grease,” give this version a shot...even if you have to skip through some of the music numbers. 

[shallowoak]

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