#Monsieur Moreau

[sincerelystuggling]

Jabberwocky Moreau

Jean is 100% going to be every dad to ever to get a dog. He hates it at first, he vehemently denied getting one but gave in at the very end. He still hates it, he refuses the creature, the "beast" he keeps calling him. But like every dog dad out there that dog is going to be his favorite one in the house, and he will live and breathe for that dog. Clearly Jabberwocky already loves him, Jean is his favorite. He wants to sit in Jean's lap first and foremost. They locked eyes in those kennels and Jab said yes absolutely sir. They clocked each other so fast. Immediately chose Jean as safe and fell asleep in his arms. Jean may even deny forever how much he cares for Jabberwocky but how quickly is he going to be carting that dog around everywhere they go because he doesn't want the dog to get lonely.

[beedragony]

I’m sorry but Monsieur Bowwow is the funniest name I’ve ever heard. Oui Señor has nothing on Monsieur Bowwow. “The withering look Jean sent them for that had Cat nearly crying with laughter.” I think they should get a second dog and name it Monsieur Bowwow, if only to piss off the Frenchman.

[alaindelontoujours]

Alain Delon, Jeanne Moreau et le directeur Joseph Losey photographiés par Michel Ginfray pendant le tournage de Monsieur Klein (1976)

[illustraction]

MR. KLEIN (1976) - ALAIN DELON MOVIE POSTERS (Part 8/20)

One of ALAIN DELON's best ever dramatic roles in this WW2 Shoah related drama

Above are original movie posters from East Germany, Italy and Japan (click on each image for details)

Director: Joseph Losey Actors: Alain Delon, Jeanne Moreau

ALL OUR ALAIN DELON POSTERS ARE HERE

If you like this entry, check the other 19 parts of this week’s Blog as well as our Blog Archives

All our NEW POSTERS are here All our ON SALE posters are here

The posters above courtesy of ILLUSTRACTION GALLERY

[codename-adler]

#also laughing at the clarification that this is not renee erasure it’s just funny bc valid of you

and upon that reflection, hear me out

-> the women Jean has been/is canonically close with, in any way: Thea, Renee, Cat, Laila.

-> backline, goalie, backline, goalie.

protectors of the court. last line of defense. got your back. at your back. their gender and position have never been a threat. their role is to protect and defend. they don’t take. they guard and make way for your escape. whether he loves them romantically or platonically, Jean trusts them. enough to let them have his back. enough to let them shield him.

unshakeable. reliable. strong. safe.

-> the men Jean has been/is canonically close with, in any way: Kevin, Neil, Jeremy.

-> striker, striker, striker.

leaders of the court. first line of offense. Jean got their back. in front of him. their gender and position have been threats. their role is to attack and conquer. they take. they rely on your guard and run wherever you’ve managed to make way. whether he loves them romantically or platonically, Jean is the one they put their trust in. not by nature, perhaps more by nurture, Jean makes himself their protector. he is their shield. he has eyes on them at all times. they never get behind him. he sees them fly.

shiny. fast. driven. dangerous.

but Neil’s also been backline. it’s no coincidence he took Jean’s safety and survival to heart. he’s like that. undefinable. wild. sword and shield.

and Kevin’s learned to play both hands. learned to adapt. changed his angle. to view the game differently. play different. built himself back up on his own. he’s not on the other side like before. he sees more. past and present. he makes amends. he fixed what needs to be fixed. the game, his hands, Jean.

so maybe there’s hope for Jeremy just yet.

I love that Jean has a type and that type is strikers

[elene78-blog]

I believe in the possibility that, in this trilogy, Kevin tells Andrew something very specific before he leaves for California. Something like this:

"I need to add a clause to our deal, Andrew. An exception."

Andrew looks at Kevin without the slightest interest. With his suitcase packed for a flight to California in three hours, it's not hard to guess what Kevin wants.

"Do you really want to add a fine print or are you still drunk on self-pity?" Kevin stares at him. Andrew ends up shrugging his shoulders. "I don't know if you're confusing your memories with reality, but just because Moreau hasn't been able to defend himself in these years doesn't mean he can't break your face... or your other hand."

Kevin frowns, somewhere between annoyed and surprised.

"...How do you know I'm talking about Jean?"

"Can anyone else make you so guilty that you want me to beat you up to make you feel better?"

"I don't want Jean to beat me up. I just want you to stay out of my way if Jean decides to."

Kevin doesn't understand. Andrew had already subdued his anger when they met. It only took one look at Jean for Andrew to understand that he hasn't even explored her. If the Frenchman has half the rage Andrew has ever felt, Kevin will be dead before he blinks.

"I know Monsieur Miserable's old fury, Kevin. It's a ticking bomb and you won't want to be around when it goes off."

"Jean won't go that far. He's not... like the others Ravens, at all. And if he does, it will be a beating in return for what he has received for me."

Andrew is not convinced. Honestly, he likes this trip to California less and less. Every time someone goes there, something bad happens. Furthermore, Moreau is not a saint of his devotion. No one who had witnessed Neil and Kevin's misery was, no matter Moreau's circumstances. However, there is something that Andrew understands and respects.

The debts are paid. The promises are kept.

Neil had repaid a debt months ago. Kevin had to pay his own.

"If you are in danger of death, I will stop it. In any other case, I will not move. Enough?" Kevin nods and leaves.

[stabbyfoxandrew]

hii, how's it going? happy wipw ☀️

you know i love Angel Neil, Mafia Front and Arsonist Neil equally but i am HOOKED on the recent events of Mafia (devastating but really good), so could i ask for that? i will be more than happy with either of the others if they're flowing better though : )

thank you!! wishing you have a lovely week <33

WIP Wednesday (3/5) | Arsonist Neil / Firefighter Andrew AU (Part 286)

"Yeah, yeah. The Kev picture. That was from you, this is from us. Besides, this is a reason for you two to meet up again." Jeremy says with a wink that would've reduced Andrew into a puddle if he were anyone else. (Or at least, a younger version of himself.)

"Feeling devious today are we?"

"A little." Jeremy grins. But Kevin is unmoved.

"I already did my part," he says, passing the card back to Jeremy who sticks his bottom lip out at him. After a couple minutes of prodding, he folds like a lawn chair and slaps his signature— eight letters, no more and no less— right under Jeremy's with a huff. "Fine, there."

"What have they done to ruffle you this time, mon tresor?" Jean says when he enters to find Kevin pouting. He pushes his hand into Kevin's hair while Jeremy explains this new plan. By the time he's through, Kevin is almost melted into the couch under Jean's hand and Jean looks amused. "You are making us sign this card to get Andrew laid."

"No! Well, I mean. Maybe, I don't know. But Andrew is our friend and he likes this hot guy and that's a good enough reason, now sign." Jeremy says, thrusting the pen into Jean's hand. Instead of using the table like a civilized person, Jean signs it against Andrew's back.

"Moreau."

"I am nearly done, hold still." Jean chides. Then the pen is clicking and the card is right in front of Andrew's face. "There you are. Go forth and get laid, on us."

"Merci, I guess." Andrew glances down to see Jean's addition and it's... gibberish. It also has his name mixed up in it.

"Joyeux Noël. Soyez gentils avec Andrew, Jean Moreau #29"

"What did you write?" Andrew demands.

"None of your business. It is not meant for you," Jean brushes him off.

"Kevin, translate," Andrew says, putting it in front of Kevin. His green eyes cross the page and a smile crosses his face. Then Jeremy feels it's his duty to do the same, the same sappy smile on his lips.

"If Monsieur Flame needs help, he can use the Google." Jean tells him. Andrew throws a glare his way but Jean does not catch it, so Andrew merely tucks the card into his jacket, exchanges another round of goodbyes, and leaves.

[tribundupeuple]

Paris, the 12th Germinal, Year I of the Republic (April 1st, 1793)

To the Esteemed Citoyen Maximilien Robespierre, Deputy of the Convention, Defender of the Republic, and Advocate of Virtue,

Permit me a brief inquiry on behalf of my readers, who have expressed interest in the early life of our most dedicated public servants. Would you be willing to share your reflections on your time at the Collège Louis-le-Grand?

Were the instructors as strict as many claim, and did your fellow students—many of aristocratic origin—receive you with warmth, or with the dismissiveness often shown to provincials? More broadly, did you consider your childhood there a happy one, or marked by hardship and solitude?

With the highest regard,

Elise Moreau

Journalist for Le Moniteur Républicain

Paris, 26th Germinal, Year I of the Republic. (April 15th, 1793)

Citoyenne Moreau,

I hope you will find the kindness to forgive me for this late reply. At the beginning of April, I left Paris to spend some time with a dear friend in the North of France and consequently neglected my work correspondence.

You are right, getting into such a prestigious Parisian school was difficult. I started off with a considerable disadvantage: when they could afford it, pupils from noble families were rigorously taught by private tutors from an early age, who introduced them to what we had to learn later, on the job and with fewer resources. This included Latin, which was compulsory in Louis-le-Grand, as we weren't allowed to speak any other language including to each other after class. As for our relations with the students who were more privileged than we were: they didn't receive us with warmth nor with contempt, we were quite invisible in their eyes. But this is quite normal in this environment. Law studies are very competitive, and we had to fight for places, which were dwindling each year. Most of us were not here to make friends.

I attended college until 1781 and got my law degree quite late, as I was constantly taking extra classes and years to learn more things, like Latin rhetoric. I had to follow this class for two years, because it was difficult for me to endure oral exams, and it helped me to avoid becoming petrified or simply invisible in front of the strong personalities and loud voices that surround me today at the National Convention. My rhetoric teacher, Monsieur Hérivaux, was a patient and kind man, without whom I might not be where I am today. There were good and bad teachers, as in every school. I prefer to remember the good ones, the ones who brought me positive things. I also took philosophy classes because you could get a scholarship when you signed up for the exams (and one of the essays was about Voltaire, which sparked my curiosity).

I also wandered a lot, because before delving into Rousseau's writings, I didn't really have a deep vocation. I knew I was going to be a lawyer, like my father and his father before him, and I aspired to nothing more than a comfortable social position to support Augustin and Charlotte. They deserved to fully live the childhood I was deprived of. It was while I was in Paris that I discovered Jean-Jacques, that touching, solitary man who was so similar to me. I enrolled in rhetoric because he gave me the vocation and the courage, and from then on I knew what I wanted to do: fight the injustice of this world, extricate human virtue and goodness from its shackles of corruption and wickedness, and restore the world to its natural, carefree state.

I'm not ashamed to show my account books, I admit it without fear of ridicule, because many students are still nowadays in the same situation as I was: I needed financial aid and scholarships to get through those too-long studies, and when I had extra money, I sent it to my family, especially after the death of my grandfather (who had also taken on the role of tutor) in 1778. To be rewarded, we had to work incredibly hard, get excellent grades and be among the top students in our classes.

I was often criticized for signing my letters “De Robespierre” when I was a young man, but you have to understand that we all used false particles. All of us, including Camille who was called “Des Moulins”. Trying to look respectable, and therefore noble, was a prerequisite for any hope of success. We did it to get the crumbs we needed to survive; it was an inescapable humiliation. That is why we, as true Republicans, go to such lengths to establish equality in law and in fact on the school benches for the future of our children. In Rosati's time, I was fond of Fouché mainly because he loved his pupils with touching sincerity and never made a distinction between an underprivileged boy and a “son of” with a noble name. He had great plans for what the school could be in the future. But then, he became... what he became.

As far as my childhood in general is concerned, it was never difficult for me to be alone. When I found out that Jean-Jacques had spent his life in solitude because of the general lack of understanding of his genius and ideas, which were perhaps too advanced, too revolutionary for his time, I already felt less lonely because I was spiritually by his side. For the rest, I didn't have many friends, and I wasn't trying very hard to make any. I had Camille and that was enough for me, because he was a true friend who looked like me and understood me, who shared even my wildest dreams and who would have followed me to the ends of the earth. And when I came home at the weekend, I was happy to see my family again.

I think I answered everything...

I hope I gave you enough content for what you want to write.

Salut et à bientôt, Citoyenne Moreau.

[ggomomomo]

académie chapter 5 | An Offer

"Why is it when trouble is caused, it turns out to be the three of you?"

Chloe clasps her hands on her lap. She has come down from the high of taking down two sentimonsters and wielding a Miraculous for the first time and is now facing the consequences. The three of them are sitting in Madame Bélanger's office in front of her desk. The scent of hot tea wafts inside the room, steaming coming towards their teacher's name plate poised in a manner that looks reproachful to her. The stone-faced Monsieur Pierre stands next to the door like a guard.

"What do you take the school administration for?" Bélanger continues in her clipped tone. "Idiots? Do you have any idea of what you've done?"

The three stay silent with bowed heads. Chloe is halfway to a panic. She'll be disqualified from the competition for sure, maybe even expelled, and her father will never hear the end of it. She bites her tongue and stares down at her painted fingernails.

"You ignored a school-wide emergency alarm, broke into a restricted section of the office, stole Miraculi from the school and proceeded to come after the sentimonsters without caution," their teacher lists off.

Felix opens his mouth first. "I take full responsibility for everything, madame. I initiated the stunt; Adrien and Chloe have nothing to do with it."

Chloe's head snaps up. Even if they were caught, the last thing she will do is let the pompous bastard take the blame. "That's not true, madame. Adrien and I took the Miraculi by our own choice. We're also at fault."

To this, Adrien nods. "We couldn't leave Felix on his own—he didn't force us to transform or anything."

Madame Bélanger  barely budges. "Of course the three of you will be punished accordingly. Our cameras caught everything and you are lucky that there were no witnesses around."

"If I may come to our defense, the school was in danger," Felix begins. Chloe grasps his arm tightly as a warning but he ignores it. "The monsters cannot be defeated without Miraculi and our heroes were all the way on the other side of the city. In fact, they never went here to check if the threat was contained even if the alarm was sounded off."

"That does not give you an excuse to act recklessly and try to fight them." Her voice raises slightly, which makes Chloe flinch. "And we called off the alert because we cannot possibly explain to Duncan and Grace how we took out the sentimonsters."

Felix is unrelenting as Chloe expects. She grits her teeth, knowing he's digging a deeper hole for himself. The boy continues, "So you had no plan telling them at all. Is it because you're hiding all those Miraculi? You didn't want them to know?"

Chloe swears she sees a nerve pop on Bélanger's head. The woman stares at Felix from behind her glasses, giving him a look that Chloe actually sympathizes with. Felix is clearly pushing the limits of the confrontation and turning it against the faculty. She and Adrien exchange glances but keep quiet.

"What you have discovered is irrelevant—"

"Those hidden powers that are potentially more lethal than the Ladybug and Black Cat are 'irrelevant'?"

Their teacher takes a big breath.

"Why hide them at all? Why not send out more heroes to defeat those sentimonsters?" Felix narrows his eyes. "Why was the school attacked in the first place?"

Though Chloe objects to intentionally and actively raising a school administrator's blood pressure, she does harbor a curiosity about those questions. The existence of other Miraculi are unheard of; it's enough news to shake the entirety of New Paris if ever revealed to the public. The fact that the Miraculi were discovered and used by them is already bizarre.

"Moreau Academy has the right and responsibility to handle these Miraculi." Bélanger replies, catering to their questions only a little. "And as you said, they can be more lethal than the ones you already know about. It will be extremely dangerous for these to fall in the wrong hands. As well as inexperienced hands, as you have done."

"But we did our job, didn't we?"

"Felix—"

"So why hold it against us?" Felix leans back on his seat. "Also, what's stopping us from making this little secret known to everyone?"

Chloe's eyes widen. To think that he will actually go that far. Sometimes she thinks she has him figured out but he always manages to come up with one surprise after another. It stuns her all the time, even if she's known him all her life.

She looks back at Bélanger  as if a match is about to commence. She doesn't know how strong Felix's blackmail is, as people can simply not believe them, but it seems to trigger something in their teacher. It's clear now that the other Miraculi are part of a watertight secret, with the dam threatening to burst because of one student.

Before Bélanger can speak, Felix runs his mouth again. "Considering this little 'secret', does it have something to do with the competition and the dirty deals done under the table?"

Chloe's jaw drops. "Felix!"

She doesn't know whether to laugh or cry about her friend's boldness. On the other seat, Adrien looks just as speechless, knuckles white from wringing his hands together. Chloe's head whips towards Madame Bélanger, who purses her lips together. The glint in Felix's eye practically screams that he has hit the target, saying 'silence means yes'.

Bélanger makes a brief eye contact with Monsieur Pierre. Chloe's stomach drops—she doesn't know what will happen next and she's afraid to know. Their teacher opens a drawer, the same one where she kept the Miraculi she confiscated a while ago, and brings the jewels back. Then, she hands them off to three of them one by one: to Adrien, the hairpin; to Felix, the bracelet; and to Chloe, the necklace. Confusion muddles Chloe's head.

"Here's what's going to happen." Bélanger's tone was softer, lower this time. "There will be no punishment for you three."

Chloe's grip tightens on the necklace. Is this a joke? A test?

"It seems that you are all curiously stubborn about this situation, and I understand that." For a split a second, vulnerability shone in Bélanger 's eyes. "I will make you an offer, Felix. Adrien. Chloe. We will not disclose what happened today to your parents and we will not be pulling you out of the competition."

She threads her fingers together and puts her chin on top. "In fact, I want the three of you to participate in the competition as you normally would."

"In return?" Felix plays with beads of the bracelet given to him.

"It remains a mystery how and why the three sentimonsters breached our school," Bélanger explains, "I want you to return the favor and investigate for us because our hands are too tied for us to move alone. There is a chance that this attack is not their last and it puts the students in danger especially with the incoming competition."

"Three sentimonsters?" Adrien frowns. "But there were only two."

"Three." Bélanger opens up her laptop and turns it around to show them the screen. A video feed of the security cameras pops up, showing the library of the east wing and a hulking sentimonster knocking over shelves. A suited figure stands on one of the tables, swinging around a sword. A few seconds pass and the strange girl disappears, morphing into a wave of water that floods over the sentimonster and short-circuits it to dysfunction. Bélanger presses a button, fast-forwarding the scene to reveal a sudden lightning strike that incinerates the monster into dust.

What the hell . . .? Chloe barely comprehends what she watched. Another Miraculous user?

"This is the other favor I wanted to ask." Bélanger paused the video. "This is a Miraculous that we do not have in our possession and only appeared for the first time today after decades. Since the wielder may be dangerous, I need the three of you to find a careful but efficient way to take the Miraculous from them."

"A new Miraculous," Felix marvels, not tearing his gaze from the screen.

Monsieur Pierre clears his throat from behind them. "We believe it to be the Miraculous of the Dragon, which controls the elements of nature."

My god . . . just how many Miraculi are there? Chloe takes in a breath and speaks, "But they don't seem hostile."

Bélanger shakes her head. "It is unpredictable what a new player on the field might do. It will be catastrophic even, if they were discovered by the heroes and seen by the public."

"To make things clear, you want us to trace the origins of the sentimonsters that attacked Moreau and this mysterious Dragon Miraculous user," Felix summarizes.

"Yes, and it must go without saying: you shall not speak a word of this to anyone. If you do, you will face worse consequences than what you should be receiving right now."

Chloe sits up straighter. That's enough for her to know not to fuck up the sudden job.

Felix reaches for the necklace in her hand. "To do this, I must take the Fox—"

"Absolutely not," says Bélanger , "The Miraculi I have given each of you is what you will be using and you must not switch them around. Upon deliberations using the footage of your fight, we deem these the best-matchups for your alter egos. Practice with your Miraculi and use them as you see fit with the situation."

Chloe's brows raise. She's sure that Felix handled the Fox well, and she herself felt a connection with the Bee one. She can't understand Bélanger 's motive for switching things up—she's not even confident about conjuring the right illusions or being stealthy. Adrien also looks hesitant whilst holding up the hairpin.

But Felix seems to have an idea about the reasons. A muscle on his jaw twitches as he lowers his hand and scowls at the bracelet.

"Is there some sort of physical guarantee about this whole deal?" Chloe asks. They have to make sure the teachers won't pull the rug underneath them if it's convenient even though they have blackmail material.

"I will draft a contract tomorrow to put it in writing," replies Bélanger . "For now, all students are advised to go home."

Chloe runs her thumb over the circular gem of the necklace. What did we just get ourselves into?

----

Even as Adrien arrives home, the hairpin weighs down heavily in his pocket. The events of the day feel like a fever dream and in any minute he'll be waking up. He becomes too absorbed in his thoughts that he nearly misses his father waiting at the top of the grand staircase.

"Adrien." Gabriel remains as his usual statue-like self, posture straight and hands clasped behind his back.

Adrien freezes like a deer in headlights. The immediate thought that comes to him is: did Madame Bélanger tell our parents after all?

He tries to read Gabriel's face. It's the usual expressionless mask, neutral, but not enraged. Adrien knows ‘enraged’ when it comes to his father, and this one is not quite that mood. His shoulders sag a little in relief.

He spares Gabriel a fake model-like smile. "Yes father?"

Gabriel begins to descend down the stairs. "We have guests this afternoon. Come."

Adrien follows him into the drawing room. What guests? He never brings guests to the house. Why am I involved? He hikes his bookbag up his shoulders, treading with uncertainty on the polished tiles.

The drawing room is brighter than he remembers, with the last rays of the sun filtering in, partially impeded by green curtains. Sitting on the antique chairs are two Moreau faculty members drinking tea: Monsieur Pierre and the principal, Fernand Thayer himself.

"Ah, there he is." Principal Thayer greets him with warm twinkling eyes as he dabs the corner of his lips. "Hello, Adrien. I hope you are alright after the school's incident?"

His breath hitches. Does he know?

"Umm, I'm okay," Adrien lies. He takes the seat across both men, with Gabriel taking the position next to him but keeping a good distance. Meanwhile, Nathalie is by the entranceway with her tablet.

That is when Adrien sees the envelopes on the coffee table. He suddenly pales in dread, getting a hint about why the principal and his teacher were there.

"So I understand you applied for the competition," Principal Thayer says, leaning back.

Fuck.

"Yes, I have." His cheeks ache from the faux smile.

"Upon careful consideration, we have reviewed your profile, and we would like to give you support during the competition."

"Sorry?"

Gabriel clears his throat. "What Mr. Thayer is trying to say here is that Moreau Academy will endorse you as a champion for this year's competition."

Everything Felix said is true. Adrien looks back and forth between the two. Me, me, pre-selected for the competition.

"I don't understand." He frowns. Maybe I can find out more through the principal. "The competition determines the holders of the Miraculi. Why endorse me?"

If Gabriel has given him a scolding look, he has ignored it. Principal Thayer seems unfazed and replies, "In every year of the competition, we have to make sure the winners actually turn out to be competent. Investing in a handpicked selection eliminates any doubt about the champions. All the information you need is here in the contract."

You're basically saying the competition is pointless! Adrien internally screams.

"However, if you do not qualify in the rounds of the competition, you will still be eliminated." Principal Thayer takes a sip of his drink.

"Adrien will get through the competition, of course." Gabriel lays a steady hand on his shoulder, not tight but suffocating for him nonetheless.

Adrien looks down on the paper envelopes, licking his lips. "But—but I don't think I . . . Deserve this privilege."

He speaks it as a candid truth. Obviously, Gabriel has pulled strings but he knows Chloe is more qualified in being a pre-selected pick. Even Felix.

"Don't sell yourself short, Adrien," says the principal, "You possess academic excellence, fencing and martial arts abilities, and charisma for a hero. We've carefully reviewed your background and application. There is no one more worthy."

Adrien doesn't say that those achievements don't feel like his.

"Am I the only one?" Adrien asks.

"There is another aside from you, but we will not be disclosing details about them as per what the contract says."

Adrien's thoughts flicker towards several other candidates. He and this other person are nearly already the future wielders of the Ladybug and Black Cat, a fate he has yet to wrap his mind around.

The hairpin feels heavier in his pocket.

"The contract also has an NDA." Principal Thayer opens up the envelopes himself to take out the papers. "I will give you until tomorrow to go over and sign these. I trust that you will not disclose anything to anyone, not even your closest friends?"

He nods. "Of course." Nope, I'll definitely be taking pictures and sending them to the others.

"Thank you for this opportunity, Mr. Thayer," Gabriel tells the guest smoothly. "Adrien will not disappoint you."

----

Marinette tries to slip unnoticed through the back of the bakery after school. She's halfway up the stairs when her mother calls out, "Marinette, honey, is that you?"

Marinette gnaws on her lip, grasp tightening around her backpack strap. "Yes, maman."

Sabine emerges at the foot of the stairs. "I heard what happened at school. Are you okay?'

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"Are you sure? Did you get panic attack—"

"I said I'm fine."

Her mother purses her lips together, looking at her intently. She sighs. "Okay, well, we're taking Kai to the airport tonight. Do you want to come?"

"No thanks," Marinette mutters, marching up the stairs, head down. 

AO3 Link | Chapter Masterlist

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[liferetainsitssparkle]

i think it would be kinda funny if monsieur moreau flipped during his court case. i didn't send my son to america to pursue his athletic career i sold him to the yakuza. if you think the ravens are imploding now just wait until the staff set the stadium on fire with the team inside

[tilbageidanmark]

MOVIES I WATCHED THIS WEEK # 216:

FRENCH CINEMA, AS PER BERTRAND TAVERNIER:

🍿 Tavernier's last two essential projects before his death were the 3.5 Hrs MY JOURNEY THROUGH FRENCH CINEMA (2016) and the 8 Hrs companion film from the following year. I started with the shorter one. It serves both as a inspiring lecture about the history of French films, as well as his own personal part of the cinema at the 2nd half of the 20 century. (Poster Above).

I've seen over 350 French films in the last 4 years, and obviously I'm only starting to scratch the surface. I pledge to myself to start digging deeper, and feast on all of his films that I haven't seen yet, as well as the works of the all the other greats: Jacques Becker, Jean Renoir, Michel Simon, Jean Gabin, Eddie Constantine, Claude Sautet, Maurice Jaubert, Jeanne Moreau, Marcel Carné, Philippe Sarde, Julien Duvivier, Joseph Kosma, Edmond T. Gréville, Jean-Paul Belmondo, J-P Melville, Michel Piccoli... Fantastique - 8/10!

🍿 PANIC (1946) is my 3rd crime thriller by Julien Duvivier, and the 2nd adaptation of Georges Simenon's 'Monsieur Hire' that I've seen [Patrice Laconte's 1989 version was Roger Ebert's last addition to his 'Great Movies' list]. The character of Hire is different in each version. Here it is Michel Simon who's the odd-looking, bearded loner, who 'likes his steaks bloody and his Camembert runny'. But in all three, he peeps and falls for a young woman across the yard, knowing full well that she's involved with criminals, and in all three, he ends up falling from the roof to his tragic death at the end.

🍿 THE SEVENTH JUROR (1962) is a psychological thriller about a crime without a motive. A respectable, middle-age pharmacist impulsively kills a semi-nude young woman sunbathing by a lake, and then, when her boyfriend is accused of the murder, he, the pharmacist, is picked to sit as a juror on his trial. Noir with a conscience. It's the original story to Eastwood's 'Juror No. 2'.

🍿 "Frontiers are an invention of men."

First watch: Renoir's anti-war THE GRAND ILLUSION (1937), which doesn't show the war itself. Made just before WW2, and reflecting back on the previous World War. Also on the world of classes, privileges, defined cultures and definitive values which had disappeared since then, and were not to return. Jean Gabin as the salt-of-the-earth proletarian good guy, and Erich von Stroheim in his fetishistic Austro-Hungarian caricature. The dialogue switches naturally between French, German and English. Also a cross-dressing cabaret show at a POW camp, and during the third act, a tender love story between Gabin and a German widow who hides the two refugees in her farmhouse, which for me was the best part of the story.

🍿 I actually like Renoir's 1928 silent featurette THE LITTLE MATCH GIRL even more, even though it was insanely tragic. Based on the HC Andersen story, it contains trippy hallucinations, a time lapse sequence, and just harrowing bad time for the young woman.

🍿 TANDEM is a bitter-sweet comedic road movie about an odd couple. Jean Rochefort is a small-time local celebrity, an aging radio host long past his prime, traveling around the countryside with his faithful driver. Similar in dynamics to, but not as dark as 'Sunset Boulevard' played out in small, provincial towns of 1987 France. 7/10.

🍿 POISON IVY (1953), the first in the Lemmy Caution series and only my second crime flick with Eddie Constantine [After 'Alphaville', which doesn't really count]. It's a French Noir which established the debonair character, a French-speaking, hard-boiled and abrasive James Bond type. The Casablanca and Tangiers locations were fun.

🍿 “We finished shooting on October 17; Jacques died on October 27”

AGNÈS TELLS A SAD AND HAPPY STORY (2008), my 20th by Agnès Varda. A recollection of the making of her 'Jacquot de Nantes'. Beautiful.

Also, HOMMAGE À ZGOUGOU, a funny cat video by Varda, 3-4 years before YouTube.

🍿 My first two by Luc Moullet:

LES SIÈGES DE L'ALCAZAR (1989) is an absurdist comedy about a film critic of the 'Cahiers du Cinéma' who falls for a female critic of 'Positif', a competing magazine. Quelle horreur! An nostalgic war of words between two 1950's cinefiles, played out in an old-fashioned neighborhood bijou, which is run by an eccentric old couple. The intrigues and ideological in-fighting of a very select few, arguing endlessly in this seedy, dirty locale.

(I discovered my own love for cinema at the Cinémathèque française and similar small-time movie theaters, when I lived in Paris in 1974.)

Also, Luc Moullet's BARRES (1984), an unserious short about the many different ways of getting into the Parisian Metro without paying. 1/10.

🍿 MEMORABLE (2019), Oscar-nominated animated short about an aging painter struggling with Alzheimer's. Like 'The Father' and 'It's Such a Beautiful Day', everything fades away, even the person you love dissolves into vague, abstract colors.

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ANORA, my third by Sean Baker. A dynamic drama about a cunning Brighton Beach stripper who impulsively marries the young son of a Russian oligarch, only to find herself out of her depth. The first drunk act of loud partying and night-clubbing was shallow, but eventually it turned into a compelling adventure story that had to conclude on a sad note. This was not the Cinderella story of 'Pretty woman'.

The script was "banging" - But the 'Best film of the year'? Don't make me laugh! 7/10.

🍿

I regret not connecting with the highly acclaimed THE BRUTALIST; I really couldn't figure out "What did the poet want to express" (as they say in Yiddish). It was presented as a "Very Important Epic Film" about "Great Complex Men" like Fountainhead's Howard Roark, and that wealthy Van Buren industrialist, but so many details confused it for me. The horrors of the holocaust and the Immigrant experience, were muddled up with extra gratuitous Judaism and heroin use, the mixed messages about all the gratuitous sex - and that was even before the surprising rape scene. And yes, what were the last 45 minutes all about - and especially how did the final Coda in Venice fit in?

Mustachioed Guy Pearce was as good looking as Brad Pitt was at that age.

By now, I've seen the 4 Oscar nominees for this year's 'Best Picture' that I was planning to see. Without any question, 'Nickel Boys' wins my vote.

Related, Wes Anderson's 2016 ad for H&M, COME TOGETHER, with Adrien Brody on a Christmas train. N'ah.

🍿

MIKE LEIGH & COMPANY X 2:

🍿 "I want the world to know that our executions are the most efficient and the most humane..."

A random discovery that delivered: A British drama loosely based on real-life executioner Albert PIERREPOINT (2005). A dramatic subject, underplayed with subtlety and restrain by Timothy Spall [never looking more Albert Hitchcock like], as the prolific hangman, as well as bird-like Eddie Marsan, and the wonderful Juliet Stevenson (which, shockingly, never played in a Mike Leigh film). Also, my first viewing of hated performer James Corden in a small role. 8/10.

🍿 Jim Broadbent wrote and starred in A SENSE OF HISTORY which Mike Leigh directed. It's very different from his usual focus on the real life of lower class Brits. Broadbent plays the 23rd Earl of Leete, a member of the landed gentry, as he's giving a guided tour of his immense estate, and telling about his family history and his life-long efforts to maintain and expand the lands. It's an incredible dark tour de force mockumentary, and was one of a 3-part omnibus film from 1992. 9/10.

🍿

BLIGHT (1996), an experimental documentary about the demolition of a residential tract in East London, to make way for a new highway, the M11 Link. The art of Rubble. The score by Jocelyn Pook ['Eyes Wide Shut'] ties it all together. My second by Avant-garde Brit John Smith (after 'The block tower'). 7/10.

🍿

"I don't want to wait until you're gone one day and I will regret never trying to fix our relationship."

The award-winning LOVE, DAD (2021) was made by Diana Cam Van Nguyen, a Czech-Vietnamese animated filmmaker. It's about a painful relationship between a young woman and the father who left. 8/10. [*Female Director*]

🍿

A SWIM LESSON is one of the films that was shortlisted for this year 'Best short documentary' Oscars, but wasn't nominated. It's the 2nd award-winner by the guy who made the very different (and devastating) 'If Anything Happens I Love You'. It tells of an LA guy who teaches scared 2 and 3 yos how to overcome their fears by jumping into the deep end. 8/10.

🍿

I love Robert de Nero, and I've seen 50+ of his movies: Just to watch him on a screen is always mesmerizing. So of course I'll binge on his first television series. But this being stupid 2025, and Netflix being a decade older than 'House of Cards' and 'Black Mirror', the new ZERO DAY was predictable and tired. De Nero is actually still a delight [even though he gets to look more and more like fucking Henry Kissinger!], but the conspiracy theory plot which tried to model itself on "real", contemporary politics was laughably unoriginal. 3/10. [*Female Director*]

🍿

I was planning on watching Questlove's new documentary about the music of Saturday Night Live, but I clicked on the 3-hr long SNL50: THE HOMECOMING CONCERT by mistake. It's basically a 3-hr. long concert extravaganza with tons and tons of celebrities, and many of the old performers I couldn't stand then (and a few that I did), headlining by the mug-for-the-camera Jimmy Fallon [who did open with a great rendering of 'Soul man']. I didn't recognize half of the acts, many geriatric skeletons playing their old hits. 78 year-old Cher was spectacular, Snoop Dogg and David Byrne were great. It was directed by prolific, veteran Beth McCarthy-Miller. [*Female Director*]

🍿

I enjoyed many cute episodes of the British 'Simon's Cat' since 2008, but never realized it had been so hugely successful. OFF TO THE VET (2015) is its longest short film (13 min). I love that they never went Garfield route.

🍿

THROW-BACK TO THE ADORA ART PROJECT:  

Adora as The American President.

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(ALL MY FILM REVIEWS - HERE).

[obsessioncollector]

Sometimes Valène had the feeling that time had been stopped, suspended, frozen around he didn’t know what expectation. The very idea of the picture he planned to do and whose laid-out, broken-up images had begun to haunt every second of his life, furnishing his dreams, squeezing his memories, the very idea of this shattered building laying bare the cracks of its past, the crumbling of its present, this unordered amassing of stories grandiose and trivial, frivolous and pathetic, gave him the impression of a grotesque mausoleum raised in the memory of companions petrified in terminal postures as insignificant in their solemnity as they were in their ordinariness, as if he had wanted both to warn of and to delay these slow or quick deaths which seemed to be engulfing the entire building storey by storey: Monsieur Marcia, Madame Moreau, Madame de Beaumont, Bartlebooth, Rorschach, Mademoiselle Crespi, Madame Albin, Smautf. And himself, of course, Valène himself, the longest inhabitant of the house.

Georges Perec, Life: A User's Manual, trans. David Bellos

[mariesrbouipochodian]

Si on a tout planifié pour que 2013, ce soit marie srboui Pochodian à qui ce serait la fête...

Qui a échappé à être puni...

Surtout depuis 2013...

Qui me souhaite le plus, ''temps mort'' c'est à dire ''ta mort''...

Ils soupçonnent marie tartois et Geneviève moreau baurand... Moi, je soupçonne ma voisine du dessus puisque je l'entends dire à quelqu'un ou quelque'un d'autre ''temps mort''....

Même eux, ils n'arrivent pas à comprendre cette rage à me souhaiter ma mort.... Qui peut me vouloir morte.. c'est à dire en grand traits, qui avait voulu la mort de monsieur jean en 1983...

[etiennedaho]

Extraits diffusés :

La chanson Des heures hindoues dans l'album Etienne Live

La série télévisée Ripley (2024) créée par Steven Zaillian et adaptée du roman policier Monsieur Ripley (1955) de Patricia Highsmith

Le film Love Is The Devil: Study for a Portrait of Francis Bacon (1998) réalisé par John Maybury

La chanson Ouvre (1934) de Suzy Solidor. Etienne Daho recommande la lecture de Fil d'or (1940), roman écrit par Suzy Solidor.

Le titre Lettre à France (1977) de Michel Polnareff

La chanson Sunday Morning (1966) de l'album The Velvet Underground and Nico, avec la voix de Lou Reed

Le titre Terrapin (1970) de Syd Barett

La chanson Remember (2019) du groupe Unloved avec Etienne Daho

Les artistes photographes Pierre et Gilles dans “La 20e heure” sur France Inter en 2024

Le texte Le condamné à mort de Jean Genet mis en musique par Hélène Martin et interprété par Jeanne Moreau et Etienne Daho en 2011 au Festival d’Avignon

Le titre Il ne dira pas (1981) d'Etienne Daho

Choix musical de l'invité : Etienne Daho a choisi de nous faire écouter le titre Time (You And I) du groupe Khruangbin, dont "le guitariste est un vrai virtuose".

[major-knighton]

Monsieur Moreau are you sure this is an eagle sir

Prometheus, 1868 - oil on canvas. — Gustave Moreau (French, 1826-1898)

[maxxi-the-procrastinator]

Reflections

Canon. College days. Pierre x male Avery.

Ink drips on the empty page spread under my idle pen. The inky dot stark against the white paper, taunting me with my lack of focus. I clench my jaw as my traitorous eyes slowly return to the window, rivets of rain streaming down the glass, blurring the darkening sky and college grounds below. Peering past the gloomy scenery outside, I lock onto the view reflected within the classroom. 

My pulse speeds at the clear reflection of Avery further within the room, hunched over his desk. Illuminated by the flicking candle next to his identical blank notebook, his pen discarded long ago. 

Avery plays with the small flame, his fingers catching the warm glow as he mindlessly dances his fingers over the heat surrounding the candle. Propping his head up with his other hand, his head lolling as he huffs through pouted lips. The flame dancing within his half lidded eyes.

My fingers twitch with the involuntary urge to mirror Avery, to feel the heat of the candle on my desk, warm my fingers that have gone cold from where they hover frozen above my forgotten book.

Avery fidgets in his seat, losing interest in whatever entertainment his candle was providing. Gaze lazily flickers around the room for someone else to bother with his distractions, but only finds others with their noses in their books, scribbling away with a focus that Avery is hard pressed to find. A focus that I should have, but find that I’m yet again letting myself get distracted by him.

His gaze settles and that infuriating spark returns to his eyes. Heat rushes up my neck as I realise who has the unfortunate luck of catching his attention. I tense, still locked on the window’s reflection even as the side of my face tingles under the phantom touch of his roaming flame licked eyes.

Avery pushes back from his desk, languidly hanging off his chair with an infuriating growing sardonic grin. 

“Psst… Moreau.” Avery whispers raucously. “Moreau. Psst. Oi-“

I pointedly ignore him, scowling at the window, praying that he would shut up.

“I know you can hear me.” I needn’t see his pestering face, his voice quivers around his smirk, but the sight riles me all the same. “Quit playing cute and stop ignoring me.”

I turn from his reflection and cut a look to his simpering self, the flame winking more vibrantly within his eyes here.

“What?” I snap. 

“I’m bored.” 

I scoff. 

“That’s really too bad.” I sneer.

“Come on, Pierre. Entertain me… please~.” 

I freeze, my stomach warming. I violently push down the feeling that hearing him say my name invokes.

“I’m not your personal jester. Go bother someone else.” 

Perhaps that clown that follows you around like a puppy. I turn away, glaring at his reflection instead.

“Why would I do that when I’ve got you.”

“Cet imbécile ne sait pas quand se taire.”

Avery blinks.

“Aww. I love you too.” He gushes.

“That wasn’t what I was saying at all.” I deadpan, agitated by how I find myself turning back to look into his twinkling eyes.

“Keep telling yourself that. I don’t need to know French to understand the language of love. And that, Monsieur… was a declaration of love.” He places a hand on his heart. “I felt it, right here.”

“Si seulement il ne pouvait pas parler.” I mutter.

The door slams, startling us both, Avery almost falling out his chair. 

“Moreau and Sinclair, why is it always you two?” Our professor bemoans.

“Come on, Sir. Don’t act like we’re not your favourites.”

The student next to Avery groans.

Avery shrugs. “Sorry, the truth hurts.” 

Our professor can only sigh in exhaustion, having long ago grown used to Avery.

I return to my empty page, staring down at the lone ink dot, determined not to let myself become distracted again. My hand drifts to the candle of its own accord, my cold fingers brushing over the flames heat. 

It’s heat tantalising within the cool room, despite the looming risk of being burnt, I keep finding myself drawn back to it.

My gaze inevitably flickers back to the window’s reflection, where Avery animatedly chatters his seatmate’s ear off.

Heat crawls back up my neck, a warmth that I quickly label as hatred. 

Anything to avoid being burnt.

~