#Rather eccentric innit?

[dnpost]

Samuel was rather happy as a child, going to school and living at the church that took care of the orphan children. Born and raised sheltered from the world in the great cathedral, or "Church of The North".

The child lived with very little worries with a future position at the cathedral as a deacon, however, at 8, Sam met a strange man near the town's square who called himself "The Opposer", who slowly became friends with the young one. The more days passed, the more Samuel trusted the man, and the man made a promise to tell the truth of the church, and the more distressed the child became, eventually running away into the nearest town over and disappearing for months, only being found by the opposing man.

The changes were slow, and what once had been an obedient, soft spoken child, had become a bitter, back talking, angry rebellious teenager, who went against the elders and higher ups to live in "sin" with strange outsiders who never followed the religious paths of the world.

[mean-scarlet-deceiver]

Diesel 10 for that shipping thing?? 😅

I shouldn't be allowed in anyone's inbox pff

Froggi, you are eternally valid. <3

I may disappoint you though, because despite some soul-searching I personally just don’t ship him (much).

Either he’s a hammy Big Bad, an evil bastard who does evil bastard things—in which case I appreciate the ham, but I don’t give a shit about his happiness…

… or he’s not evil, I can rationalize him on Sodor as a rather antisocial eccentric no problem, in fact lately I’ve been thinking that he’s a terribly interesting character that way—you know, the creative brooding loner aspect that @feigeroman and Saphirefox (AO3) bring out so well, but combined with his canonical ‘massive adrenaline junkie’ streak?—personally I HC that he is deeply scarred from the dysfunctional mainland diesel-vs.-steamie civil war + the dystopian job management did raising him and his class, which left him eternally prone to genuine mental breakdowns…

… yeah, like I said, fascinating. But not really conducive to him having healthy relationships. I can’t see anyone on Sodor who would be the right match for him.

Luckily, for large chunks of his life he can barely stand the idea that other people/engines/etc. exist… so he isn’t too sorry about that.

Oh yeah, also in my HC he’s just an ordinary ‘Warship,’ no major mods.

Once posters for TATMR came out, more than one engine encountered D10 to check in…

“Er, Ten? So it looks like in that movie they’re giving you this—”

“Didja see they gave me a CLAW!” *beaming because this was during one of his manic years*

“Oh, good.” *with real relief* “You heard.”

“Heard? It was my idea! Great, innit? Hatt can’t believe they went for it!”

*chuckling in appreciation—‘cause Ten certainly is a true original*

Okay, so, if I go for that second interpretation, then here’s what little I have:

💞✨  OTP ✨ 💞: Marion?

Strictly platonic. But I think they get on very well together. (Ten kills it at “Guess What’s In My Shovel.” Marion adores his witty guesses—and she has no problem at all shutting down and ignoring any of his “nonsense,” when he Gets Into One Of His Moods. She's the only one who can tell him off when he's a dick, and he'll reliably listen rather than resent her.)

Other Ships That Are 👌: His other special friendships:

‘Arry, Bert, Henry, Salty, Madge, Sir Handel, Peter Sam, Harvey, Mavis, Harold

Also Ten and Smudger in Saphirefox’s ‘verse are 👌x1000… I hope there are half-a-dozen more installments

Interesting But Fence 👀: Basically, these friendships are… a bit one-sided?

all the Skarloey engines (he tries to hide it, but Ten has a thing for little guys and the narrow-gauge does just melt him), Bertie, Arthur, Nia, Oliver, Diesel, Percy, Gordon

Amazingly, with Gordon the one-sidedness is on Gordon’s side. Gordon is remarkably tolerant about at least some of Ten’s eccentricities. Given that he usually rails against Ten-sized changes, let alone genuine disruptions, to his daily life, this is an unusual degree of tolerance. But Gordon is okay with the notion that big express engines need, nay have the right, to sometimes cut loose, especially if they’re not getting regular gallops (poor engine!)

Better As Friends 😊: Molly, Daisy—in particular, I can see him and Daisy having a chronic on-again-off-again thing. Mostly off, to be honest. But it’s still as close to a functional romantic relationship as I think Ten will ever have!

Molly would be more of a one-time thing. It was sweet, really—almost too sweet for even Ten to imagine it would ever stand to be poked again.

‘Arry and Bert qualify as better as rivals, I think.

Meh 😑 / Overrated : Even with all the explanation and backstory and worldbuilding in the world, I have to confess I really can never suspend my disbelief for D10/Lady. More power to those of you who are having a ball with it, but it’s just not for me.

It Happened Once In A Dream 🌑 (or AU 🤔): Ten hates Rebecca. (There’s no particular reason; truth is, if you first meet Ten when he’s having a bad day, there’s just no coming back from it. Thomas and Philip are also on his shitlist.) However, he did once have a very, very, very steamy dream about her…

He has yet to forgive himself or her for it.

If I Had to Put Them in a Polycule 💗: This guy is incapable of handling one intimate relationship; there’s no way he’ll ever be well enough to navigate a polycule.

The closest thing I have to offer is that I ship Mavis and Salty (OTP-level, too!) Ten is one of the best versions of himself around them, and they take pity and have him third wheel a fair amount... considering that they themselves don’t get nearly as much time together as they should like.

NOTP 😤: James. In my ‘verse, they probably have the absolute worst relationship on the NWR… It’s a problem, and basically everyone knows to not leave them alone or really anywhere near each other.

[boundinshallows]

Tommy/Alfie 12 Days - Day 9

Summary: Day 9 - Tradition

--------------------

Opening night always has a way of draining Tommy more than other nights of the run. That’s why, when his director approached him after the performance and explained that one of the ballet’s most generous patrons requested a private meeting, Tommy balked. Miraculously though, he’d held his tongue. His position as principal was newly minted; he was several years away from being able to act the primadonna like Ms. Burgess. Which is exactly how he finds himself outside very expensive box seating instead of drowning himself in whisky with the rest of the company.

Tommy draws back the curtain, expecting to discover some aging grandmother bedecked with enough jewels to feed most of the poor in Birmingham. Instead, he finds himself face-to-face with a man just slightly order than himself, broad and probably rather handsome beneath that scruffy beard. For a moment, Tommy forgets his irritation in lieu of memorizing how well this stranger fills out a suit, but the man’s arched eyebrow has his impatience rushing back.

“You do understand that this is the Royal Ballet and not an escort service, don’t you?” Tommy asks, folding his arms over his chest. “You can’t just summon whoever catches your eye.”

The man smirks. “Right, and yet, here you are. Funny, innit, how that works?”

“I came because my director made it clear that my place with the company depended on not alienating you. So yes, here I am. Tommy Shelby, but I suspect you already know that.”

“Alfie Solomons.”

Tommy accepts Alfie’s outstretched hand and shakes it while maintaining eye contact. There’s something wily about him that makes his stomach flip-flop pleasantly. Despite being dressed appropriately for the venue, Tommy can’t shake the idea that Alfie is out of place.

“At the risk of alienating you,” Tommy begins carefully. “You don’t seem like the kind of man who frequents the ballet.”

Alfie laughs—a deep rumble that fills up Tommy’s chest, squeezing his lungs.

“Bit of a family tradition, right, when we could afford it. When I was just a little lad.” Alfie leans in, as if confiding in a secret. “Me mum danced on that very stage when she was young.”

“What was her name?” Tommy asks, suddenly intrigued despite his earlier annoyance.

Alfie waves him off.

“You wouldn’t know her. Tragically fell. Of no fault of the ballet’s anti-Semitic director, naturally, as these things happen all the time. Cut her career short though. She had to enjoy her life’s passion from the seats after that. After I made a bit of a name for meself, I made sure she had season tickets for the last few decades of her life.”

His heart constricts at the mention of Alfie’s mother’s fall. He’s been dancing since he could walk practically—thanks to his Aunt Pol and much to his fucking father’s disgust—and has had some near misses. Tommy frowns, his eyes shifting briefly to the stage.

“I’m sorry to hear it. I hope the fucker’s career ended in shame.”

“Oh, it ended rather abruptly that’s for sure. Very, very, very terrible car accident some two decades ago. Ghastly thing.” Alfie tsks, then whispers, “Something with the brake lines and, if you can believe it, the safety belt. When they found him, he was nearly cut clean in half. A real fucking tragedy, that.”

The way Alfie stares at him, eyes narrowing, makes Tommy feel like Alfie’s waiting on a reaction from him. And maybe he ought to react at the thinly veiled confession, but Tommy can’t manage it. If Alfie wants to intimidate him, he’ll have to go about it a different way. Tommy’s no stranger to a little violence, nor to racism of his own sort. He’d been called a gypsy cunt most of his life, and he and his brothers made sure those people answered for it. So instead of trembling with fear, Tommy simply shrugs.

“Mumma’s boy then?”

“She was a lovely lady,” Alfie says, smiling warmly. “Deserved the world twice over.”

“So, did you come here to allude to your murderous impulses and trade stories about mums, or…?”

And there it is, that laughter again. Tommy can’t hold back his grin this time.

“Nah, nothing like that. Been told I ramble a bit.” Alfie clears his throat. “I just wanted to tell you directly what a remarkable talent you’ve got. Ought to have been cast as the Sugar Plum Fairy herself.”

Tommy wonders if Alfie can see into the past, back to the little boy who saw the Nutcracker once with Aunt Pol and dreamed of dancing like the Sugar Plum Fairy. He feels his cheeks warm and has the urge to rub the back of his neck, a bit embarrassed.

“That’s a little too avant-garde for the Royal Ballet, but thanks.”

“Pity, looks like I’ll have to start my own company then, won’t I?”

There’s a sparkle in Alfie’s eyes that makes Tommy wonder if he’s being serious. He’s only known him for a handful of minutes, but it didn’t take long to figure out that Alfie Solomons is an eccentric man. Tommy doesn’t find it entirely unappealing, despite himself.

“Good evening, Mr. Solomons,” Tommy says, hoisting his rucksack over his shoulder. “I suspect this won’t be the last time I see you.”

[quilloftheclouds]

One Siren’s Soul OC Playlist: Chichima Solarin - First mate of the Compass, the Phoenix of the sea is the pirate’s devil, a Siren’s Mark, the immortal flame... and only a tad bit of a pyro.

“What say ye it’s time to liven this place up a ‘lil? I’m sure some orange and yellow’d paint that gunpowder all pretty now, aye?”

The Score - Stronger

Juliet Roberts - I’m On Fire

Imagine Dragons - Whatever It Takes

Oh The Larceny - Check It Out

TRÏBE - Matter of Time!

Mountains vs. Machines - Reigniting

The Score - Higher

The Phantoms - Made For This

Club Danger - Living Legend

Sam Tinnesz - Ready Set Let’s Go

Note; some of these are more fitting than others, but I chose these songs to convey general vibes and ambiance.

... She goes by Phoenix for good reason.

Main Cast: Dione | Celestine | Colin | Phoenix | Captain Io | Captain Xuân

Side Cast: Rose | Sindre | ???

That first quote is rather a clash with the rest of it, innit? I wonder what that’s about... 

That should be the last of the main cast. But. I really like making these... so. Expect some more, maybe?

OSS Taglist (lmk if you want to be added or removed!): @scottishhellhound @mvcreates @carmenwrites @waterfallwritings @runningonrain @bookish-actor @bookenders @mouwwie @onfablesandfictions @anaestheticdisaster @yearlyaquariace @elizabethsyson @your-local-imagination-station @imaghostwriter @orphicodysseywrites @esoteric-eclectic-eccentric @elisabethrosewrites @lookslikechill @fuyuuki513 @purpleshadows1989 @fiama-l-hernandez​ @keithislactoseintolerant @tenacious-scripturient @mackerelwrites​ @writingwitherebus @lady-redshield-writes @clawhee-writes @livvywrites @planets-and-prose @dc-writes @halfbloodlycan @penzag @sunlight-and-starskies @pen-in-hand @phoenix-the-write-thing @leave-her-a-tome @royalbounties @ardawyn @klywrites @dogwrites @semblanche @tricksexual @writingnosefreak @lost-----souls @penumbrics @dove-actually @kriss-the-writing-nerd

[crapfutures]

The automated island

(For some background to this discussion of automation in our very eccentric and local context, revisit one of our first posts - ‘The pleasures of prediction’.) 

There’s a spot we often go swimming in Madeira called Ponta Gorda, ‘Fat Point’. It’s like a public swimming pool - in fact it does have a decent saltwater pool - but most people who go there dive straight into the open sea, which gives you the thrill of swimming in very deep water - 2,000 metres close to shore descending to 4,000 metres further out. So the sea is a public swimming pool, and you pay your euro for amenities like the changing rooms and cafe. It’s a good place for lunch or a cold beer when the sun is shining. Umbrellas and sunbeds cost extra, but we prefer to bake on the hot concrete after a cool swim.

Into this idyllic scene comes automation. There’s a person who works in the entrance booth and takes your euro, and adjacent to the booth is a row of turnstiles. Presumably until a couple of years ago you paid your money and went straight in. Since we’ve been going to Ponta Gorda, however, a newer system has been in place: an automated scanning system.

The system is supposed to work like this: first you buy a barcoded ticket or charge your card with the person in the booth; then you scan your ticket, unlocking the turnstile, and you walk through. (The scanner uses that red laser thing to read the barcode.)

What actually happens is this: we arrive at the booth, say hello to the friendly woman who works there - because we all know each other by now - pay for a ticket or charge our card (if we’ve remembered to bring it, which is rare), try to scan the barcode under the laser in the bright midday sun, fail miserably, smile at the woman in the booth to signal our failure, wait as she grabs her keys and comes out of the booth, watch as she tries in vain to scan it several times, exchange sympathetic smiles when she too fails, together blame the sun, stand by while she unlocks the gate at the side, and walk through.

We’re not sure why the automatic gate always fails. Things often don’t work on this island. They remain broken for months or years, and people get used to working around them. The parking garages and supermarket checkouts are the same: there is always someone to help you scan your ticket or purchases because the scanner never works properly. These are de-facto semi-automated systems that require the same human worker they required before the machine was installed. So why have a scanner at all? Who said this was a good idea? What was wrong with the old way?

Well, it’s progress, innit? Unfortunately what may work under ideal conditions in, say, London or Oslo may not necessarily work under less than ideal conditions, and without maintenance support, in Madeira. It’s like those tractors in the Soviet Union under collectivisation that broke down or simply ran out of petrol and were left to rot in the fields. Not to mention the fact that automation is often about efficiency, and efficiency - in terms of saving either time or labour - is not something this sleepy island particularly wants or needs.

People in Madeira are adaptable, they get along fine with less than optimal technology. But significant resources are wasted in the pursuit of Mainland ideas of progress. Then there are the side-effects of automation that are not particular to islanders: deskilling, alienation from labour. Few people actually lose their jobs because the technology can rarely be trusted - but everywhere you see people sitting idle in their work, passive, mere appendages of the machines they are paid to assist. Is this the techno-utopia we were waiting for? Sometimes on the periphery, as Laura Watts said to us recently, small perturbations are felt more distinctly than in the centre.

In his frankly curmudgeonly but still insightful essay ‘Why I am Not Going to Buy a Computer’ (1987), Wendell Berry lays out his ‘standards for technological innovation’. There are nine points, and in the third point Berry states that the new device or system ‘should do work that is clearly and demonstrably better’ than the old one. This seems obvious and not too much to ask of a technology, but how well does the automated entrance at Ponta Gorda fulfill that claim?

Berry also has a point, the last in his list, about not replacing or disrupting ‘anything good that already exists’. This includes relationships between people. In other words, solve actual problems - rather than finding just any old place to put a piece of technology you want to sell. Even if the scanners at Ponta Gorda did work, how would eliminating the one human being who is employed to welcome visitors and answer questions improve the system? In Berry’s words, ‘what would be superseded would be not only something, but somebody’. The person who works there is a ‘good that already exists’, a human relationship that should be preserved, especially when her removal from a job would be bought at so little gain.

In the next post we’ll go deeper into a taxonomy of automation. Now we’re going for a swim.

Images: James Auger and Julian Hanna.

[bolsteriing-blog]

👔

His feet staggered through a little dance, doing what they could to make up for the loss of balance. The bulb of his tie knotted against his Adam’s apple, narrowing his windpipe by half. One could never truly appreciate height differences until they were forced to travel them neck first.

Inches away, he could catch the scent of Jack’s breath, a miasma of fresh liquor layered upon stale. The distinctive sweet-sour smell of the knock-off rum they sold at the corner store, opportunely located a brisk walk from campus. That alone should have been enough to spark concern– mid-morning was a bit early to be hitting the bottle, even by the standards of a sophomore already touting the first sure signs of a beer gut– but Josue found himself unafraid. More than a little puzzled, granted, but unafraid.

Was Jack eccentric? Absolutely. Was he aggressive? Josue hardly thought so. They’d only been fleetingly acquainted, but he was quick to pick up on the fact that it would take nothing short of dynamite to crack through his aloofness (proverbially speaking of course. He got the impression that the most a literal explosion would eke out would be a passing remark of “breezier than usual, innit?”).

Something else, too: the jerk of his tie pandered to an all too often ignored piece of himself. The part that came creeping out on lonely nights in an empty dorm, casting itself into the throes of roughplay fantasies, after having triple-checked the lock of course.

His conscious mind barred itself against it, and it settled, rather, within the flush of his face.

“Um–” he croaked.

[healthylifepage]

10 WAYS TO BE A DUFUS AT THE GYM!

FitnessOnToast.com has always been a warm, friendly, inclusive place to share helpful, optimistic, focussed material. Well, NOT TODAY motherfos. This Gym Etiquette 101 post is motivated exclusively by burning rage and shall act as a form of cathartic therapy for me! I go to the gym on a regular basis, between 3 and 5 days per week. I consider the gym to be a shared space in which many people pay a fee to be allowed its use. However, my observation over 15+ years of gymming is that many people believe ‘once I’m a member, it’s my space’. They’re often disrespectful to the equipment, staff and other members, are messy and all too often, just really, really loud – just to name a few pet peeves. For me, I think of it as a privilege to use the gym. Yes, one pays a fee – sometimes a substantial one at that – but it’s not your property, or your private space. The better I look after the equipment, and the more respectful I am to other members, the more enjoyable and easier their time will be using the gym. In return, I’d expect the same consideration from others. So, without further ado here’s my TOP 10 of things that drive me up the wall every single time I go to the gym! Maybe you can relate to a few of them – alternatively, feel free to add your own irritations in the comments section below. I’d love to know if I’m the only one who feels this way.

1) PLEASE HAVE SOME SPATIAL AWARENESS

Yesterday, I was doing some deadlifts and an oblivious meat-head almost walked into me – thankfully my gym buddy stopped him just in time. This is incredibly dangerous; were this chap to have collided with me, I could’ve been seriously injured, as deadlifts can already render the body quite prone to injury – add in a push from an unexpected plane, and it could be game over for your back.

Faya’s considerate tip #1: Whilst it sounds obvious, try to be aware of the space around you. At times, the gym equipment layout is planned badly. For instance, I would personally never place the squat machine near a heavy tracking area where people are frequently running / walking behind you. The likelihood of someone accidentally walking into you is greater. However, space is limited, and compromises are made. People often walk around looking at their phones whilst playing music and aren’t aware of what’s going on.

2) PLEASE BE QUIET

Sounding like a cow in labour whilst squatting is NOT macho, sexy or endearing, and nobody ever found this a turn on. It’s ultimately unnecessary – at times humorous, given how absurdly preposterous it can sound – but mainly it’s just annoying beyond about the 3rd rep. I know that focussed exhalation and deep breathing can be important to maximise oxygen flow and power, and that’s obviously fine, but the level and variety of noises I hear in the gym is a truly ludicrous symphony of dying animal groans.

Faya’s considerate tip #2: Don’t imitate The Hulk when at the gym. Probably no one wants to hear your stupid noises.

3) BRO-HAVIOUR

Shouting out something moronic to your mates across the gym floor? Studies show you’re 100% definitely an idiot. I have to laugh, because this stuff happens all the time, and the laughter therapeutically dissolves my maniacal rage. Typically, it’s a group of guys.

‘No Bruv, I’m carb cycling. I’m on 50 grams innit’. ‘Listen, yeh, you gotta get them CLA’. ‘Yeh Bruv, I smashed out 300kgs – BIG leg day POW.’

Hmmmmm.

Faya’s considerate tip #3:If you’re about to misbrohave, stop yourself, and observe how literally nobody at the gym gives two hoots about how many grams you’re on – probably not even this ‘Bruv’ chap – who coincidentally, seems to be in all British gyms everywhere at the same time. Absolutely everyone just wants you to be quiet.

4) WHAT ARE YOU WEARING?!

Now this could be a post on its own… and of course people can wear whatever they want but here are a few points to consider if you haven’t already…

a) Crotch Sweat…

We all sweat, some more than others. In many ways, it’s to be encouraged in the gym. Just remember that certain colours and fabrics show sweat patches more than others.

Faya’s sweaty crotch tip #1 – I recommend avoiding greys and cottons if you tend to sweat a lot. No one wants to see a sweaty crotch whilst you do a stiff leg deadlift, and the likelihood is you don’t want to show it either.

b) See-through Pants

Faya’s visible crotch tip #1 This one mainly goes out to all women. Before purchasing any leggings, check in the mirror… if your pants are even mildly see-through, don’t buy them; it’s a waste of money because under the bright lights of the gym, with a little stretching, you might as well just walk around in your knickers instead and save yourself the £££. Perhaps I’m a prude, but unless I’m running along Miami Beach hoping to catch a tan, or in a Bikram class, whilst in rainy cold London, I don’t train in transparent hot pants and see through sports bra.

c) Men and tight pants…

I swear I could see absolutely every little millimeter of one gentleman’s modesty at the gym last week. The anatomical study of the human body fascinates me – I went to see Body Worlds the other day and it was mind blowing. However, at the gym I only want to see Swiss and medicine balls. Please guys, retain a little sense mystery!

Faya’s visible crotch tip #2 – If I were a gentleman, I would consider avoiding tight lycra leggings and opt for altogether looser shorts or joggers instead. Channel your inner ‘80s dude’ and go baggy.

5) ‘MY TRAINER FORGOT I WAS HERE’

Trainers on their phones whilst training a client – well, this isn’t gym etiquette per se, but I want to throw it in here anyway as it actually upsets me. To channel Mr T, I pity the fool. A client is willing to pay you good money, and you’re on your phone looking at photos of yourself from your last body building competition? This is what gives PTs a bad reputation. You should be looking at your client’s form, correcting their technique, inspiring them, and delivering them the specialism they’ll require to get stronger, fitter, healthier!

Faya’s considerate tip #4: Trainers gonna’ train.

6) CRASH-BANG-WALLOP

Breaking the equipment, and in particular, dropping the cable machine; MEGA ANNOYING. In fact, this is probably what annoys me the most. We all share a space, we all pay membership, yet there is a small group of people who ruin it for everyone else. The cable machine always breaks because some meat-head muppet insists on dropping the weight after every set, therein tearing the cable. This not only confirms the unfathomable nothingness between said people’s ears, but it means next time anyone goes to use the machine it’ll be broken for them too.

Aside from the obvious breakage point (bad!), we often forget about the subsequent lowering of the weight after it has first been lifted.

Faya’s form tip #1: By exclusively pursuing this noisy and dangerous approach of throwing down the weights, the ogre is missing out on a vital part of the exercise – the eccentric phase. Rather than just letting gravity do all the work for you (i.e. where you just drop the weight as if ‘meh’), actually controlling the weight’s passage on the way down delivers significant benefit from a workout perspective. So, have a look at the brief explanation as to what the different phases are below, and then have a think about your own workout technique, and how you might apply it to the likes of press-ups, pull ups etc to squeeze that extra 25% out of your sessions! For more on this read here:

 http://fitnessontoast.com/2018/06/18/technique-freak/.

n.b. Faya’s considerate tip #5: Avoid being an inane ogre, by being gentle with the kit!

7) MIRROR, MIRROR, ON THE WALL…

…who’s the vainest of them all? Turns out, loads of people are equally vain at the gym! I understand that for many people, gymming is in itself a narcissitically aesthetic pursuit (I disagree), but endless flexing…checking your reflection after every set in the mirror is unnecessary. It’s been 2 minutes my friend, nothing’s changed – trust me you still look exactly the same. Are you doing it for yourself, or perhaps for everyone else? They probably don’t think it’s cool either.

Faya’s form tip #2: On a serious note, a lot of people don’t know but mirrors are a very useful tool in the gym,  perhaps the most important tool. They are there to ensure your form and technique is correct when training. Observing alignment, monitoring pace, overseeing planes… these are all helpful activities involving a mirror. Auto-arousal is not.

8) SHARING IS GLARING

Occupying one or several pieces of equipment for long periods of time is just inconsiderate.

Common scenario 1: It’s leg day and today I’m going to get my personal best on deadlifts. I’ve worked hard on this for weeks and I can’t wait! Only problem is the dude in the gym is doing not 3 sets, but 8 sets…. this is truly ridiculous as it’ll mean I won’t get a chance to do my deadlifts. Of course, in this instance you’d share. It’s something we learn at kindergarten – to share the toys. I could easily do a set IN BETWEEN his sets. That is gym selfishness and totally unacceptable! “ASK!” you say? I shouldn’t have to.

Scenario two: Two friends are training together and rather than share the squat rack they’ve taken two! And refuse to allow anyone to jump in to do a set in between their sets!!

Scenario three: This guy has some sort of Round-Robin circuit going on and has taken three machines which he uses back-to-back and in no way can anyone use them in-between his sets!

Faya’s considerate tip #6: I don’t know, be nice, or something. Just don’t man-spread the gym equipment – everyone needs to use it.

9) TIDY UP AFTER YOURSELF!

Perhaps you’re used to your mum making your bed, but in the gym, once you finish using something put it back where you found it. Thanks guys, walking up to the squat rack the first thing I have to do is remove all your weights! This is super mega inconsiderate.

Faya’s considerate tip #7: Also a little wipe down every now and again doesn’t go amiss. Most gyms have towelettes for precisely this purpose, and even a little sanitising spray. Disinfectant is a nicer thing to see on a bench than a dribbling shiny bacteria-laden slick of perspiration. :: shudder ::

And finally 10) BE PATIENT!

Aware that I currently sound like the worlds least patient gym-goer, but a little bit of patience goes along way. If someone is doing a set, perhaps wait before jumping in to grab a weight right beside him/her. I know myself if I’m on a set, I’m really focused, maybe its PB day and someone skirts in beside me and grabs weight…. It blocks my view of my form in the mirror, interrupts my headspace, breaks my concentration, makes me think about whether they’ll bump into me by mistake… this is all super distracting, so just take a moment and jump in when it’s safe to do so!

Well, that’s all for now. Only another 250 pet peeves left on the list, but that’s enough to start things going…

Thanks for reading my vented-scribbles of fitness frustration, and if you have any more to add to this list, PLEASE PLEASE write them in the comment section below! I would absolutely LOVE to know what ticks you off at the gym, because I’m probably the same too

Faya x

________________

Wearing: Lululemon Pants & Hoodie, Adidas Ultraboost Uncaged shoes..

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10 WAYS TO BE A DUFUS AT THE GYM! posted first on yummylooksbest.blogspot.com

[justbloggingit-blog]

The 20 Best Movies of 2017 (So Far)

When it comes to collating the best movies we’ve seen so far in 2017, we did our damnedest to not only give a general consensus among our section’s staff, but to keep in mind which films our readers will actually be able to catch in theaters. Two of these picks premiered at Cannes last year, but only recently scored some U.S. distribution, and one title won’t come out for another few weeks which, as of publishing, has only been seen (and adored) by one person on staff. All excuses of course: With writers spread out all over the world, and with something like 3,000 film festivals currently active, the number of great movies on our individual lists splays out far too broadly to be limited by a few months.

So, there’s something for everyone in the following: big budget crowd-pleasers, obligatory sequels, obligatory franchise installments, historical dramas, anime fantasy, both urgent and meditative documentaries, both urgent and meditative genre debuts, a social drama that’s also a kaiju film, a social drama that’s also a bit of a farce, and an unclassifiable ghost story or two. Here’s to hoping you can find a film to truly love in 2017.

Here are the 20 best movies of 2017—so far.

20. The Fate of the Furious 

Director: F. Gary Gray

The Fate of the Furious is the reason moving pictures exist. Not the only reason, just the main one: the glory of dynamic motion which involves the pulse and the heart. The Fast franchise is a group of action films centered around a crew of talented outlaws who engage in illegal street racing and, later, heists. Although the lineup has changed over the years, the basic formula has stayed the same: an eccentric crew of colorful characters with various talents, led by Dominic Toretto (Vin Diesel) and his co-conspirator/girlfriend/wife Letty Ortiz (Michelle Rodriguez) get involved in ever-increasing stakes. This group refers to themselves as “family,” and their bond is the sinew of the franchise. As the series escalates—escalation is the name of the game here—everybody eventually becomes part of the family, even the antagonists who are sent after them: the first movie saw undercover cop Brian O’Conner (Paul Walker) joining the crew; this habit is followed in later movies by Diplomatic Security Service agent Luke Hobbs (Dwayne Johnson). But none of this dry summation can give you an accurate idea of this franchise or its charm: These are movies where topping the previous installment is itself the art. How much crazier can the stunts get? How strong is the family’s bond? How many incredible moments will these stars have on screen? How intense can the stakes get? How byzantine are the plots? How can they possibly pull it off? The Fast franchise, and its latest installment, Fate of the Furious, is so clever, so perfectly executed, emotionally sincere, self-aware and gloriously cinematic that I think it’s made me happier, and more entertained, than any other movie I’ve seen this year. —Jason Rhode / Full Review

19. I Called Him Morgan Director: Kasper Collin

I Called Him Morgan is the story of two troubled people, one of whom killed the other. Documentarian Kasper Collin—who previously made My Name Is Albert Ayler, also about a jazz musician—looks at the difficult, abbreviated life of trumpeter Lee Morgan, who was shot dead in the winter of 1972 in New York. It’s not a mystery who pulled the trigger—it was his common-law wife, Helen, who was more than 10 years his senior—but I Called Him Morgan isn’t about solving a crime, rather, it’s about connecting the dots regarding why the crime happened. Throughout the film, you feel the slow, grim pull of inevitable tragedy set against a lush visual palette. (Oscar-nominated Arrival cinematographer Bradford Young is one of I Called Him Morgan’s credited cameramen.) Talking heads’ tales are crosscut with dreamy images—snowy nights in New York, a hypnotically colorful fish tank—that always feel pertinent to what’s being discussed. And then there are the interview subjects and the milieu. Jazz musicians such as Wayne Shorter and Charli Persip talk about their friend with specificity and insight, and Lee Morgan’s music—as well as the music he played in other people’s bands—fills the soundtrack. The film will be heaven for jazz aficionados, but those who don’t know the difference between bebop and hard bop won’t feel lost. Collin understands that his film is about people, not art, but his deft storytelling—and the endless sadness that comes from his tale—flexes its own nimbleness and beauty. —Tim Grierson / Full Review

18. T2 Trainspotting Director:   Danny Boyle   Superficially, T2 is an action crime comedy, but its true subject is about being 40 in the modern United Kingdom, just as its predecessor was about being British and 20. Boyle and company want to both eat and burn their cake, too—to be nostalgic and deconstruct nostalgia. The plot, which deals with payback and schemes, is really an excuse for all of us to check in, keep tabs, see how everybody is doing. There are flashbacks to scenes from the original movie, and childhood scenes that weren’t in the original film. T2 is mostly played out in the aged faces of its lead characters as they stumble over the twilight of youth: Aye, so it’s come to this; a real shame, innit? —Jason Rhode / Full Review

17. Logan Director: James Mangold Ultimately, Logan’s ambition is to present itself with a weight of gravitas that isn’t entirely earned, considering the history of the character. It will doubtlessly frustrate some of the Everyman cinema-goers who perceive its middle chapters as slow, or who criticize the 135-minute run-time, but I expect patient viewers will appreciate the way it allows its characters to breathe and wallow in moments of vulnerability. It’s not a film calculated to be a people-pleaser, but it is an appropriately intense end to a character defined by the tenacity and ferocity of a wolverine. —Jim Vorel / Full Review

16. City of Ghosts Director: Matthew Heineman There need not be a documentary about the Syrian catastrophe to rally the world around its cause—just as, in Matthew Heineman’s previous film, Cartel Land, there was no need to vilify the world of Mexican cartels or the DEA or the paramilitaristic nationalists patrolling our Southern borders to confirm that murder and drug trafficking are bad. The threats are known and the stakes understood, at least conceptually. And yet, by offering dedicated, deeply intimate portraits of the people caught up in these crises, Heineman complicates them beyond all repair, placing himself in undoubtedly death-defying situations to offer a perspective whose only bias is instinctual. So it is with City of Ghosts, in which he follows members of Raqqa is Being Slaughtered Silently, a group committed to using citizen-based journalism to expose the otherwise covered-up atrocities committed by ISIS and the Assad regime in Syria. In hiding, in Turkey and Germany and at an event for journalists in the U.S.—in exile—these men, who Heineman characterizes as a very young and even more reluctant resistance, tell of both the increasingly sophisticated multimedia methods of ISIS and their hopes for feeling safe enough to settle and start a family with equal trepidation about what they’ve conditioned themselves to never believe: That perhaps they’ll never be safe. Heineman could have easily bore witness to the atrocities himself, watching these men as they watch, over and over, videos of their loved ones executed by ISIS, a piquant punishment for their crimes of resistance. There is much to be said about the responsibility of seeing in our world today, after all. Instead, while City of Ghosts shares plenty of horrifying images, the director more often that not shields the audience from the graphic details, choosing to focus his up-close camera work on the faces of these men as they take on the responsibility of bearing witness, steeling themselves for a potential lifetime of horror in which everything they know and love will be taken from them. By the time Heineman joins these men as they receive the 2015 International Press Freedom Award for their work, the clapping, beaming journalists in the audience practically indict themselves, unable to see how these Syrian men want to be doing anything but what they feel they must, reinforcing the notion that what seems to count as international reportage anymore is the exact kind of lack of nuance that Heineman so beautifully, empathetically wants to call out. —Dom Sinacola

15. John Wick: Chapter 2 Director: Chad Stahelski Perhaps the greatest compliment you can pay to both John Wick movies is via comparison to a contemporary: John Wick films are to guns what The Raid films are to fists. Within their respective spheres of combat, each is on an entirely separate level in terms of presentation. Both aspire to something more vital than to ���entertain.” They don’t want to “satisfy” an audience—they want to make your jaw drop. They want you to stifle a guffaw as John Wick (Keanu Reeves) pulls off a move that is simultaneously so slickly unrealistic and bone-crunchingly visceral that the cognitive dissonance causes a brief misfire in your synapses. They’re everything that G.I. Joe or Fast & The Furious never bothers even attempting to be. So yes, both cinephiles and action movie buffs will be pleased to know that John Wick: Chapter 2 is a worthy follow-up to the surprising 2014 original. Holding the torch passed from ’80s and ’90s John Woo classics, director Chad Stahelski delivers an epic ballet of arm-breaking and gun-kata that somehow manages to run for 122 minutes without ever overstaying its welcome. That’s far easier said than done. —Jim Vorel / Full Review

14. Prevenge Director: Alice Lowe Maybe getting close enough to gut a person when you’re seven months pregnant is a cinch—no one likely expects an expecting mother to cut their throat—but all the positive encouragement Ruth’s (Alice Lowe) unborn daughter gives her helps, too. The kid spends the film spurring her mother to slaughter seemingly innocent people from in utero, an invisible voice of incipient malevolence sporting a high-pitched giggle that’ll make your skin crawl. “Pregnant lady goes on a slashing spree at the behest of her gestating child” sounds like a perfectly daffy twist on one of the horror genre’s most enduring contemporary niches on paper. In practice it’s not quite so daffy, more somber than it is silly, but the bleak tone suits what writer, director, and star Lowe wants to achieve with her filmmaking debut. Another storyteller might have designed Prevenge as a more comically-slanted effort, but Lowe has sculpted it to smash taboos and social norms. Because Prevenge hates human beings with a disturbing passion—even human beings who aren’t selfish, awful, creepy or worse—in it, child-rearing is a form of real-life body horror that’s as smartly crafted and grimly funny as it is terrifying. —Andy Crump / Full Review

13. Starless Dreams Director: Mehrdad Oskouei Mehrdad Oskouei, the director of this sobering documentary about young girls in a juvenile-detention facility in Iran, is well-regarded in his home country, but until the Museum of the Moving Image in New York gave this film a theatrical run earlier this year, he was barely known, if at all, by international audiences outside of the festival circuit. Based on Starless Dreams, though—and especially in tandem with two earlier, shorter, similarly themed documentaries of his, It’s Always Late for Freedom (2007) and The Last Days of Winter (2011)—the belated wider attention seems richly deserved. A mix of talking-heads interviews and fly-on-the-wall observational sequences, Starless Dreams couches its critique of a heartless judicial system, and by extension a repressive society, in deeply human terms. The personal stories Oskouei, with his paternal manner, collects are heartbreaking in their evocation of childhood innocence crushed at a prematurely early age, with some of them either fearing returning to their normal lives outside of the facility, and others simply wishing for death. And yet, occasionally these girls are able to find pockets of light, mostly through the bonds they’ve forged with each other. Abbas Kiarostami may have left this earth last year, but his gently inquisitive spirit, at least in the nonfiction realm, finds a successor in Oskouei. —Kenji Fujishima

12. After the Storm Director: Hirokazu Kore-eda If a melancholy, troubled tone is endemic in Kore-eda’s work, so is his close chronicling of family dynamics. While Ryota fears turning into the same terminal disappointment as his father—or, perhaps, the disappointment he perceived him to be—he tries to win Shingo’s affection, buying him gifts to assert his supremacy over his ex’s new boyfriend. In Ryota’s mind, it’s how to be close to his boy in a way his father never was with him, but After the Storm knows better, recognizing all the ways that he’s failing his kid—and also how, like its own kind of genetic gravity, Ryota is becoming his old man, unable to correct the mistakes of the past. But there’s no scorn in Kore-eda’s depiction of Ryota’s transformation: The middle-aged man will come to understand how little he knew about his dad and also why he still craves connection to him, even though he thought he didn’t. —Tim Grierson / Full Review

11. Your Name Director: Makoto Shinkai In the great ongoing debate of anime canonicity at large, Shinkai is often heralded as the “next” Hayao Miyazaki for both the artistry and accessibility of his work. This comparison, however, albeit well-meaning, is reductionist. Miyazaki’s place in the history of anime is already well established, while Shinkai has not even yet reached his apex. The burden of expectation, to laud any one director as the “next” adoptive patriarch of their art form, is as misguided as it is creatively stifling. Art does not need successors; art needs artists. This much, however, is certain: Shinkai’s films speak directly to the times in which they were created, and with this latest work, he has more than earned the right to step from out of the shadow of comparisons to Miyazaki and forge his own name. —Toussaint Egan / Full Review

10. Casting JonBenet Director: Kitty Green An unlikely cross-section of humanity also populates Casting JonBenet, which boasts a provocative idea that yields enormous emotional rewards. Filmmaker Kitty Green invited members of the Boulder, Colorado community where JonBenet Ramsey lived to “audition” for a film about her. But in the tradition of Kate Plays Christine or The Machine Which Makes Everything Disappear, that’s actually a feint: Green uses the on-camera interviews with these people to talk about Ramsey’s murder and the still-lingering questions about who committed the crime. She’s not interested in their acting abilities—she’s trying to pinpoint the ways that a 21-year-old incident still resonates. It’s a premise that could seem cruel or exploitative, but Casting JonBenet is actually incredibly compassionate. Green wizardly finds connective tissue between all these actors, who have internalized the little girl’s killing, finding parallels in their own lives to this tragedy. High-profile murders like Ramsey’s often provoke gawking, callous media treatment, turning us all into rubberneckers, but Casting JonBenet vigorously works against that tendency, fascinated by our psychological need to judge other people’s lives, but also deeply mournful, even respectful, of the very human reasons why we do so. —Tim Grierson

9. It Comes at Night Director: Trey Edward Shults It Comes at Night is ostensibly a horror movie, moreso than Shults’s debut, Krisha, but even Krisha was more of a horror movie than most measured family dramas typically are. Perhaps knowing this, Shults calls It Comes at Night an atypical horror movie, but—it’s already obvious after only two of these—Shults makes horror movies to the extent that everything in them is laced with dread, and every situation suffocated with inevitability. For his sophomore film, adorned with a much larger budget than Krisha and cast with some real indie star power compared to his previous cast (of family members doing him a solid), Shults imagines a near future as could be expected from a somber flick like this. A “sickness” has ravaged the world and survival is all that matters for those still left. In order to keep their shit together enough to keep living, the small group of people in Shults’s film have to accept the same things the audience does: That important characters will die, tragedy will happen and the horror of life is about the pointlessness of resisting the tide of either. So it makes sense that It Comes at Night is such an open wound of a watch, pained with regret and loss and the mundane ache of simply existing: It’s trauma as tone poem, bittersweet down to its bones, a triumph of empathetic, soul-shaking movie-making. —Dom Sinacola / Full Review

8. Raw Director: Julia Ducournou If you’re the proud owner of a twisted sense of humor, you might tell your friends that Julia Ducournau’s Raw is a coming of age movie in a bid to trick them into seeing it. Yes, the film’s protagonist, naive incoming college student Justine (Garance Marillier), comes of age over the course of its running time; she parties, she breaks out of her shell and she learns about who she really is as a person on the verge of adulthood. But most kids who come of age in the movies don’t realize that they’ve spent their lives unwittingly suppressing an innate, nigh-insatiable need to consume raw meat. “Hey,” you’re thinking, “that’s the name of the movie!” You’re right! Allow Ducournau her cheekiness. More than a wink and nod to the picture’s visceral particulars, Raw is an open concession to the harrowing quality of Justine’s grim blossoming. Nasty as the film gets, and it does indeed get nasty, the harshest sensations Ducournau articulates here tend to be the ones we can’t detect by merely looking: Fear of feminine sexuality, family legacies, popularity politics and uncertainty of self govern Raw’s horrors as much as exposed and bloody flesh. It’s a gorefest that offers no apologies and plenty more to chew on than its effects. —Andy Crump / Full Review (for a slightly different take on the film)

7. Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2 Director: James Gunn In Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2, James Gunn shows that “second verse, mostly same as the first” can serve the viewer (and, inevitably, the box office) well, especially when one has most of the Marvel universe to pull from. To a large extent, GotG Vol. 2 follows the playbook from the first film, though now, with the entire cast familiar faces to the audience, Gunn skips introductions and goes right to the funny. In this case, that means an opening credits sequence featuring the entire team and what amounts to a highlight reel of character traits meant to amuse: rapid banter from Star-Lord (Chris Pratt) and Rocket Raccoon (Bradley Cooper), humorous ’roid-rage from Drax (Dave Bautista), quiet bad-assitude from Gamora (Zoe Saldana) and an extended cute-Groot frolic. During this sequence and throughout the movie, the comic elements of this particular space opera feel as if they have been ratcheted up. But though he doesn’t seem to want the audience to have too much time between laughs, Gunn also seems determined to match the increased comic volume with more heart. The audience is unlikely to feel they’ve seen anything that different from Vol. 1, but it’s clear that Gunn and company knew exactly what qualities made the first film so enjoyable, and what they needed to do to make sure this particular sequel was worth the wait. —Michael Burgin / Full Review

6. Colossal Director: Nacho Vigalondo Colossal is simply a much darker, more serious-minded film than one could possibly go in expecting, judging from the marketing materials and rather misleading trailers. It blooms into a story about sacrifice and martyrdom, while simultaneously featuring an array of largely unlikable characters who are not “good people” in any measurable way. I understand that description sounds at odds with itself—this film is often at odds with itself. But in the cognitive dissonance this creates, it somehow finds a streak of feminist individuality and purpose it couldn’t have even attempted to seek as a straight-up comedy. —Jim Vorel / Full Review

5. I Am Not Your Negro Director: Raoul Peck Raoul Peck focuses on James Baldwin’s unfinished book Remember This House, a work that would have memorialized three of his friends, Martin Luther King Jr., Malcolm X and Medgar Evers. All three black men were assassinated within five years of each other, and we learn in the film that Baldwin was not just concerned about these losses as terrible blows to the Civil Rights movement, but deeply cared for the wives and children of the men who were murdered. Baldwin’s overwhelming pain is as much the subject of the film as his intellect. And so I Am Not Your Negro is not just a portrait of an artist, but a portrait of mourning—what it looks, sounds and feels like to lose friends, and to do so with the whole world watching (and with so much of America refusing to understand how it happened, and why it will keep happening). Peck could have done little else besides give us this feeling, placing us squarely in the presence of Baldwin, and I Am Not Your Negro would have likely still been a success. His decision to steer away from the usual documentary format, where respected minds comment on a subject, creates a sense of intimacy difficult to inspire in films like this. The pleasure of sitting with Baldwin’s words, and his words alone, is exquisite. There’s no interpreter, no one to explain Baldwin but Baldwin—and this is how it should be. —Shannon M. Houston / Full Review

4. Graduation Director: Cristian Mungiu The crimes are minor but it’s the misdemeanors that do the most harm in Graduation, an excellent Romanian drama that begins as a father’s hope for his talented teen daughter and morphs into a claustrophobic moral crisis ensnaring several individuals. Writer-director Cristian Mungiu lays out his story with nearly surgical precision, adopting a chilly tone for a movie about the tiny, day-to-day infractions that conspire to corrode society’s foundation. This is the fourth feature from Mungiu, who has proved to be a master of the minor. In his breakout second feature, 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days, the arduous process to secure an abortion was enough to sustain a taut, real-time thriller. In his 2012 follow-up Beyond the Hills, the tense relationship between two childhood friends became a springboard for a drama about religious faith and devotion. Now with Graduation, Mungiu again sees the drama in the everyday, arguing that it’s not the major injustices that are the most nefarious—it’s the small ways we screw over the other guy on a regular basis that keep us so paranoid and distrustful of one another. Rarely has cheating on a test been fraught with such significance. —Tim Grierson / Full Review

3. The Lost City of Z Director: James Gray James Gray’s The Lost City of Z is an anti-period movie. In the vein of The Immigrant, Gray’s glorious last film, Z is fascinated with its milieu (this time we begin across the Atlantic in Blighty, from 1906 to 1925) and luxuriously adorned with period detail—but the strangulated social climate and physically claustrophobic spaces of its ostensibly sophisticated Western society make that environment appear totally unappealing. Only once we reach the Amazon, untainted by Western hands, does the film relax, its beguiling score and open-air scenery turning inviting. There, in a land of uncomplicated tribes and indifferent wilderness, a man like soldier and explorer Major Percy Fawcett (Charlie Hunnam) can find freedom from the narrow-mindedness infecting early 20th century Britain. Darius Khondji’s cinematography doesn’t just complement Gray’s movie, it deepens its meaning, strengthening the appeal of Fawcett’s jungle, endlessly verdant and mysterious where home in England appears dull and monotone. Every frame is sumptuous and misty-eyed, always pining for a lost era when adventurers might still find corners of the Earth completely untouched. (Gray may show little love for Empire, but he depicts colonial exploration in itself as a romantic adventure.) The film doesn’t make for much complexity, but it feels deeply. Like Fawcett, it aches—like his obsession, the jungle, it envelops, casting a lasting spell. —Brogan Morris / Full Review

2. Personal Shopper Director: Olivier Assayas The pieces don’t all fit in Personal Shopper, but that’s much of the fun of writer-director Olivier Assayas’s enigmatic tale of Maureen (Kristen Stewart, a wonderfully unfathomable presence), who may be in contact with her dead twin brother. Or maybe she’s being stalked by an unseen assailant. Or maybe it’s both. To attempt to explain the direction Personal Shopper takes is merely to regurgitate plot points that don’t sound like they belong in the same film. But Assayas is working on a deeper, more metaphoric level, abandoning strict narrative cause-and-effect logic to give us fragments of Maureen’s life refracted through conflicting experiences. Nothing happens in this film as a direct result of what came before, which explains why a sudden appearance of suggestive, potentially dangerous text messages could be interpreted as a literal threat, or as some strange cosmic manifestation of other, subtler anxieties. Personal Shopper encourages a sense of play, moving from moody ghost story to tense thriller to (out of the blue) erotic character study. But that genre-hopping (not to mention the movie’s willfully inscrutable design) is Assayas’s way of bringing a lighthearted approach to serious questions about grieving and disillusionment. The juxtaposition isn’t jarring or glib—if anything, Personal Shopper is all the more entrancing because it won’t sit still, never letting us be comfortable in its shifting narrative. —Tim Grierson / Full Review

1. Get Out Director:   Jordan Peele   Peele’s a natural behind the camera, but Get Out benefits most from its deceptively trim premise, a simplicity which belies rich thematic depth. Chris (Daniel Kaluuya) and Rose (Allison Williams) go to spend a weekend with her folks in their lavish upstate New York mansion, where they’re throwing the annual Armitage bash with all their friends in attendance. Chris immediately feels out of place; events escalate from there, taking the narrative in a ghastly direction that ultimately ties back to the unsettling sensation of being the “other” in a room full of people who aren’t like you—and never let you forget it. Put indelicately, Get Out is about being black and surrounded by whites who squeeze your biceps without asking, who fetishize you to your face, who analyze your blackness as if it’s a fashion trend. At best Chris’s ordeal is bizarre and dizzying, the kind of thing he might bitterly chuckle about in retrospect. At worst it’s a setup for such macabre developments as are found in the domain of horror. That’s the finest of lines Peele and Get Out walk without stumbling. —Andy Crump