#Why do I always naturally end up writing from Ford's point of view?

[cartoonsinthemorning]

You got me reading Combat Baby, Come Back, and now all I can think about is time-dilation stangst. Ford telling Stan all about his adventures in the portal and Stan being secretly jealous that Ford got to do all the travelling and exploring that they had dreamed about all on his own, and now he’s 30s years older and Stan’s thinking that it’s so unfair that he even grew old without him, and that they’ll never get to sail the world together now (they do, they do, but getting to that point is a journey in and of itself)

I don't know how I got you to read it, but I'm very glad you did! First, because it's a masterpiece, a delicacy that every Stancester should go read, enjoy, and praise the author for writing. Second, because you come back here and you shoot me in the heart with this?? This angst that breaks my heart too? Thanks, I love it. But my brain needs some comfort, too, so what I'm enjoying to imagine if a fluff spin on this scenario: 30s Stan pouting and openly grumbling about the unfairness of it all- and Ford being distracted, not fully absorbing the angst, because GOD this Stan looks SO cute, and, in his eyes, so young. Ford would have this blissed, contemplative smile on his face, because his travels also involved danger and suffering, and it was essentially a banishment- so Stan's frustrations comes across as the whining of a spoiled kid, to him. From Ford's point of view, not growing old together is indeed unfair- to himself, rather. He's the one that got older, while his own twin is still young, with so much time ahead of himself, and without the scars that the multiverse can, and definitely would, impart travelers. And, if at this point of the story, Ford's resentment already melted away, then said outburst from Stan would come across as sweet, if not a bit selfish, but surely not infuriating. Charming, really. Meanwhile, if Stan caught Ford smiling at him like that, he'd find it smug and condescending and aggravating, lmao. But again, even if he threw something at his brother, Ford would just dodge it and find the temper tantrum quite adorable. If Ford proposed, in attempt to appease Stan, they may do that now- the may sail the world together, have their adventures, grow older together- even if, well, at a different rate. If Stan doesn't mind spending his thirties alone at sea with his much older, "insufferably smug", twin, of course- But he wouldn't even end the sentence because Stan would be hugging him so hard, squeezing all the air out of him.

[jozlyn-moon]

The Cipher Twins

Ford’s Journal Entry:

(It’s long! And one of the first Journal Entries I’ve gone fully into making!)

“How and Why that devil managed to “conceive”, and I use this term loosely, is beyond me. Especially when it’s taken in mind how careful with planning he chooses to be. But the outcome of two children that share such gains of his power is.. well- reckless, but that does give us a view that he isn’t as on his game as much as he once was, which in my eyes shows as a beacon of hope. Continuing though-

These two have been an eye opening pain in the ass to deal with in all the years that they’ve had to be in my life… and that’s saying quite a bit. From the oddities that sprout from their father’s genes to the oddities that come from each of their unique personalities that stem from their own special quirks, to study them has been an experience. Though, if I shouldn’t lie.. I may have chosen a favorite of the two for one reason or another and even if either manages to get a hand on my writing their opinion would not much matter in the end.

To begin on the first, Lily Cipher, a rambunctious but albeit pleasant kid to be around. An attribute which I could only give thanks to in the mother’s raising of both of the twins which I presumed had fortunately been enough to quell any evil nature that may have been held in her soul. Along with the fact that there had been no contact with the father in her and her sibling’s upbringing. Ignoring that fact- She can be described as a great help around the lab, seeing as age and stress have worn down my ability to keep steady with my motor and cognitive skills… she comes in handy as a shockingly fast learner, but to no surprise really as much as I don’t want to point the praise at where the origin of the ability may have come from, I do have my guesses to who it was passed down from.

She is a very curious and hyperactive child as well, being quite fascinated in the little things and anything that moves, she could only remind me of Mabel in her younger years in the most bitter sweet way possible. I pray for the moment that she’s alright.. but besides that point-

I find that she’s been a large help in also understanding, if not, being able to decrypt the genetics of my enemy, with her ability to shape shift into a form similar to the beings of Bill’s late home dimension, flatlanders as they’re called, she has given key samples of skin and DNA that have properties no normal being can handle nor have. I believe she and her brother are direct keys in Bill’s downfall. And while I wish to be optimistic to the outcomes of their existence at the current time, I do hold dread for whats to come. As while I may have positive outcomes with the more sweet hearted sibling… I have trouble describing the short tempered and snide one as such. Liam is another whole pile of bones to dissect but i’ll get to his summary soon enough.

Lily, and what baffles me the most about her, is how something so, well giddy and sweet by nature, can come out of such a creature that can be so, by choice, dangerously and maliciously evil. But then again, that damn triangle had always had his charms at his hand, so it wouldn’t be a complete surprise if that had passed along to his spawn.

And as much as I want to be paranoid of my enemy’s daughter, seeing first hand her grow up with no influence of her father’s morals and presence due to her mother separating from that devil before either of the twins were born- it lets me ponder on the thought of the nature vs nurture theory and how whether or not natures of the parents pass down to the kin and how much it actual effects their psyche.

Albeit with Lily, she works on her own will with a good moral stand point and natural urge to uplift others in sometimes slightly odd but endearing ways. Though i’m afraid that it’s her brother that leaves me still questioning the nature vs. nurture stand point, as I couldn’t say the same completely for her twin.

Liam Cipher, a more reserved kid but leaning on socially aloof by choice, is one who leaves me sleeping with one eye open. Literally. Seemingly gained the temper of his father along with a slew of other worrying traits that I would rather not be in the presence of while someone has lit his fuse. He is the sole reason why I had to ban or at the least limit the use of both of their magic to the mundane and simple party tricks after an incident with him that cost me half my sight with a fit he threw when he was younger.

Though as his mother insists to me greatly, it’s not the child’s fault for the traits he was born with, he can’t help himself she claims. And while true to some extents I can’t help but feel the dread towards the thought of another Bill like being sprouting due to the “freak accident” of them being somehow made into existence. From the personality to even the damn voice that the kid shares with himself and his devil of a father, I can’t just shake off the feeling of a tense shiver that always crawls up my back when thinking of him growing older.

The only saving grace, and what calms my already paranoid nerves falls upon the ones I could think have a good hand in quelling those unsavory traits, the one’s I label the family buffers. I.e his mother, sister, and at times the cousins that are there to talk him down out of a potential blow out. I couldn’t even dare muster the thoughts to wonder what he’d turn to if his mother nor his “siblings”, if I could even loosely consider the cousins as such, weren’t there to quell his snappy nature. But for the sake of my cortisol levels, I can’t let those scenarios overcome my already racing thoughts because I have enough to deal with now in taking care of both of the twins that have been enough of a hassle on my growing age.

Liam for the most part has made it clear that he has a distaste for me, I believe sprouting from my coldness towards his mother for being deceptive at the beginning of our begrudging guardianship over the kids. And he places it as if I have no good reason, if it wasn’t clear that I have some bother that hiding the children of that damned demon under my nose with what current family I have left wasn’t something to not be chastised for. Not to mention that her withholding from the implicit truth had allowed me and my great great niece and nephew to harbor an attachment to the twins which if I had known before hand their origin… would not have ended well for her.

But I am not heartless, I do understand the fears that may have accompanied the weight of telling the truth at the time. And I’ve learnt that I shouldn’t be one to not swallow my pride and say I know I would have probably acted rashly. But as someone who freshly lost what family they had left at the time I feel as if it would’ve been just.

I don’t hate either of them, even while one may be more a pain in the ass than the other. I do believe I care for them in some sense. Liam is a help to me greatly, I won’t downplay that factor at all, he’s the one that helps me draw in the newer journal entries and goes out to scout with Chloe to do some cartography of the surrounding landscape. A quirk he seems to be great at with a sense of great direction and keen eyesight, something even younger me couldn’t get down right away. My body can only do so much these days as I’ve already made my point earlier that my hands and even now legs can’t do what they did often like they used to.

He’s smart, more smart than he gives himself props for, he knows how to channel a certain charisma and silver tongue that lets him find the best supplies, of course if it isn’t the case that he had stole them in the first place. And like his sister, there is no second thought to where he got that ability from, but it’s better to not dwell on it, just for my sake at least.

Both are a handful in their own ways, but they have grown on me- and they do hold insight in how we may be able to stop weirdmaggedon once and for all.

And I pray that it can be in time.”

(If you made it down here thanks for reading it! I want to make sure I have Ford’s characterization down to some extent 😭 My grammar may not be all that great but I tried lol)

[beautifulletdownfics]

The Nearness of You - A Harry Styles One Shot

A friends to lovers one shot feat. birthdays, pining and stolen purses.

Hello, please enjoy this fever dream fic that came to me a week ago and is now somehow 13.5k and gracing your eyeballs. I’ve never written a one-shot of this nature before and it was quite a refreshing distraction from my usual, long-form fics. Thank you to Anne @oh-honey-styles​ for the encouragement (bullying) and for posting the pic that inspired it all. To everyone else, read on x katey *Because this is quite lengthy, I’d recommend opening in a browser because the Tumblr app can be glitchy*

My masterlist Chat to me here

“When you're in my arms And I feel you so close to me All my wildest dreams came true” The Nearness of You, Ella Fitzgerald & Louis Armstrong

++

You love the cold.

London in February isn't everybody's cup of tea, but you feel positively giddy walking down the icy Soho street in your new & Other Stories snow boots. The hard, black leather is already making your toes ache, and they're rubbing against the heel of your left foot, but they'll stretch to size, and you can tell these are going to be Your Signature Boots. The wind whips against your cheeks, red flushing them as you cross the laneway and push open the door to the chic little restaurant you've followed on Instagram for years but never had an excuse to try. Figures Harry chose it for tonight. Sometimes you wondered if the coincidences were a little too … Coincidental.

"Hi," you smile brightly to the maître d', "I'm uh … I'm here for the birthday? For Harry?"

Do I need to say his surname? You think to yourself.

"Can I have your name, please?" The suited man pulls a piece of paper out of the reservations book and waits for you to identify yourself. Your chest is rattling from the cold and the flurry of nerves you're all too familiar with ignoring.

"Y/N," you say your full name, taking in the dark floor of the restaurant, the flickering candles on the tables and lining the bar that takes up the entire left side of the room. The whole place is beautiful, just like you've double-tapped online; all deep reds and burgundies, vintage posters, and mismatched, dark wooden furniture. A jazz record plays just loudly enough to fuse the conversations at all the tables into one comfortable sound. It would make for a sexy place for a date, you decide, stolen touches under the table would feel thrilling and seductive.

The maître d' nods, you're on the list, "Back in the private dining room," he says, "Follow me this way."

You push your evening bag further up your shoulder and walk half the length of the bar, your eyes adjusting to the darkness. You catch the bartender watching you as you go, he's cute, and you give him an awkward little wave before calling out ahead of you.

"Sorry, excuse me," you get the attention of the man leading you through, "Can you point me to where I need to go? I'm going to get a drink to take in first if that's okay?"

"Just there," he points to the doorway at the back, next to the kitchen pass, "The curtain on the right."

Thanking him, you watch as he walks back to his station by the front door. You turn to the bar and rest your hands on the cool wood. They've stuck the pages together of old Little Golden Books for the drink menus, but you'll be ordering what you always get on birthdays, so don't take in the beverage options as you flip through The Tawny Scrawny Lion. You remember it from when you were a kid.

The bartender moves to stand in front of you, a gleam in his eyes and flirtatious smirk on his face, "Pretty good read, that one. You have to order a drink though, this isn't a library."

You laugh, he's laying it on a bit thick but probably just after the tip, "I was more a The Poky Little Puppy sort of girl."

He gives you a grin of approval, flipping a napkin up onto the bar in front of you, "What can I make for you?"

"I'll have two Old Fashioneds, please," you lean forward onto your elbows to give your feet a rest as he pulls up a second napkin and then two crystal, lowball glasses. "They're pretty," you comment without thinking.

"It's all about the glass," he confirms quickly, dropping brown sugar cubes into each one and then shaking bitters on top. Your eyes focus on the way the squares dissolve and fall in on themselves as he speaks again, "I'm Jack."

"Y/N," you give your name for the second time, throwing a brief smile his way, "I've never actually watched someone make these before."

Jack pauses and gives you a teasing look, "Do you want me to stop so you can get something to write this all down?"

You laugh and roll your eyes at him as he goes back to making the drinks. You're stalling. You know when you go through the curtain in the back there'll be a dozen people who're all dressed nicer than you, with more impressive jobs than you, who have funnier, more outrageous stories about the birthday boy than you. You'll need to stand awkwardly in the doorway for a few moments too long before Harry notices you, and then your greeting will be watched by all his cool, London friends.

You know better than to let any of that dull your shine—you really do—but you've had a rough few months, and if you're honest, you'd like your first time seeing Harry since the summer to be a little more low-key than this. So that's why you're wearing the new boots that hurt and might not suit the dress code because they're new and you feel good wearing them with this outfit. It feels a little special to be out celebrating Harry's (belated) birthday in a semi-new ensemble. You managed to fluke getting your hair and makeup just right, and yes, your legs do look pretty fantastic in these tights with the short, roll neck, knit dress, thank you very much.

"Here you go," Jack brings your attention back to him, you can smell the citrus twist in front of you, and the crystal glass deflects the light from the candles, "Can I put this on a tab for you? You're with the birthday?"

"I'll pay," you tell him, already digging for your card and holding it out to him.

"Oi!" You hear a very familiar voice call out from the far end of the bar, the hairs on the back of your neck stand up and you shiver, "What're you payin' for? What's she—don't take her money!"

You keep your arm out steadily to Jack and raise your eyebrows at him, "Take it," you urge him quickly, feeling him pluck it from your fingers just as you turn towards the voice you know so well.

That familiar Tom Ford cologne hits your nose just as Harry hurries up and deposits himself heavily against the bar, right up in your personal space. His broad frame blocks out the room to you, and he's lit softly in the dim light and looking radiant from within, as per usual. He's got his crazy eyes out—accusing you—and his eyebrows are pinched together slightly, but he looks good. Happy. Rested. Pleased to see you.

Harry's always pleased to see everyone, you tell yourself, Hold it together.

He pulls you into his chest for a hug. Your cheek presses just below his pecs, and you feel the way he's grown more defined since you last saw him. The material of his t-shirt is soft and smells clean. It's a tight squeeze he gives you, one that you resist reading into. Was it healthy for there to be so much comfort in a simple hug? Was your whole body allowed to tingle and fizz from the embrace of a friend? Was it pathetic to have been carrying around in your ribcage the same crush from when you were thirteen?

Affirmative. Without a doubt. Yes.

You haven't seen Harry since mid-September, the last time he was in London. Well, the last time he was in London and had time to see you. You're sure there were probably business trips, Christmas definitely. And going off Instagram, you think he might've flown into Manchester and spent a long weekend with Anne back in October, but if it was any of your business, it would've been your business. You needed to be grateful simply for what you got; intermittent texts about books he'd read or maybe a happy drunk voicemail if he thought of you at the right time. He sent an email at Christmas with a charitable contribution in your name instead of a gift.

"It's so good to see you," Harry says as he pulls away, all crinkled eyes and broad smiles. You don't know your grin has launched his heart into space and that despite having just gone to the bathroom, Harry feels due for a nervous wee. He thinks you look fucking gorgeous tonight. Knowing you've done your hair, and eyeliner, and picked that dress to come out and celebrate his birthday … It sends a jolt of desire straight to his groin—beauty blooms in front of his eyes in you.

Tell her, you idiot. Twenty-seven could be the year.

"Hi," you chirp at him happily and pick up one of the glasses in front of you, "I got you a drink."

Harry watches you fondly and then dramatically looks off to the side, lets out a little huff, "Typical Y/N, buying her own drink … You really think I wouldn't have one here for you?"

Nevertheless, he says a quiet thank you, takes the glass from you and deliberately sniffs it as if he's not sure what's inside or if he'll like it. You smack his arm lightly at the show and pick up your own glass, chinking it to the side of his and watching him over the rim as you both take your first sips. The familiar taste and view fill your tummy with gurgling happiness that sits high in your chest. He's dressed almost exactly how you expected him to be—smart, high-waisted dress pants and a printed t-shirt. You're glad you didn't go too formal, the restaurant is nice, but it's not Hatted or anything, not like the place he took you in LA that time, where you felt like the biggest idiot in the world for not realising beforehand, was properly fancy.

"Fuckin' delicious," he rumbles slowly, bringing you back to the cocktail, "A classic."

"Happy birthday," you tell Harry sweetly, thankful for what's likely to be your only quiet moment with him all night, "Sorry I couldn't make it to the LA party."

"Ah," Harry waves you off, "Your job's much too important here."

He means it. Harry's beyond proud of you. He's always telling people you work for the NHS, saving lives and keeping the country going. The party in LA was thrown together by some people at the last minute, and even though most of the friends he left in the backroom when he went to find the bathrooms a few moments ago were able to fly across for it, Harry's not the least bit put out by you not being able to. Would've been a big trip for you to do on your own and he knew there's no way you'd miss his London celebration. And you sent over a gift, which shouldn't have surprised him. His actual birthday was spent in LA, and that morning a parcel arrived from you—two new notebooks and a novel Harry read the back of and instantly knew he would love. It's what he read on the flight home to the UK.

Trust you to want him to have the gift on his birthday—go to all that trouble of packaging it and sending it over—when you were going to see him in London ten days later anyway. Harry could do worse than a friend like you.

"I just need a bit more notice than four da—

—Please," Harry's shaking his head at you, hating watching you apologise for something he really doesn't care about. "I'm glad you're here tonight," he tells you genuinely, fingers reaching out to brush your bangs away from your eyebrow briefly and—did the room just spin around you?—get a glimpse of the bronze sheen over your eyelids, "I haven't seen your new hair in person, looks lovely."

Lovely? he scolds himself, Lovely is a nice jam scone, lovely is a hug from mum …

"Oh," you coo, automatically sending your own fingers up to where Harry's had just been to reposition your newish bangs, "Thanks, still getting used to it, wanted to do it forever but wasn't brave enough to I guess."

"I like your natural hair colour, too," he continues slowly, eyes running over your whole head, "I mean, I loved how it used to be … But I like this a lot."

Shit, Harry's already failing to adhere to the strict series of pep talks he's given himself over the last couple of days. He's babbling, and he's probably just made you think he's not liked how you've had your hair for the previous twelve years. Is he buzzed from the cocktail or from the way your cheeks have gone a little pink since he touched you? His compliment made you squirm, and Harry wants to do it again and again until what he's feeling makes sense.

"Just, you know, feels like a throwback to the old days," he mumbles through another sip of the cocktail you both love, a glint appears in his eyes as he continues, "When you had Barbie overalls and would spend half a day plaiting your whole head in those tiny little rat tails."

Your mouth opens into a horrified O, and you let out a single laugh, "Rat tails? They were cool. And I was eleven when we met, I'd definitely already outgrown the Barbie overalls."

"Whatever you say," Harry smirks at you, signature dimples appearing on his cheeks, "I just remember those little beads from the ends of them ending up all over the bottom of the pool."

You smile at the memory. You remember duck diving with Gemma to collect all the beads so they could be put back into your hair the next day. Nearly drowning from laughing so hard at Harry and the other boys trying to stand on your backs in the water. Summers with Harry were always spent laughing. The local pool and skate park saw all your adventures. When Harry's dad moved in next door to your family after his parent's divorce, you and your brother hung off the fence, peering into the backyard to see if any toys or a trampoline might appear signally new kids next door. They didn't, and it wasn't until the summer when Harry and Gemma arrived for their holidays that you jumped the fence with ice lollies and offered yourself up as a new friend.

"Simpler times," you muse to yourself, looking up and catching the perplexed look Harry was giving you, "Spaced out a bit, sorry."

"I've missed my little weirdo," he grins at you affectionately, angling a little closer and levelling his head down to yours as he bit his lip and frowned, "Are you doing alright though?"

You let out a little sigh and avert your eyes to where Jack, the bartender, is busy making trays of drinks for different tables. Harry observes you carefully, a twinge of guilt forms for causing the sad look that's come over your face, but also for not having asked the question weeks ago. Gemma told him at Christmas, an off-handed comment about you being newly single. When he heard the evil gremlin in him was fucking relieved, just like he always was.

"I'm fine," you try a smile out and pull your lips up higher when you don't think Harry buys it, "Better. Had my crisis haircut and drank myself to tears with my work friends. Just a normal break up, really. M'getting used to them at this point."

A small, white lie.

Each breakup bruises you deeply. Talking about it afterwards fills you with a shame that makes you feel naked, like everyone else can see what's wrong with you but you. As though it's obvious why nobody's picked you yet. You don't ever want to talk about it afterwards, (especially not with Harry) don't want to draw attention to it. Prefer to let the disappointment and loneliness pool in your tummy and sit there heavily, weighing you down, waiting for the One Day someone spectacular might come along and be buoyant enough to float away with you.

You're looking for your forever. You want the cheesy romance, and the love, and marriage, and kids, and the whole stupid thing. You want to be wanted and loved and cherished. That's what you're ready for. You just can't find anyone who's ready for that with you. So, you date, have mediocre boyfriends who rarely make it to the first anniversary, then pick up the pieces and try again.

Wash, rinse, repeat.

"Well," Harry swallows, reaches out for your arm to make sure you look at him, "You look beautiful tonight. And it's his loss, he's clearly a monumental idiot."

You give Harry a noncommittal hum in response. Just as you're about to say something you shouldn't—get into details you bet Harry really isn't that interested in knowing—you catch the movement of someone appearing from the doorway behind Harry and then approaching you both.

"Harry, mate," you don't know the guy who's recognised Harry's back and is calling out for his attention now, "Thought you might've fallen in."

Harry snaps around quickly to the voice, blocking your view. You take another sip of your drink and pull in a deep breath. Not fitting into any of Harry' groups socially has its downfalls. If his sister wasn't around, you tended to have to make friends at anything Harry invites you to. You're not part of his Holmes Chapel crew or his LA friends, and you definitely don't fit into the London group. Over the years there have been faces you've come to find familiar, but you're still the singular, hanger-on friend from Harry's second childhood home.

Peering around Harry's shoulder, you catch the end of a look between the two guys you think alludes to this new friend gauging whether Harry needs rescuing from you. You briefly wish the ground would open and swallow you whole. You know that look well.

"Aiden, this is Y/N," Harry raises his arm and angles to pull you around in front of him.

You hold up your drink, awkwardly, "Hi."

Aiden gives you a hesitant smile, "Hello," then he raises his eyebrows at Harry, "Harry, you coming back in, mate?"

Harry bites his lip and chuckles, reading the look on his friend's face, "You're a prick, I don't need saving. Known Y/N since I was twelve, we were just catching up."

You feel yourself go bright red, and you're thankful for the forgiving lighting. This isn't the first time this exact scenario has happened to you. You've been on the receiving end of that uneasy look before—his friends checking if the girl who isn't there with anyone else is supposed to be there at all. Backstage at the O2, a member of Harry's security once hauled you to the tour manager's office to check your VIP credentials were legitimate. You'll take that story with you to the grave.

Aiden deflates slightly and waves a hand your way, "Shit, sorry, thought he'd been cornered by a fan again … I mean, a pretty fan to say the least but …" he coughs into his hand when Harry gives him a glare you don't see, "Great to meet you."

"No worries," you wave it off like it's nothing. The truth is your brain has short-circuited at Harry's palm resting on the small of your back, he's not moved it from when he first brought you forward. Friendly touches weren't strange between you, but this lingering, comforting hand is burning a hole in you tonight. You haven't been out and had anyone touch you since your breakup, and Harry is setting off all you nerve endings. You tilt your weight onto your other foot to pull back from him slightly, but Harry's hand travels with you. "We should go back, I might use the loo first though, is it that way?"

Harry watches you point in the direction of the bathroom, you're flustered and he really wishes he could tell Aiden to buzz off so he could just take another few minutes with you. Brief you on who was in the room you were about to go into. You wouldn't know any of them, and Harry always appreciated that you came to things on your own, particularly when you wouldn't know anyone aside from him once you got there. He should have invited his sister so you'd have a buddy. Or told you to bring a friend. Not a boyfriend, though.

He watches you take the final drag from your drink and put the glass down on top of the bar, "Thanks Jack, t' was dee-lish," you catch the attention of the bartender, throwing him a beaming grin. And Harry watches the way the guy's features light up at being called on by you. Envy rumbles in Harry's gut, he recognises the dumb smile and dopey nod of Barman Jack's head. Has felt it a hundred times himself when he's been on the receiving end of your quirky humour.

You walk away, and Harry feels Aiden watching him, "She's fit," he comments, trying to get a rise out of Harry, reading the room perfectly.

"Fuck you," Harry grunts at him.

++

Harry sits opposite you at the long table in the private dining room.

You nurse a glass of rosé and eat the food slowly, savouring it. You deliberated over the menu for a long time before settling on what to order, you've seen photos of most of the dishes online, but there were several new ones too. Harry goes off your recommendations but spends a lot of the dinner talking to the people sitting beside him. He knows if he tried talking to you right now, he'd just get lost in you, which is both rude for a birthday party and bound to be too conspicuous.

You insert yourself into a conversation with the girls sitting next to you and pretend you're good at making friends. They spend most of the meal talking about something that was on the telly the night before. You were on shift so missed it, but pretend to be interested or like you might've seen it—anything to not stick out like a sore thumb.

Harry watches you out the corner of his eye the whole time. You've shrugged off your jacket, and he recognises the gold necklace you've got around the collar of your dress, sitting over the black fabric on your chest. He's pretty sure it was a gift from Gemma a few years ago, you wear it all the time. Harry makes a note to get you something that compliments it for your birthday coming up. You're chatting to one of his mate's girlfriends and Lisa who's been on his publicity team for years. Those would've been the two he'd have introduced you to first as well. He can't stop watching the way your lips turn up every time something funny is said, or one of the girls makes eye contact with you. Watching you try with his other friends always makes Harry feel warm and giddy for some reason.

Fuck, he's missed you. And he berates himself for the fact he never seems to remember that until he sees you again. (It's strategic usually, his heart doesn't take your company well when he knows you're going home to someone else) You're so engaging and kind and unintentionally charming, and you always have time for him. Harry knows he's not an easy human to be friends with; he constantly ducks in and out and is never around for the big things, let alone being available to call on a random day to just hang out with. The friendship is always on his terms, and he knows it makes him a selfish prick. You definitely could've done with a call a couple of months back when you had your heart broken. Like always, he missed it, and by the time he was sending you a message about an episode of Midsomer Murders, he felt as though the moment to console you had passed, and Harry didn't want to draw attention to the fact he wasn't around for it.

"Harry?"

"Hmm?" His head snaps back around to the person next to him, thoughts still on you across the table. He agrees with whatever was said and does his best to catch up.

Harry's got to stop thinking about how you're single at the moment. He really does.

++

A few hours later, it's the girl sitting to your left, Lisa, who first mentions the idea of kicking on.

It's after dessert—after everyone sang happy birthday to Harry over a round of espresso martinis—and you're starting to think that if you leave now, you'll be home before midnight, which means the tube won't be too deserted to feel safe. You're also at a comfortable place to wake up without a hangover in the morning. Two cocktails and a glass of wine over dinner, because any more and you're scared you could say something stupid to the wrong (right) person.

Harry's face lights up, and he looks around the room, eager at the idea of going to a bar or two for more drinks. He's not been out in London for the longest time, and he's happily buzzed enough to not be too worried about running into people. Feels like this group of friends have gelled well together. How often does he get to have a night like this in London? Hardly ever.

"Yeah, let me sort out the tab and then we're good to go," Harry says, pushing his seat back from the table and standing up, his hands hunting his pockets for his wallet and phone, "I'll be right back."

When he goes, you decide now's as good a time as any to split. You pull your coat on and say goodbye to the friends you made over the meal. Lisa gives you her business cards as if speaking to you had been part of her job, you slip it straight into your coat pocket and can already picture it at the bottom of the garbage in your kitchen. You revisit the bathrooms, and when you come back out into the main restaurant area, Harry's still leaning against the front desk, chatting to the maître d' from earlier.

He feels your small hand land on his back and jolts upright at the contact, your gentle voice calling his name softly, "Harry, I'm going to head home."

He spins around, and you catch the fall of his face, "What? No … No. You're the one I want to hang out with the most," his bottom lip juts out and his brows furrow. "Y/N."

"Thanks a fuckin' lot, mate," you hear a male voice laugh at your back, they slip behind you and out into the chilly air, and Harry flips them the bird. You were pushed closer into his chest as they jostled past and he steadied you with his arms latched onto your forearms. Still watching outside, you see a cigarette lighter flare-up on the footpath and the end of an orange butt glow spectacularly in the night. When you glance back at Harry, he's not looking happy.

"Don't pout," you tell him lightly, you reach up and press the skin taut between his eyes smooth again, "Can't wrinkle that rockstar face of yours."

His face lights up, and his skin heats where you made contact, "You can't go yet."

"Harry," your features tangle into something like a grimace, "You'll have a better time without me. Everyone seems to be pretty tight—"

—Y/N," he gives you a final, pleading look, "Please come."

You make out like you're stomping your foot in defiance, "Fine."

"Score!" Harry cheers under his breath, shrugging his jacket up over his shoulders and saying a final round of thank yous to the staff. When you're out on the street at Harry's side somebody mentions the name of the next place and points the direction of it, Harry places a hand on your shoulder as you start to walk and leans down to your ear, "I just have one condition for you coming."

You pull back and look at him, "I don't think you get conditions when you've begged me to be here."

"A birthday condition then," he edits, pressing his lips together and smiling at you with his eyes, "You have to promise to do what I say before I ask it."

You narrow your eyes at him, "I suppose you only turn twenty-seven once. You can have a single wish from me."

Harry laughs and slips his fingers under the strap of your evening bag, "Give me this."

You think briefly he means to carry it for you, which is a strange thing for Harry to request. But then he unzips it in front of you and starts rifling around inside it, slipping your phone under his arm so he can move around the lipstick and tissues and emergency Galaxy bar to eventually pull out your small purse.

"Harry! What are you—

—Ah, ah!" He holds it all away from you and reminds you of the promise. "This is mine for the night," he says, slipping your purse into his coat pocket. "Otherwise you'll end up buying too many rounds."

You try to sneak your hand into the pocket after your wallet, "Don't be stupid. It's your birthday, I'll buy every round if I need to."

"Exactly my point," he steps away from you down the street, and you skip to be back at his side. He's stolen your money and your chocolate bar.

"Harry, give it back."

"Nope," he pops the 'p' and hands you back the bag, the Galaxy bar hanging from between his teeth, still in the packet, "You promised. Now hurry up and walk, and I might give you a bite of this. 'm freezing my balls off, we are not in LA anymore."

So that's how you end up in the next bar, your handbag a little lighter, squished into Harry's side with a pleasantly sour cocktail he paid for between your fingers. The booth is so far into the back wall you're not even really sure which direction the front door is anymore. Somehow, you've managed to sit ten people around a booth probably designed for six, but nobody seems to be bothered.

Your whole right side is on fire, though.

You can feel Harry from the top of your shoulder all the way to your ankle. His hip sits neatly next to yours, Harry's left elbow rests just above your right thigh, and your knees press together every time he gets excited when he speaks and unintentionally opens his legs up. If Harry's bothered by it there's no way you'd know, he's hardly looked at you since you all sat down, much less uttered a word of discomfort about the seating arrangements. Makes no sense really, when he seemed so desperate for you to stay out with them.

(Next to you Harry's felt like he was high most of the time, he's flashing in and out of the conversations around him. Because he can smell your perfume—Stella by Stella McCartney, he'd know that fragrance anywhere, you've been wearing it since you were seventeen—and you're warm and snug beside him. He feels completely insane. But he also feels inflated with a heart-crushing joy at having you so close. He's trying his best not to draw attention to it or to you because what he's always liked most about your friendship is that you're just his. God, he needs to do better at seeing you more often, talking more, being more. Each breath as he's touching you is like a crack of electricity through his chest that aches beautifully. Nobody else feels like this. Even when he's dated, what he's felt with them can't hold a candle to his boyhood crush on you.)

You sip your drink and laugh at the embarrassing story that's being told about Harry, oblivious to his torment. Oblivious to how Harry feels your forearm brush his leg and has the overwhelming desire to deposit his palm on your thigh and keep it there, probably forever.

It strikes you that the last time you saw Harry was before the current anecdote about him in Italy happened, and at the table, it's being spoken about as though it was ancient history. You wonder what historic classification your memory of thirteen-year-old Harry would get, that time he attempted to bleach his hair with lemon juice. He ended up with second-degree burns on his forehead from the acid reacting with the sun.

Or the time Gemma stayed in Holmes Chapel for the summer because she had her first boyfriend, and so you spent six weeks learning that maybe you'd been wrong about who your favourite Styles child was. Maybe the boy who, when you were eleven, didn't impress you much, suddenly at thirteen, demanded all your attention. Made that summer become the first where you considered your outfits and whether your mum sending you next door with homemade snacks made you look lame.

"… And of course, Harry can't walk away from a dance floor when he's on the tequila …" everyone around the table laughs. Harry peeks at you to make sure you are too, but he's not very good at it because you notice, a smile flares on your lips.

You're used to long periods of not seeing each other, it's how it's always been. Harry and Gemma spent the summers with their dad and then returned to Holmes Chapel for real life. Sometimes that's what it still felt like, as though each time you saw either of them you were acutely aware there was a foreign Real Life they would go back to without you.

Harry in particular. You were used to not seeing him for months on end, usually the whole school year. Just a few messages over MySpace and birthday cards, and then, when you were out of school, invites to parties Harry couldn't come to anymore—'I'm in Australia, how insane is that? Sorry, I'll miss your 18th …' or 'I can only stay until the 8th, could you maybe graduate a week earlier? ;)'—and emails every other month with a new mobile number for you to overwrite his contact in your phone with. You're not saying you feel hard done by in your friendship, you don't. It's just always very take-what-you-can-get with Harry.

"You've got your thinky eyes on," he's pivoted his whole body towards you, hips twisted in an entirely uncomfortable looking position. Harry's got his resting elbow on the table right next to where your hand holds your drink, and he's looking down at you with careful eyes, "Where are you?"

"The pool a dozen summers ago," you answer easily, pursing your lips together and running a knuckle along your hairline, "Thinking about your ah, burn incident."

Harry's face explodes in a grin, and his eyes roll up to the ceiling and then capture yours again, "For fuck's sake, you're never going to stop bringing that up, are you?"

"You were a horrible blonde," you remark quickly, "If you ever so much as blink in the direction of a packet of bleach you have to call me, okay? I'll have no issue telling you, categorically, you should never dye your hair."

"Categorically," Harry mimics you childishly, "Alright, I get it, you went to uni. No need to use words with fifty syllables to make me feel stupid."

You bring your glass up to your lips, "Come off it, Harry, you're ten times smarter than me."

His forehead raises, "You're the cleverest person I know. Don't make me call Gem to confirm it."

"Don't bring your sister into this, Harry," you deadpan.

He goes to reply but holds back, something unnamable travelling across his eyes as he watches you lick your lips after taking another sip of your drink. Harry's leaning a little closer than he might usually, and despite the fact he's a few drinks in he still smells only of Tom Ford and clean clothes. He's just about to ask you what you're doing the next day when he gets hit in the side of the head with a coaster.

"Hey," he cries out, pulling back from you and frowning around at the group trying to figure out who the culprit is," 'M the fucking birthday boy, watch it."

Lisa is the girl directly across from Harry and yourself, and she's is the one who threw it. She's giving Harry a coy smile and holds up her empty glass to him, a not so subtle request makes the drink in your hand feel like a concrete brick. Something dirty you don't like having. She's got captivating blue eyes and straight blonde hair—exactly Harry's usual type. Your heart sinks as he slides out of the booth next to you, laughing at her flirtatious request and taking a tally of who else wants a new drink.

"Y/N?" Your name is delicate on his lips, and it makes you want to cry. Why is it so easy for you to make things feel like they mean more with him?

You direct your smile his way, "I'm good, thanks."

His head tilts to one side, "You sure?"

"Positive," you nod, feeling your cheeks burn as everyone watches the exchange.

"Okay," Harry taps the table with the corner of his phone, "I'll be right back."

After a few moments, you sneak off to the bathroom, happy to see Harry's beaten you back from the bar when you return. He's sitting in your spot, deep in conversation with the person beside him who you recognise from the radio. Tentatively, you slip in next to him, careful not to touch him this time. Harry's got his hand casually resting on the table, turning your glass forty-five degrees one way and then back the other way as he speaks. You think about reaching over and pulling it out of his hand gently (you're losing your buzz, and Little Miss Bombshell across the table has made you feel silly and juvenile) but it looks to be an almost serious conversation, so you don't. With a smile plastered on your face, you look around the table, resisting the urge to pull out your phone to check if either of your flatmates has text you to meet up with them somewhere.

It's a delicious whiff of your perfume behind him that turns Harry's head. You're back from the bathroom, although nobody was able to confirm that's where you went when he got back from the bar and asked after you. Harry pushes your drink over and gives you a smile, taking note of the fresh layer of lipstick and messy oomph to your hair that perfectly shows off the new style and bangs.

Golden, he thinks, As always,

"Your new hair really does look beautiful," Harry tells you, the bar stilling around you as his face becomes all the world is for you at that moment, "Next time, don't wait for a dickhead to break your heart before doing something to make yourself feel good."

You swallow down the thickness in your throat, "Thanks, Harry."

++

Walking to the next bar, Harry can't stop himself from asking.

"What happened?"

You kick your foot out as you wait at a set of traffic lights, half the group ran to cross, but you, Harry and a couple of others were too slow, "What happened with what?"

Harry watches his breath fan out in front of his face, "With your ex, with …"

"Tim."

"Tim, yeah," he turns to look down at you, hands tucked into his coat pockets, "What happened with Tim?"

"Nothing really," you start strong, then shrug one shoulder as you think about it. It's safe to cross so you wait until you're stepping up over the gutter and onto the opposite footpath before you continue, "Probably a lot of little things but … Always felt like he thought I was asking for a bit too much. I guess in the end he just didn't like me all that much."

The way your voice drops kills Harry, he's not detecting self-deprecation but something far worse. He's detecting acceptance or acknowledgement or like you're confessing some truth that should have been obvious.

"Y/N," he stops walking and halts you as well, lets Adrian and Lisa walk around and out in front of you, "If he didn't like you very much then he's got some kind of chemical imbalance. I mean it, this guy's not worth a second of your heartache."

It's not like Harry's a dickhead about it, not like he thinks you should date people with more money or status or who are more impressive. A person isn't their job or what car they drive, he knows that. Harry's not about judging anyone, but you really do seem to date guys not worthy of you. He hasn't met many of them, but Harry knows this to be true because if they were worthy, you simply wouldn't be single right now. If you dated someone half-decent, there wouldn't be a chance in hell they'd let you go. You're beautiful and thoughtful and intelligent and funny—so funny—which means Harry knows without a doubt that this Tim guy was an absolute fuckwit.

"It's not necessarily about the guy," you start and Harry can hear the thick emotion in your voice, "Is it? It's about the idea. The disappointment is more about not getting the fairytale, not finding my person. Not getting the whole package everyone else seems to have found. I know Tim wasn't right—truth be told I didn't end up liking him very much either—doesn't stop me from being sad that I still haven't found it."

"'It'… That's what you're looking for?" Harry asks, eyes out front where the rest of the group are all stopped waiting at another set of traffic lights.

They're laughing and chatting loudly to other people on nights out, and hanging off street poles to get funny pictures. He doesn't want to catch up to them, not when the two of you are in the middle of this conversation that's making his heart race and his hands sweat. He starts taking smaller steps.

"Yeah," you breathe out, almost sounding ashamed of yourself, "Don't seem to be looking in the right places."

Look over here, Harry thinks.

"But I mean, each breakup I end up getting something out of it," you've flicked your positivity switch, "This time I got these boots and bangs," you kick out your foot and watch Harry take note of your footwear, "Last break up I got four houseplants and a new watch … It's not all bad. What about you?" you turn it back on Harry, "Are you seeing anyone at the moment?"

It's hard to tell with Harry. You either find out from his sister or sometimes, social media. Although that's all usually trash. Generally, when Harry's seeing someone, you'll hear it confirmed from Gemma, and the next time you see Harry, it'll be something you're assumed to know. You haven't seen Gemma since Christmas time though, for your annual festive get together, and she didn't mention anything. Tim had ended things with you a few days before, so that was the main topic of conversation.

"No," Harry confirms what you'd already deduced—and hoped—in your head, "Not for a while now."

"Got your eye on anyone?" You quiz faux cheekily, your smile a little too wide.

Yes, you, he says to himself as he looks at the side of your face.

You hope he's not got some girl in LA he's into. Just like you'd hoped his answer to the previous question. But the hope was silly, something that bloomed in your chest each time you saw him and died again before you were home in your bed, alone.

"I'll let you know," he says aloud.

You think you see something else there in his expression, but you know you can't have. Your mind is swirling, and you're feeling a tingling sensation all over that you know you shouldn't. It'll only leave you disappointed when you part ways tonight and don't see him for another few months. The tiny bits of maybe mores and perhaps are dangerous to things to cling on to now, they'll all turn into Nothings very quickly.

Someone steals his attention away from you when you get to the next street corner. Most of the group are gathered there, and you're not sure whether to believe it when Lisa says they missed the green man to cross the road because they were talking. She sides up to Harry and starts waving her hands around in an animated story about something or other. Harry crosses the street with her, and you give him up for the night.

But he's acutely aware of what's happened. Harry's not stupid—he's emotionally intelligent, and spent enough time with Lisa on nights out before—and he can see that she's deliberately pulled him aside. He likes her, quite a bit, but she doesn't make his insides flip, or his toes curl. She's firmly Just A Friend. Harry hasn't spent countless hours over the years thinking about her, lying to himself about how he's completely fine when she starts dating someone new. He's never thought about an alternative life, one where he stayed at school and went to uni and got a regular job and maybe (definitely) ended up with her.

He's imagined that life with you—more than once. More than a dozen times, if he's honest. For years now, Harry's bitten his tongue and smiled through the pain of not being able to have you. And sure, most of the time it's a dull ache, deep in the recess of his mind, that needs to be called on or conjured to really be felt, but it's always been there. He's always had an (Astronomical) Soft Spot For You. Ever since that summer you broke your arm falling off the back of the ramp at the skate park, and he first saw you cry. At fifteen he didn't know what the hollow but sharp pain through his heart was as he rushed to your side, but now he knows that was the first sign he didn't see you as just a mate. Would never again see you as just a mate.

And now, hearing you use the word 'it'. You say you're out there dating idiots trying to find it and Harry's just unwaveringly sure he that could be him. He wants to be it for you.

You've pulled out your phone and fallen behind, face pulled down as you type away furiously. Harry watches you out of the corner of his eye, half just to watch you and half to make sure you don't get separated entirely from the safety of the group.

"Y/N," he calls out, unable to keep up with Lisa's story and unwilling to try to tune back into it. She stops short, and annoyance flits across her face, but Harry still turns to you, still crosses his arms over his chest and gives you his best scolding look, "It's the oldest trick in the book," he goads you. Lisa sighs behind him, and he ignores it.

Your head slowly comes up and takes in Harry (and Lisa sulking behind him), "What is?"

"Fallin' behind so you can peek at my bum."

You point at the long coat Harry's wearing that goes to his knees, "Can't see half of you under that thing."

"Ah, ha!" He calls out, his pointer finger floating in the air right in front of your face, "So you've tried."

You shove his shoulder and step around him, trying like anything to act neutrally. You're aware Lisa is still watching on, and you're not used to your friendship with Harry being quite so carefully observed. You know your face has gone red and you're really not going to involve yourself in a pissing contest with her. It's not classy and certainly not your vibe.

As you walk away, boots clip up behind you, and Harry heavily drapes his arm right across your shoulders, pulls you into his side, "Was just teasin', love."

"I know," you respond quietly, not upset, not really.

"Though I might've made you sad," Harry continues solemnly, "Know you get embarrassed in front of people."

Your face cracks into a smile, "Opposite of you, hey, you're practically an exhibitionist."

He should flirt because you've led him to a pretty easy window into a dirty joke, but something has Harry hanging onto his regret, "I mean it, shouldn't tease you …Should be old enough to use my words, tell you what I think."

You've got no idea what he's on about, "Harry, the teasing was fine. Where's this bloody bar though?"

Up ahead, everyone's standing on the footpath in a clump. Harry can feel the next words on his lips but has to hold them in when his mates turn and see he's finally caught up. They're waiting a few minutes for a table, someone explains, then they'll be able to go in. Harry thinks how little he feels like another drink at another bar. A few people walk away from the group to share cigarettes. You're standing a little bit away, under the sign for the butcher next-door and kick your foot back against the wall like the slight movement might warm you up.

As he steps up to you, Harry watches you get distracted by the group of people spilling out of the bar you're all about to go into. He doesn't want to take advantage of knowing you're newly single also doesn't want to let this opportunity pass. You're always dating someone, or he is, or there's some other reason not to. There's always a reason to hold back from you and Harry refuses to believe it's the drinks he's had nudging him into this. Neither of you is drunk, he wouldn't even say he's tipsy anymore. Just warm and contemplative and less inhibited than usual.

"C' mere," he calls softly, the tips of his boots landing right in front of yours, your bodies a hands' width apart. He wants you closer.

"Harry—

He opens up his coat to you and when you don't move—your brain is busy short-circuiting—he acts for you and winds his arm around your shoulder to encase you in the warmth, "Get in," Harry says, "You're shivering."

You're shocked by the contact, at him being so close and inviting you in and then just taking you in his jacket. He's wrapped the lapels around both your bodies and forced you against his chest. He hums against you, but you're feeling incredibly awkward with your arms hitched up against your chest and pressed rigidly into his shoulders. You've not been in a hold like this before and certainly not with Harry.

He pulls back and digs around for your wrists, "You've gotta put them around me," he stretches his arms behind his back, taking yours with them and instructing you to really settle against him. "There, that's better," he wraps the jacket back around you, and the two of you stand like that—hearts pressed together, scents converging and your whole frame shaking against his—for what seems like far too long for it mean nothing. Right? Your thoughts ricocheted around inside his jacket and go nowhere, solve nothing in your mind.

Over your shoulder, he sees the rest of the group have gone into the bar. He's not surprised none of them called out, Harry's angled you both away from the door and with his head ducked down against yours they probably (hopefully) missed you both there.

It's Harry's twenty-seventh birthday, and maybe that's made him sullen or introspective. Made him think about the passage of time and how another year has passed him by, yet here he stands in the same place as ever—wanting you. Wishing for more, or waiting for a moment that feels right, or hoping something will happen. With growing older comes a sense of regret and an acceptance that twenty-six has happened and anything he wanted to achieve by that age but didn't he never will. There's only the future. Only the things he can do. And the mix of all that with the cocktails has Harry feeling as though he has to act on this. Every birthday he thinks maybe by the next one the Somethings or the Maybes might have happened, and you won't be standing in front of him as just his friend.

"Always had a thing for you," Harry says, his chin resting against the crown of your head while his arms link around low on your back, holding you against him, "I've always liked you more than I should."

Oh god, you think, your chest freezing in place, I'm hallucinating.

"What?" Now your heart is really racing. Or maybe it's completely stopped, seized up and fallen out of your chest onto the salt-covered footpath.

His voice comes out evenly as he repeats himself, "Feels bigger than a crush, but I guess that's what it is … Since we were kids."

(Oh, how those words have been his best-kept secret for all these years but now, in less than two seconds, he's let go of them more easily than almost anything else he's ever done)

"Y/N?"

Harry thought he'd be scared. Thought this would be a moment of panic. Every time he's imagined this he's thought 'and I'd be absolutely shitting myself because what if she doesn't feel the same way?' but now that he's said it he's almost completely calm. The only reason he's worried is that he can feel how hard your heart is beating—even through the layers of clothing—and surely that quickly can't be good for your health.

You're speechless, and he leans back so he can see your face and, oh your eyes. Why on earth didn't he say it to your face, so he could be looking in your eyes? Watch his words project across your expression and settle into your mind.

You look worried, and Harry's transported back to that time he had you on FaceTime when he was somewhere on tour with One Direction. He was telling you about how management was going to let them fly friends out on tour, bring a little bit of home along and give the boys some needed space from each other. You were nodding along and so excited for him but sure Harry was talking about someone else, that this was just news and he'd called up to tell you how he was inviting the boys he went to school with in Cheshire or people he met through X-Factor. Of course I'm bringing out you and Gem, you idiot, he'd told you when you were surprised to get an invite, Who else did you think I was talking about?

He kind of loves watching the look on your face right now, the cogs turning in your head and wheels spinning, furiously trying to figure out what Harry means.

Why isn't he terrified of what you're about to say?

"Why … but you've… and I've…"

Your hands have moved to his hips so you can see him properly, and Harry's encouraged by the fact you haven't pulled away or pushed him off you. You're watching him with a puzzled look on your face and a burning heat across your cheeks.

He brings his forearms up to rest on your shoulders and smiles at you, "I wasn't brave enough to act on it … Guess I didn't want to fuck it up. Didn't want it to not work out. Couldn't stand you becoming an ex."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Right." You don't seem capable of more than one word at a time.

"You feel bad for yelling at me about the chocolate bar now, don't you?" Harry's narrowed his eyes playfully.

That does it.

Your eyes snap back up to his face from being fixated on staring at his neck, "Chocolate bar … No, what the fuck, Harry."

He laughs. A real laugh that comes from the base of his tummy and squeezes his eyes shut and crinkles his nose. His head falls back, and it's a deep, uninhibited laugh, "Don't stomp your new boots at me," he eventually says, crooking his head down to be almost pressing his forehead against yours. "You've been my favourite girl for years, I've always been a pansy idiot who didn't want to wreck the friendship."

"Oh, and now you don't mind wrecking it?" You bark back sarcastically, unsure why you're angry at him but you are.

"No," Harry says softly, moving through your emotional responses seamlessly, "I don't think it's going to wreck it, do you? Think twenty-seven has finally given me the balls to pursue it. To tell you how I feel. How I've always felt."

Your eyes instantly ball with hot tears you weren't prepared for, "You're an idiot."

"I am," he agrees readily, fingers playing with the ends of your hair.

"Why have you told me this now," your voice is small, unsure.

Harry frowns, now he's starting to panic, "Do you … Do you not feel the same? Or do you not think maybe you could?"

Oh, if only he could have been in your head every time you saw him these last few years. Heard you talk yourself down and away from anything more than platonic, from any thoughts that might elevate you in his eyes. You've spent all this time trying to convince yourself to believe you were nothing more than a friend to him, and now this.

"Harry, are you sure you—

—I'm sure," he insists quickly.

"I just—

—I'm sure."

You're suddenly very embarrassed by the conversation the two of you had earlier about your ex. The conversation where you basically told Harry you're incredibly desperate to settle down and find The One. He's so achingly cool, and you feel like a little tinned tomato, thin-skinned and persistently flustered.

Tinned tomato? Really? You berate yourself, Case in bloody point.

"Y/N"

You scratch roughly at your forehead and grimace at whatever thoughts are going through your mind, "I'm just …"

Harry brings one hand up to fix your bangs, carefully sweeping the hair back across your forehead evenly, letting the pads of his fingers dust over your skin, "I think if you didn't feel the same you'd have said No by now."

His words steal the air from your lungs, "Harry, you've just always …"

"I've always?"

"I never thought …"

The smile comes up over his face gently, "It's me, Y/N, please finish a sentence. I'd really like to kiss you, but you haven't yet said anything to imply you'd be open to that …"

You pull your lips together like a reflex you can't help, you've rarely let yourself fall that deep into imaging things with Harry, but your body reacts to his words in an instant, "Promise you're not kidding …"

"I promise I'm not kidding," Harry said sincerely. "I'd never kid around about this, Y/N."

You believe him, and ten seconds of bravery comes over you, "I was thirteen."

His eyes narrow slightly, trying to figure out what you mean, "Thirteen?"

"My thing for you," you continue quietly, heart racing as adrenaline swamps your legs, "Started the summer I turned thirteen."

Harry hears the slight shaking to your voice and almost misses what you've said. Then it hits him.

"Oh yeah?" He squints at you and pulls up his nose with a smile, a secret little smile that will never belong to anyone but the two of you. The Smile that happened just before Harry leant down and kissed you for the first time, pressed his warm lips against your cold ones and really breathed you in.

He holds it like that for a moment, your lips touching but not moving. Then his hands come up to cup your face, and Harry moves his mouth to one side, just a touch. You open up to him, and he has the brief thought that this is probably the Most Important Kiss Of His Life. His insides curl in on themselves as he gets completely lost in you. Completely lost in how perfect this moment feels and how much finally kissing you feels like a relief.

You can't believe this is happening. You're still tucked into Harry's coat—warm and safe—but now you're joined at the mouth, and Harry's a really really good kisser. He's got his thumbs pressed into your cheeks and his fingers laced through the hair around your ears. When his tongue first licks your bottom lip and then goes searching for yours, you don't think you've felt yourself flicker On so quickly. A soft moan escapes your lips, and Harry's kiss somehow becomes harder, his nose bumping yours where he'd been good at keeping things smooth until then. As quickly as it intensifies, Harry takes a slight step back and drags his mouth away from yours.

"Y/N," he breaths out your name, sealing your lips with one of his thumbs as he pulls back. Harry's taking stock of your face (hopefully) getting used to being this close to you. Noting the way your eyelashes kink out at an odd angle right at the corner of your eye, and the freckle that's so close to the edge of your mouth he's never noticed it before. Harry's can feel your heart has slowed down, and the expression on your face right now is content, but curious. He's also sure he can see fear under it all.

"Well," your voice shakes, because Harry's looking at you like you've only dreamed and now that you're here you're not really sure what happens next. You kissed Harry.

He clears his throat lightly and his hands both fall to hold either side of your neck, "There's no way I'm going back to not being able to do that whenever I want."

Then, he kisses you again. You feel yourself melt against him as Harry's chest presses back against yours. You link your arms around his waist, clutching the back of his shirt between your fingers as Harry leads the kiss with a hand on your neck and the other holding your chin carefully. You've picked up right where the last one let off, hungry and exploring and a little bit desperate (perhaps a lot desperate) to have more of each other.

But then his phone rings in his trousers pocket, right against your hip, and you jump away in surprise.

"Shit," Harry mutters, pulling the stupid machine out, cursing the universe, "Sorry … It's Aiden," he tells you with an eye-roll.

And then you're back to reality. Your drinks have all worn off, your feet ache, your ears are freezing, and you've just made out with one of your oldest, best friends. Shit.

"Oh," you take a hearty step back, hands slipping out from Harry's coat and your body bracing the full brunt of the cold night, "Yeah … That's—

—Aiden," Harry barks the name of his mate down the phone while at the same time hooking his free arm around the back of your neck and pulling you close again. He's not giving up touching you that easily, and he doesn't care, quite frankly, about giving you any room to start internalising or retreating from him, "No, we've gone to get some food … I'll see you during the week sometime. Tell everyone thanks for—Yes, I'm serious … I don't care, saw all you lot last week … I'm hanging up now. Bye."

You listened in on the conversation because it was really all you could do. Aiden was obviously inside the bar, and they were all wondering where Harry got to. We've gone to get some food, Harry told him, so they'd know he was with you. (You supposed he was hardly going to say, 'oh yeah we've been out the front making out') Bits and pieces of the other end of the conversation, you were able to pick up on, but not enough to truly know what was said. By the end of the call, Harry was smiling though, you could hear it in his voice.

His nose found the shell of your ear and Harry leant into you, "Come back to mine, or we can go to yours … Watch a movie, play Scrabble, anything … Just wanna be with you."

"It's two o'clock in the morning, Harry," you murmur, your mind struggling to make sense of what's just happened. You're outside a club in Soho held against Harry's chest with lips that know what he tastes like and a body that's on fire.

"I'm not tired," he shoots back, "Are you?"

"Well, no but—

—Great," Harry turns towards the road, takes a few steps to the curb (you trot along with him under his arm), as he flags down a black cab. "Mine or yours?"

His question is simple, he prompts you to answer by calling your name as he opens the door for you and gestures for you to hurry up and get in.

"Yours," you say.

Harry doesn't speak much in the cab, you figure it's about privacy. You hope it's about privacy. The thirty-minute drive out of the city and to his place feels much longer. Halfway through he reaches over for your hand and gives you a reassuring smile across the back seat. You thought the journey might make you sleepy, the sitting down in a warm car would bring the haze over your eyes and bring the long day to a close in your mind. But you could never feel sleepy with Harry's fingers playing with yours, or when he leans over and kisses your cheek for no reason at all.

At his house, Harry tells you to make yourself at home while he turns on the kettle for a cuppa. You kick your boots off in the hallway, and your feet start throbbing in relief as you follow his retreating form. It's certainly not the lusty, hurried entry you imagined you might have. Which only plants doubts in your mind about what's actually going on between the two of you.

"I'm just going to use the bathroom," you call out ahead of you, turning back to the stairs and taking yourself up to Harry's second storey.

Upstairs you don't take long. You're looking a little worse for wear—who wouldn't at 3am—but you're not really in the mood to try to fix yourself. Even if you did Harry would notice, and that felt like something you wanted to avoid. As you walk back to the landing, you wriggle your toes in your socks and happen to look back down the upstairs hallway. You've been in this house dozens of times before but this time feels different. It feels quiet and intimate somehow. Just as you're about to go down the first step, you see Harry's bedroom door is open on the opposite side of the stairs to the bathroom, and you notice something that makes you stop.

The book you got him for Christmas is sitting on his bedside table.

You're standing over it before you realise that your legs have started moving, looking at a picture of Anne, Gemma and Harry, a bottle of water and the book. You pick it up, the cover a little bent and the spine cracked to where he's read. Harry's using the birthday card you send along with the gift as a bookmark. The top of the familiar design sticking out the top of the pages, you can't even really remember what you wrote inside. Something generic probably. Platonic.

Happy birthday, old man! Have a wonderful day, sorry I can't be there in person. Love, Y/N.

The floorboard at the top of the stairs creaks and you turn around to Harry looking surprised to see you standing over his bed. He's got two cups of tea and a family-sized Dairy Milk bar under his arm. Something churns inside you, this was Harry as you'd always known him. Except now you looked at his lips and wondered why the hell you weren't kissing him.

"Oh, yeah, I've been reading that," Harry sees the book in your hands and walks towards you, "It's excellent, unsurprisingly."

A smile starts on your face, "You doubted my selection ability?"

"Never," he returns quickly and then raises his eyebrows at you, "Looking for anything else?"

You feel your cheeks heat and you drop the book back into its place, "No, sorry, I was coming down the stairs and saw … I'm sorry."

Harry passes you a tea, "It was really kind of you to send something over. Was fun having something to unwrap on the day."

"I'm glad," you smile and take a sip of the tea. It's sweet, and you screw up your face, "This is yours."

Harry watches you with a strange expression on his face as the two of you swap mugs. He's worrying his bottom lip, obviously weighing something up in his mind. You see it when he decides what he' going to do about it.

"I've got something I want to show you," he tells you finally, tilting his head back to the door. "Wanna come see?"

"What is it?" You ask automatically, but Harry's already walking out the door, and you have to hurry to catch up.

He leads you into his study, and you hover in the doorway as Harry sets his tea and the chocolate down on the desk. He pulls Bananagrams out of the draw and places it next to the mug.

"We're actually going to play Bananagrams?" You ask.

He looks back at you, "You'd prefer actual Scrabble?"

"I didn't know what you meant by—I guess I …"

Realisation dawns on his face, and he widens his eyes, "Oh, you thought it was a euphemism."

"No!" You snap back quickly, feeling the heat rising to your cheeks (for the record, yes, you thought 'a movie or Scrabble' was a thinly veiled way of Harry suggesting … something else), "No, I just … I just don't think I'll be able to spell words right now."

"I didn't think you were still tipsy" Harry states, shit-stirring.

"I'm not!" You squawk at him. "I'm… I' m—You kissed me!"

He grins, loving the fact he's driven you a little crazy, "Yeah. Want me to do it again?"

Harry's playing with you. He's teasing. And you know it but what you don't know is how he's so confidently jumped to it. Not when you feel like you've been left on the street outside the bar trying to figure out what the hell this means, and what's going to happen tomorrow when he stops looking at you like that. You don't like to think this whole night could've been him playing with you, you don't know Harry to be that cruel. But there's a tripwire in your mind you keep getting snared on.

It's Harry.

"C' mere," he reaches his hand down across the room between you both, "C' mere and kiss me again. You don't seem to be getting it."

"Getting it?" You're cut off by Harry taking two big steps toward you and then planting his lips on yours again.

His palms find your hips, and you hold him in the same spot. It takes a moment for the two of you to find a rhythm, and even then, you're too in your head. You're struggling to remember what little Harry's said about this whole thing. You know he said he had a crush on you and you've gotten the distinct impression he wasn't too fond of your ex. But for all you know Harry's been kissing his mates like this for years but just never gotten around to kissing you. You might've been next on the list. He's a friendly guy. Maybe a crush isn't what it used to be. Or maybe—

He pulls back from your lips with a huffy expression on his face, "Y/N," he says quietly, "I'm a man with an incredibly fragile ego, whatever you're worrying about is really getting in the way of kissing you."

"I'm just—

—Let me show you what I brought you in here for," he interrupts you, takes your hand and tugs you towards the window. Then, he puts a hand on each of your shoulders and directs your attention to the wall.

It's lined with record sale plaques for singles and albums over the years—double Platinums and Gold-Somethings. Harry watches you eyes run over them all, a proud but unsure look in your eye. You're not sure why he's showing them to you, he knows that. He hopes you're not intimidated by them, he's certainly not showing you to try to score any points. There's a sweeter gesture behind it. He points to one leaning against the wall, not hanging. He's got it resting on the bubble wrap it was sent over in.

Stepping up closer behind you, Harry rests his chin on your shoulder, "That one's for you."

"What?"

"I want you to have it, been saving it for you … If I ever got brave enough."

The question falls from your lips before you really think about it, "Why would you want me to have it …"

Harry waits to see if you'll let on you've figured it out, he thought it was pretty obvious really, but you've never been one to elevate yourself or assume, and Harry knows that about you. So, when you don't keep talking, he confirms it for you, "That song is about you."

You just blink, eyes on the framed plaque taking in the name of the song and hearing it in your head.

It's about me? You think you want to hear it, you need to Google the lyrics and make sure you have them right in your head. Harry wrote a song about you. Harry wrote that song about you.

"When … When did you write it?"

"You mean why?" Harry raises his head and steps to stand next to you, he observes your face carefully.

"No, I mean when." You're starring at it like the plaque might answer the question, "When did you write it?"

Harry runs a hand over his head as he thinks, "A few years back, after that time you came out to LA … Didn't record it until this year though …"

Harry watches your face expand in surprise and then crumple back down to confusion. You really don't get it. He's not sure how to make you in one night. He supposes he can't. So he trails his hand up the back of your arm and then around your back, tilting his head down and waiting to see if you'll pull away. When you don't, he kisses the corner of your mouth and then opens his wider to take you lips in his properly.

It's different to the kisses outside the bar, now that you're both out of your outer layers Harry can feel your body against his in ways he's only dreamed, and it's sending everything straight between his legs. Harry's hands explore your back and the curve of your hips, thumbs almost reaching the underside of your breasts but not quite. It's a little awkward when he senses you've felt him hardening between you. Usually, lust clouds that moment, and Harry doesn't mind intimate partners being acutely aware of how they're affecting him. But with you he's a little hesitant, he senses the awkwardness on your side. Friends don't feel those body parts on each other, friends don't… He almost groans when your mouth leaves his without warning.

You think he'll probably change his mind about all this.

"Have you changed your mind?" You ask, not able to stop it.

Confusion colours his features, and his lips smack together, like he's savouring tasting you, "Wha—

"About wanting to be kissing me," you clarify.

"What? No." Harry's eyebrows have shot up, and he's shaking his head, "I barely even started! Didn't I just say I wrote that song about you—why the hell would I—want to do more than just kiss you—You think I'm gonna change my mind?"

You shrug, "Maybe. I don't know."

"Well," he stands up straighter and pins you with his stare, "I'm not. I promise I'm not going to change my mind. And I promise I'll never make you feel like you're asking for too much. Ever."

"Now you're trying to make me cry," you say, hearing him repeat back to you the insecurity leftover from your conversation about your ex. You're half kidding with your words but also not. You believe him. You trust him.

Harry grimaces, sways your bodies together gently, "I really hate seeing you cry, could you not? I had other plans."

You sniff through a laugh as Harry wraps his arms around your middle tighter," What plans are those?"

"Well, I literally thought Scrabble," he tells you through a smile, trying his best to make you laugh, "But I'm open to whatever dirty things you were thinking as well."

"You'll win Scrabble."

So, Harry instructs you to bring your tea and your sore feet back into his bedroom. He gets you a fluffy pair of hiking socks and tells you to take yours off, and your tights, and get comfortable on the bed with him and the block of chocolate. You've polished off a family size together before, the sugar going straight to your heads and always leading to a giggly night of reminiscing and Almosts.

This time though, you only get halfway through the tea and Harry pushes the chocolate off the bed onto the floor in favour of you straddling his hips. It started with a stolen kiss against your temple, and then another on your cheek, and one close to your lips, and then you captured his face in your hands and really kissed him. Within a few moments, Harry was dragging you over to him. His hands settle on the swell of your backside as it sits against his thighs and your lips trace the line of his jaw. This was really happening. You'd really let him peel off your dress and flick off your bra. His shirt was somewhere with the forgotten snacks, and you seemed extremely eager to keep feeling his hardness pressed between your legs.

"I swear to god, I never dreamed this would happen," he murmurs, hissing when your hips pressed into his at a different angle, "Was sure I'd be going to your wedding one day, completely miserable and probably end up drunk and causing a scene. Embarrass you so badly you'd never want to see me again, and you'd just run away with your stupid husband."

You pull back and watch Harry ramble, your bare chest rising and falling against his, "You're a real glass half full kinda guy, aren't you?" you smile at him.

"I just," his eyes drop to your chest, nipples puckered for him, and he scrunches them shut then drops his forehead onto your sternum with a big sigh, "This is fucking unreal, and my brain is just struggling to comprehend—you're breathtaking, and I feel like my chest is gonna explode."

"It's also 4am, so there's always the potential your brain is just plain tired," your index finger is drawing circles on the back of his shoulder as Harry leans against you, you pause and run your hand over the back of his head, "Maybe we should sleep for a little … I'll be here when you wake up," you say in response to Harry squeezing his arms around your waist tightly as if you were going to disappear. Or worse, leave.

His indescribable green eyes find yours in the light from the bedroom lamps, "Will you let me hold you while you sleep?"

"Yeah," you nod, although somehow that question seems more intimate than the lack of clothes between you at the moment. You're distinctly less dressed than Harry, who's still got his trousers on, you're only covered by your underwear.

"We don't have to rush this, right? Got all the time in the world now," still, as he speaks his palms trail up your back and then down again, skimming the sides of your breasts, "Just don't wanna miss anything is all."

"I promise I'm incredibly boring in my sleep, won't miss anything," you tease, "Might be the only time you get any peace."

Harry tightens his forearms around your back and finds the soft skin below your ear with his lips—once, twice, three little kisses—"I feel pretty at peace right now, just having you here. Feels like I'm living a dream."

You don't reply for a moment, but you let your body rest against Harry's in a comfortable hug, your voice is quiet, "You really wrote me a song?"

"I did."

"I've always loved that song."

“Well, it's been yours all along."

"Nobody's ever written a song about me."

"I should hope not."

"Are you going to write another one?"

"Without a doubt."

++

Chat to me here

[ljones41]

"LOST" RETROSPECT: (2.07) "The Other 48 Days"

"LOST" RETROSPECT: (2.07) "The Other 48 Days" I cannot deny that "LOST" will always be one of my top twenty (20) favorite television series of all time. Nor can I deny that despite my feelings about it, the writing had been flawed on many occasions. If there is an episode that truly reflected my positive feelings about the series, it is the Season Two episode called (2.07) "The Other 48 Days".

This episode is probably my TOP favorite one in the entire series. Before "The Other 48 Days" aired, I had been watching"LOST" for at least a little over a month. In fact, (2.02) "Adrift" was the very first episode I had ever watch. Although I did watch most of the episodes that aired between "Adrift" and "The Other 48 Days", I found it difficult to feel the series' magic. I was about to give up on the series for good when "The Other 48 Days" aired in late November 2005. Not only did I enjoy the episode, I became a permanent fan of the series. The plot for "The Other 48 Days" proved to be very simple. It chronicled those first forty-eight days that the Tail Section survivors (the Tailies) of Oceanic Flight 815 experienced on the island. Most of the episode focused upon the minutes following the plane crash, to the Tailies' encounter with Fuselage survivors Jin Kwon, Michael Dawson and James "Sawyer" Ford (which happened at the end of "Adrift"). The remaining few minutes of the episode is basically a montage of the Tailies and the three Fuselage survivors experiences between (2.03) "Orientation" and (2.06) "Abandoned", when one of the Tailies accidentally shot and killed series regular character Shannon Rutherford. If one thought that the experiences of the Fuselage Section survivors were traumatic, what they had experienced was a piece of cake in compare to the Tail Section survivors. Unlike the Fuselage passengers, the Tailies had no medical doctor/surgeon, a wanted convict with a talent for tracking, a "Great White Hunter", a son of a South Korean fisherman, the fisherman's daughter-in-law with a talent for botany, a construction worker, or a former member with the Iraqi Republican Guard with a talent for communications. Instead, the Tail Section survivors had a former LAPD cop, a Nigerian warlord-turned-drug runner-turned-priest, a flight attendant, a dentist and clinical psychologist. Hmmmm. From my point of view, only the cop and the former warlord proved to be potential leaders for this group of survivors. Without a medical doctor, the Tailies had to witnessed the deaths of those survivors who had been seriously injured. They also lacked supplies, luggage and some foodstuffs from the plane's Fuselage section. Both groups were infiltrated by men spying on behalf of the island's long time inhabitants known as "the Others". Because the Tailies' beach camp was situated not far from the Others' complex, they were harassed and terrorized by the island inhabitants from Day One, to that Forty-Eighth day that marked Shannon's death. In fact, the Others managed to kidnap a total of twelve survivors from the Tailies' camp on Days One and Twelve. On that last 48th day, they finally snatched the flight attendant. The only Fuselage survivor that ended up kidnapped was Claire Littleton. Unlike the snatched Tailies, Claire only spent eleven days as one of the Others' captive during those 48 days. Compare to the Fuselage survivors, the Tail Section survivors came close to experiencing their own version of "Lord of the Flies". Was there anything about "The Other 48 Days" that I did not like? I did not care much for that montage that marked the last three days that the Tailies spent with Michael, Sawyer and Jin. It seemed like a waste of air time. But I suspect that Damon Lindelof and Carlton Cuse needed some kind of filler leading to that moment from “Abandoned”, when Shannon was shot. I could complain that "LOST" never fully explained why the Others snatched some of the Tail Section survivors in the first place. But that is not the fault of this particular episode's writing, considering that the series is a serial drama. My biggest complaint about "The Other 48 Days" is that the Tail Section survivors' story was told in one episode. I truly regret this. In some ways, I found their story a lot more fascinating than the experiences of the Fuselage survivors during that first month-and-a-half. Between the deaths of the injured passengers, the kidnappings by the Others, the power struggles and paranoia between the survivors, the consequences of an Other's spy in their midst, brief contact with a Fuselage survivor via a short-wave radio and God knows what . . . the Tailies' story could have provided an interesting contrast to the Fuselage survivors during the series' first season.

The character of Ana-Lucia Cortez was first introduced to "LOST" viewers in the Season One finale, (1.23) "Exodus, Part 1", when she flirted with lead character Dr. Jack Shephard at an airport bar in Sydney. By the time the viewers saw her again, she had transformed into a hardened and brusque leader, lacking in any patience with the likes of Michael, Sawyer and Jin; and struggling to stay a step ahead of the Others' harassment. Many of the series' fans grew to hate her, complaining of her character's tough exterior. At the same time, they praised the Mr. Eko character, who proved to be the former Nigerian warlord-turned-priest, for being such a badass in their eyes. I had forgotten that despite the advent of civil rights regarding race and gender, we still live in a very prejudiced society. Apparently, it was okay for a man like Mr. Eko to be tough, but not a woman. Especially not a woman in a leader position. A woman can be tough like Kate Austen or Juliet Burke, as long as they maintain a superficial projection of femininity and find themselves stuck in a love story or mother role. I adored Ana-Lucia from the moment when she first punched Sawyer in (2.04) "Everybody Loves Hugo". And even after another four seasons, she has remained one of my favorite characters in the series. Before "LOST", I had viewed Michelle Rodriguez as a mediocre actress. I still cannot regard her as a great actress, but her portrayal of the stress-ridden Ana-Lucia had developed her into a very good one. And it took two scenes - one of Ana-Lucia's confrontation with the Others' spy and her emotional breakdown in Mr. Eko's arms - that made me realize that Rodriguez had come far as an actress in the five-to-six episodes she had appeared on "LOST" by "The Other 48 Days".  To this day, I consider Ana-Lucia Cortez to be her best role.  Another performer that truly caught my eye was Adewale Akinnuoye-Agbaje, who portrayed the fascinating Mr. Eko. To be honest, I first noticed Akinnuoye-Agbaje in the 2001 movie, "THE MUMMY RETURNS" and 2002's "THE BOURNE IDENTITY". He was memorable in both movies and very entertaining. But his portrayal of Mr. Eko proved to be more complex. Yes, he could be a frightening badass. But at the same time, Akinnuoye-Agbaje injected a great deal of pathos and compassion into his performance, allowing his Mr. Eko to become a more complex character than the ones I have seen him in past movies before his stint on “LOST”. I feel that Cynthia Watros had received a raw deal during her time on "LOST". Thanks to her performance as clinical-psychologist Elizabeth "Libby" Smith, she presented a complex woman behind a superficially likable woman. I am not saying that Libby was an unlikable woman. But considering that she had encouraged Ana-Lucia to do something about a survivor named Nathan, whom they suspected of being an Others spy; and in the next episode, dumped all of the blame surrounding Nathan's death on Ana; I found myself wondering about her true nature. I like to view "The Other 48 Days" and the following episode, (2.08) "Collision" as some of Watros' finest work on the series. Fortunately for Sam Anderson, he got a chance to stretch his stuff in more episode. He certainly did an excellent job as Bernard Nadler, the dentist who happened to be married to one of the Fuselage's survivors. Kimberly Joseph was first introduced as flight attendant Cindy Chandler in the series' early Season One episodes. Her character was eventually kidnapped by the Others just before Shannon's death in "Abandoned". As one can see, I do not have much to say about Cindy. Joseph gave a solid performance in the episode. In fact, most of her performances have solid throughout the series' run. I have been aware of Brett Cullen since I first saw him in the television Western, "THE YOUNG RIDERS". I have seen him in many television and movie roles over the years - especially during the first two seasons of "PERSONS OF INTEREST". But I feel that Goodwin Stanhope might be one of the best roles in his career. I was especially impressed by his screen chemistry with Michelle Rodriguez, making his relationship with Ana-Lucia on of the most interesting during the series' run. What else can I say about "The Other 48 Days"? It is a dark and fascinating television episode marked by an epic story line about survival, trust and paranoia, thanks to a superb script written by Carlton Cuse and Damon Lindelof. It also features first-rate direction from Eric Laneuville, and some excellent performances - especially from Michelle Rodriguez, Adewale Akinnuoye-Agbaje and Brett Cullen. After my latest viewing of the episode, I still wish the Tail Section survivors’ story had been stretched over more episodes. 

[gastrobrack]

Brave New World 2020 review from probably the biggest fan of the book you’ll meet in your life

(Mostly Spoiler Free) Okay so. I’ve been waiting for this show for a really long time because I absolutely love the book and it means a lot to me. My standards were admittedly pretty low because it can’t get worse than the 1998 movie, so I didn’t really mind when I saw the trailers and stuff where other people were complaining. 

TL;DR I thought the show was actually pretty enjoyable, but you have to read the book first in my opinion, or else it seems like it would be hard to follow at times. Where the show really screwed up royally was Mond’s storyline, which felt completely out of place and confusing, and when it ended up dominating the end of the final episode it just kinda ruined the story for me. The show is definitely more focused on the setting and characters than the societal predictions and themes of the novel, and for me that’s okay because we have the book to tell it better anyways.  I’d say watch it if you liked the book or are curious about it, but I don’t think it would really be enjoyable for the average viewer.

Side note: I watched this in the wee hours of the morning and some of the praise might just be the special interest talking, I’m just happy to be here and get more content

That being said, I think this show is like the Riverdale of Brave New World. However, in its defense it’s at least got the energy of the parts of Riverdale like the “epic highs and lows of high school football” and the “serial killer gene”, so it’s at least pretty funny. Personally, I knew that they would have to change a lot both to adjust for the longer runtime (around 9 hours) and to make the book enjoyable to a TV audience, because of course in the book you can have 2 chapters of exposition at the beginning and that’s not as enjoyable for a TV experience. So, let’s get into the pros and cons of the show!

PROS

-I really liked Bernard! In the book he means a lot to me personally (hell, I’m writing this while listening to my Bernard playlist) so I was of course kinda worried they might screw him up again like they did in the ‘98 movie, but I was pleasantly surprised! They did change him and divide his original personality between John and Lenina, but somehow they managed to create a new Bernard that both kept me on my toes and at the same time felt authentic and likeable! 

-Honestly, almost all the characters were done very well. They were all expanded upon in an interesting way while also staying generally pretty accurate to their book counterparts. I generally felt the same about them as I did with the novel, so I think that means they did a job well done. I think that John and Lenina were very different, but they still ultimately had the same general motivations. A lot of the cast’s interactions felt very natural, and I liked that they expanded upon Lenina and Fanny’s (or Frannie as she’s called here) friendship. 

-The show looked great, I know a lot of people really didn’t like the look of it because it wasn’t what they thought it would be when they read it, but for me that’s basically exactly what I imagined it would be. The costume designer clearly had fun making a bunch of outlandish outfits for everyone to wear and it’s all very pleasant to look at. 

-I think they did a good job fixing some of the problematic elements of the book without actually damaging the integrity of the things they were changing. For example, in the book, the savage reservation is quite literally just a native reservation, written in a way that clearly suggests Huxley didn’t really put a lot of thought into his depiction of real people. In the show, it’s a theme park where British people get to immerse themselves in the cultures of the old world, with the savages themselves being poor theme park workers reenacting events to shock and mystify the Brits. Now, admittedly, I think this makes a lot more sense as it ties into the consumerism that runs deep within their society. I know some people are mad about this because they think it’s cancel culture or something but honestly it’s not a big deal to me.

-This one might not be as important to some people, but I liked that the cast was pretty diverse, and the fact that John is the only straight one honestly made sense to me considering it would be in the World State’s best interest to encourage bisexuality amongst its citizens. Some of the characters (Helmholtz and Mond) are being played by women, and some people are kinda upset about that but I don’t really think it changed too much, although to me it is funny to think the showrunner thought he was doing something by “casting women of color to play white male characters” considering everyone I know who read the book didn’t picture either of them as white. 

-Honestly, I think the show did humor very well. It was very funny in a sort of dry way, and never felt forced or out of place. It all seemed like it naturally stemmed from the characters’ awkwardness and culture shock (on both sides) and it made me really happy as someone who loves all these characters to see them make me laugh.

CONS

-Now, I’m not usually one to complain about this too much, seeing as I love the book in a non thematic and academic context, but the message kinda got lost in all of it. I think the issues they brought up certainly were there, and could lend themselves very well to being good. The writers just focused on the entirely wrong things in the last episode, and that misguided focus completely changes the lens in which the rest of the show is retroactively viewed for me. 

-Mustapha Mond was just, where do I even begin. In the book, Mond doesn’t show up much except to provide exposition, and his position as an authoritative figure ultimately moves the plot towards the end of the novel. In the show, Mond gets this weird AI plotline that makes no sense, as in this version they have a sort of internet contact lens type system that allows them to connect to everyone else, and it is powered by said AI. The system itself doesn’t bother me as much as how poorly handled this plotline was. Not only was it completely random and was the only plotline in the show not to have some sort of roots in the events of the book, but it was extremely confusing to me. This leads into my next point, which is:

-The ending. Oh my God the ending. Now, look. I’m not gonna say much because I want this to be as spoiler free as possible, but the ending just honestly was a dumpster fire. The writers chose to focus the whole ending on the aforementioned AI plotline, despite the book providing a much more solid framework for an ending that they already seemed to be setting up. This shift in focus comes very late into the final episode, and it honestly doesn’t make any sense why the writers would really want to go this route. It feels like they were just adding things that didn’t fit into the story, and I can’t really discern why except for the possibility of setting up an unnecessary second season. I love the book, it’s my special interest, but I think I speak for everyone when I say we do not need a second season especially if its gonna be full of plotlines that make no sense and serve no purpose.  This heavily changed ending not only undermines the whole thematic purpose of the novel but honestly kind of goes actively against everything the book was trying to say in the first place. 

-They really don’t set up any of the world building, and although I caught on very quickly due to my familiarity with the book, it seems like it might get confusing for unfamiliar watchers. In the book, they explain their process for birthing and then conditioning children into their social body very in depth before they get into the actual plot and characters, and I think this show could have used some of that. Here, they talk a lot about conditioning but don’t actually explain what the conditioning is or why they have the caste system in the first place. 

-This is a minor disappointment more than anything and I didn’t actually notice till about the second episode, but there’s no more Ford talk, which is kinda disappointing cause it was pretty fun in the book. 

-Obviously it goes without saying that there’s sex in this, I mean it IS Brave New World. However, in this one, it just feels excessive and kinda just like it’s there for shock value more than anything. 

-This isn’t really a con so much as it is just a disclaimer, I know a lot of people are excited for Demi Moore as Linda and Joseph Morgan as the new character CJack60, but don’t get your hopes up too much, they don’t get to do much. If you read the book, you’d know that about Linda but I’ve seen reviewers get upset that she wasn’t in it more when she was one of the big names attached to the project. (FWIW she did a great job and I loved Linda in this whereas I didn’t in the book) As for CJack, he spends a lot of time just standing there and looking at things and doesn’t get to do much until the last 2 episodes or so. 

CONCLUSION

As someone who really loves the book’s setting and characters sometimes even more than the actual messages and predictions, I’ve always wanted an adaptation that focuses more on those elements, especially since that would make for an easier transition to the screen. Seeing this was a very nice breath of fresh air, because it embraces the inherently satirical and dare I say funny aspect of the story, as well as the characters’ individual quirks and distinct personalities. Obviously it’s not as hard hitting and important as the book, but I think those messages were better left in book form anyway. For someone like me, who loves the book with all my heart, this show honestly gave me most everything I wanted and it felt the most true to the spirit of the book’s world and characters out of any of the adaptations. I would say check out the show if you’re interested in it or enjoyed the book, but you should definitely be familiar with the book before you watch this. 

[beanie-beebo]

Oneshot: Dean pays respects to an old friend.

A/N I know I never really write like I used to, but I do come up with a few good things now and again. Enjoy. ❤

In the life of a hunter, you couldn’t have connections. Ties to the normal civilian life meant putting others at risk. Sam and Dean knew this, but nothing would stop them from feeling connected to the people they saved. Every once in a while, an opening would come up between hunts. Giving them the perfect opportunity to catch up on the lives of those they saved, however they could. Usually it was through local papers; it was safer that way. Calling meant the connection would still be there, and opened the possibility of a blossoming partnership.

One early summer afternoon, Sam and Dean had settled back into their chintzy motel room. Their previous hunt had consisted of nothing more than a measly vamp infestation, but still nonetheless grueling. It was enough to make Dean want to sleep for a few days after a nice, hot shower.

“I wish more hunts were this easy.” Dean said, plopping onto the nearest bed.

“Yeah, you’re telling me.” Sam said, failing to observe Dean was on his bed. “Alright, I don’t know about you, but I need a shower. I can still smell that last vamp we took out, perfume included.”

“Bathroom’s all yours. I need a breather, maybe a nap. Just don’t use up all the hot water, Frieda.” Dean said.

Sam rolled his eyes before shutting the bathroom door with a huff. Dean gave himself an approving nudge on the shoulder and smirked. 

“Dean 1, Sam 0.” Dean muttered to himself triumphantly.

He momentarily began to doze, but it wasn’t long before his thoughts got the better of him. It had now been almost two months since his father chose to sacrifice his own life for Dean. He still couldn’t wrap his head around it all, of what exactly happened and why his father seemingly gave up so easily. He wondered exactly what could have been going through his mind when he did what he did. There were so many unanswered questions, ones he would probably never get the answers for. The likely deal his father made to save him was just as much of a knee-jerk choice as Sam going to that faith healer that one time. How desperate was his father to make such a choice?

Dean still remembered the look on Sam’s face when he found out his brother had drawn the short straw, from that hunt not too long ago. He never was good at hiding how he really felt, not from Dean anyway. The hurt shone brightly in his younger brother’s unshed tears, and it was obvious the only reason Sam brought him to the faith healer was out of desperation. But deciphering his father’s true intent was like trying to focus a laser on a minnow in murky water.

Had Death whispered in his ear, or was he really so far out of options? Dean paused as the image of the reaper coming after him in Nebraska came to him. He shuddered as the memory clashed with his father's final moments. 

Dean opened his eyes and sat up, suddenly feeling sick. A knot formed in his stomach for a completely different reason as a face wedged itself to the front of his mind.

He almost reluctantly opened up Sam’s laptop and went through Ford City’s past few obituary sections in the local papers. 

There had been so much going on, he hadn’t recently checked in on any previous hunt survivors. Guilt seeped deep into his heart. Last time they had talked, she had months left to live.

Sure enough, in the second most recent newspaper was Layla’s face, sticking out like a sore thumb.

“Layla Rourke; beloved daughter, niece, granddaughter, and friend to many passed away Thursday, June 29th 2006. Services will be held Friday, July 7th at Munderloh Funeral Home from 1pm to 3pm and 5pm to 7pm.”

Dean’s stomach dropped. Another name to add to the list of the people who he didn’t save, once again. He almost wanted to laugh, the last conversation they ever had, involved faith. Where was this so-called God now? Where was He whenever good people needed it most? It was easier to believe that a God never existed than to get his hopes crushed every time a life drained away, at his stupid expense nonetheless. Yet, the people who still believed, got their hopes crushed in the end. Dean only wished he knew how to feel.

“Hey, you okay?”

Dean turned around to a fully dressed Sam, fresh out of the shower.

“Uh, do you remember Layla? The chick who was at that faith healing session?” Dean asked.

Sam huffed in amusement. “Yeah, I definitely remember. Why?”

“She uh, her funeral is this week.” Dean said.

“Oh..” Sam said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Wow, um. I’m sorry to hear that.”

“I think I’m gonna head up to Nebraska, you good for a few days?” Dean asked.

“You sure you don’t want me to come with? I’ll be fine, but I know how much that last conversation…” Sam trailed off.

Dean clenched his jaw. “I need to do this by myself, Sam. I’ll be fine.”

“Alright, just let me know if anything comes up.” Sam said. “I know you don’t want to talk about it, but-”

“You’re always there, blah blah. I know. Enough touchy feely crap, I’m headed out.” Dean retorted.

"And Dean?” 

Dean turned around, a hard glare set in his eyes.

“Just be careful.”

Dean slammed the hotel door behind him in frustration, roared the Impala’s engine, and sped off towards Ford City.

~~~

Dean pulls into a decent sized parking lot, thankfully while all the other grievers seem to be heading away for intermission. He takes a swig of whiskey and exhales roughly before heading inside the nearly empty funeral home to pay his respects. After finding his way to the correct viewing room, he comes across a shorter woman standing by the casket, blocking his view of Layla. He hangs off to the side out of sight, waiting until she is ready to leave the room. 

“You can come up, if you wish. I won’t be too long.” She says.

“It’s alright. You take your time.” Dean says.

“You’re not bothering me, hun. I don’t bite.” She responds.

He takes up the invitation; Dean figures it probably wouldn’t hurt to give her some company.

“She really was something, wasn’t she?” Dean asks.

She sniffles lightly. “Layla truly was one of a kind. One of the brightest souls I have ever had the blessing to come across.”

Dean nods, taking in Layla’s peaceful presence. 

Brief pause. “How did you know her?” The woman asks.

“Layla.. She was kind to me even when I didn’t deserve it. Even when I was for some reason chosen to be saved over her, she never held it against me. I think she even had faith for me.”

“Yeah, that sounds like Layla. She didn’t have a mean bone in her body. I’m Jamie, by the way; Layla’s aunt.”

“Nice to meet you; I’m Dean. Sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you, same to you.”

Another brief silence.

“You know, I may not know you, but I can tell you’re worth more than you think.” Jamie says.

“Sorry, but you are highly mistaken.” Dean replies.

“Layla, she was a person of good faith. She only kept you around, if she felt your intentions were good. She may have been kind to everyone, but if you knew her, you also knew she wasn’t one to condone ill intentions. If she had faith in or for you, you are a good person.”

Dean didn’t have an answer; his eyes focused on Layla.

“Did you come far?” She asks to break the tension.

“Uh, yeah,” Dean finally glances back into Jamie’s direction momentarily. “I was originally working in Jersey this weekend.”

“Hm, now if you weren’t a good person, then why did you come all this way for her?”

He stares at Layla’s portrait next to the casket. He knows Jamie was trying to make a good point. Although, that point didn’t condone everything he had done.

“It was nice meeting you Dean, take care.” And with that she walks away, leaving Dean alone with Layla.

For a few moments, he didn’t even know what to say. What could he even say? One of the last times they had been together, he stopped her from being healed. He felt so dirty, standing here when he clearly felt he shouldn’t have been. It’s not like his brother couldn’t kill Azazel without him. Yeah, Sam would be broken without his brother, but not incapable. He would have Bobby at least. Sam survived college without him, he could have survived Dean pulling the short straw.

“Hi Layla..” Dean’s voice begins to waver. “I bet I’m the last person you wanted to hear from, but.. I’m here anyway. I couldn’t not say goodbye..”

Dean plays with the denim of his jeans awkwardly.

“Listen, about what happened months ago.. I need you to understand, I never wanted this to happen to you. The reason I was healed...wasn’t God. Although, I’m sure if you were here, you would say so anyway. My brother brought me to Roy because... he was desperate. And.. He made a mistake. I mean, I guess if he didn’t find Roy, we never would have met and I would have never saved those people..”

Dean pauses and glances behind him, making sure he was still alone.

“My brother and I, we hunt things..Unnatural things. I’m not going to explain everything but, if you were to follow us for a day, maybe you would understand. And what healed me, was something.. not natural. And God.. He wouldn’t condone what it was. Now, I know I couldn’t save you. But there hasn’t been a day that has gone by, that I haven’t regretted that. Hell, if anything, I would have traded my life for yours in a heartbeat.”

Tears begin to sting his eyeline.

“Layla I.. I wish things could have been different for you. I’m sorry.” He sniffled. “I know your Aunt Jamie was saying all these things about me being a good person, but.. If I was a good person, I would have let you be saved, even if it was unnatural. But me being me, I hunted the unnatural thing before you could get that chance.”

Dean pauses to collect himself.

“Yeah..” He whispers to no one in particular.

He gives her a final farewell, shoves his hands deeper into his pockets, and somberly heads outside. Just after he walks out the double doors, a paper smacks him in the face causing him to flail briefly. After gathering himself, he holds out the paper to observe.. a poster appreciating the troops. “Thank you, for putting your life on the line. You are our hero.”

Suddenly he looks up, feeling as if he has eyes on him. Standing across the parking lot in a beautiful, rose colored dress is Layla, smiling. Before Dean could think of what to do, she disappears.

[thebluelemontree]

SanSan time! So in ASOIAF we get the Hand’s Tourney scene with Sansa & Sandor, and the whole “he was no true knight” moment. It seems like Sandor is still thinking she’s just a “little bird” here - but later, her father as Hand attaints Gregor, stripping him of his titles for his violent crimes. How do you think this makes Sandor feel about Sansa & his perceived seriousness of her moral ideals, considering his trauma re: Gregor being anointed and his other crimes covered up by everyone but Ned?

I don’t think Sandor was ready at the time to draw any positive conclusions between Sansa and her father, because his cynicism always gets in the way of that.  While her compassion made him take notice, he doesn’t regard her beliefs as a good thing.  To him, they are still woefully naive and a weakness that will only lead to being victimized by the strong and cruel.  If Sansa is so ill-prepared for the brutality and bleakness of reality, well, he would point a very judgemental finger at her parents for that.  This is not to say Sandor wasn’t quietly making observations about Ned, because I do think a few books in we see subtle indications that Ned’s character and decision to bring Gregor to justice perhaps did make an impression after all.  And I think it’s his experience with Sansa that causes him to have a more charitable conception of Ned in hindsight rather than Ned influencing his view of Sansa.         

It’s just that Sandor requires a lot of evidence over time before he will consider altering his opinions.  He sees exactly what he expects to see, so his point of view is always validated.  It takes more than just Sansa saying “he was no true knight,” as groundbreaking as that moment was.  It’s precisely that fact that makes him want to work harder at trying to find the cracks in Sansa’s idealism to prove that it can’t be real.  It’s only until the conclusion of the Blackwater scene that Sandor can finally accept that she is sincere in her beliefs by treating him with compassion when he least deserved it.  To him, Sansa is such an anomaly that the idea of anyone else being that authentic and principled is an even bigger stretch of the imagination than she is.   

And what experience does Sandor have with fathers doing right by their children?  None.  His own father covered up Gregor’s vicious attack and made him uphold the lie.  Then he’s a witness to Tywin and Robert Baratheon’s parenting.  Sandor always initially gives his life experiences more weight than any counterevidence he saw from Ned or Sansa.        

We are given a glimpse of Sandor’s reaction upon hearing the news that Beric Dondarrion was sent by Ned to put down Gregor Clegane through Littlefinger:  

Robert was in a fury [over the loss of the white hart], until he heard talk of some monstrous boar deeper in the forest. Then nothing would do but he must have it. Prince Joffrey returned this morning, with the Royces, Ser Balon Swann, and some twenty others of the party. The rest are still with the king.“

“The Hound?” Ned asked, frowning. Of all the Lannister party, Sandor Clegane was the one who concerned him the most, now that Ser Jaime had fled the city to join his father.

“Oh, returned with Joffrey, and went straight to the queen.” Littlefinger smiled. “I would have given a hundred silver stags to have been a roach in the rushes when he learned that Lord Beric was off to behead his brother.”

“Even a blind man could see the Hound loathed his brother.”

“Ah, but Gregor was his to loathe, not yours to kill. Once Dondarrion lops the summit off our Mountain, the Clegane lands and incomes will pass to Sandor, but I wouldn’t hold my water waiting for his thanks, not that one… “  – Eddard XII AGOT

Granted Littlefinger is framing this information in a certain light to pique Ned’s paranoia as he’s been doing throughout their interactions.  Ned just tipped his hand as to who he’s worried about and Littlefinger ran with it, making it seem like Ned just crossed Sandor personally.  Early on, Sandor is still invested in the idea that killing his brother is the only way to end the pain of his trauma.  Not that I think that he genuinely wants to be a kinslayer, but keeping the revenge fantasy alive is a coping mechanism that Sandor doesn’t want to be taken from him.  I have no doubt that Sandor did go to Cersei immediately to discuss the situation, but there’s a lot more going on here.  This is going to be a long recap and a good deal of rambling.  You have been forewarned. 

At the inn at the crossroads, Catelyn arrests Tyrion as a person of interest in the assassination attempt on Bran based on Littlefinger’s claim of who won the Valyrian steel dagger.  She takes Tyrion to Lysa in the Eyrie, holding him prisoner.  Word of Tyrion’s arrest reaches King’s Landing via Yoren.  In retaliation, Jaime Lannister and his men attack Ned Stark in the streets, leaving Ned with a badly broken leg.  Ned is unconscious with a fever for “six days and seven nights.”  When he awakens, he tries to speak to Robert about the conflict with the Lannisters, but Robert will not hear of it.  The situation is escalating with both Riverrun and Casterly Rock calling their banners in anticipation for war.  Robert decides he’d rather go hunting than deal with this mess, tells Ned they should just simply stop fighting and leaves the next day.  Thanks, Robert.  

Ned is back to holding court as Hand and dealing with official business.  Marq Piper and Karyl Vance, Hoster Tully’s bannermen, show up to accuse the Lannisters of sending Gregor Clegane to attack villages in the Riverlands under the guise of common brigands.  They brought with them the few remaining survivors of the attacks to testify that despite the lack of sigils or banners, these brigands were definitely outfitted like proper knights.  They had war horses, good weapons and armor, and their inhumanly large leader couldn’t be anyone else other than the Mountain.  Ned believes them and suspects what Tywin may be trying to accomplish:  “should Riverrun strike back [openly attacking Tywin’s soldiers or bannermen], Cersei and her father would insist that it had been the Tullys who broke the king’s peace, not the Lannisters. The gods only knew what Robert would believe.”  The ruse gives Tywin plausible deniability of being responsible, but it is flimsy enough so the Riverlanders to take the bait.  There’s no guarantee that Robert, the weak king that he is, wouldn’t cave under pressure to side with his in-laws.  We also learn later that Tywin was counting on Ned leading his forces personally to come to the aid of his wife’s family.  Away from King’s Landing, Ned could be killed, captured, or traded for Tyrion.  Either way, the Starks would be removed from power; however, Ned’s leg was broken during the street fight with Jaime, who knew nothing of his father’s plan.  

So Ned sends Beric Dondarrion to bring down Ser Gregor for his crimes against the villagers in the name of the king’s justice, thwarting Tywin’s provocation of Riverrun to retaliate.  By putting Robert’s stamp of approval on Gregor’s death sentence, he’s also gambling that this will position the king to side against his in-laws later.  You know, when he finally gets Robert to have that big talk about his wife and kids.  Sigh. 

“Lord Tywin is greatly wroth about the men you sent after Ser Gregor Clegane,” the maester confided. “I feared he would be. You will recall, I said as much in council.”

“Let him be wroth,” Ned said. Every time his leg throbbed, he remembered Jaime Lannister’s smile, and Jory dead in his arms. “Let him write all the letters to the queen he likes. Lord Beric rides beneath the king’s own banner. If Lord Tywin attempts to interfere with the king’s justice, he will have Robert to answer to. The only thing His Grace enjoys more than hunting is making war on lords who defy him.” – Eddard XII, AGOT.

Ned sends Ser Robar Royce to Robert’s hunting party to inform the king (and Yohn Royce) of Dondarrion’s posse and Gregor’s attainment/death sentence.  Fast forward to Robert on his deathbed, where he voices his displeasure with Ned putting him in a difficult spot with his wife’s family.  

“Ah, fuck you, Ned,” the king said hoarsely. “I killed the [boar], didn’t I?” A lock of matted black hair fell across his eyes as he glared up at Ned. “Ought to do the same for you. Can’t leave a man to hunt in peace. Ser Robar found me. Gregor’s head. Ugly thought. Never told the Hound. Let Cersei surprise him.” His laugh turned into a grunt as a spasm of pain hit him. – Eddard XIII, AGOT.

Robert admits to Ned that he never told Sandor himself.  Surprise, Robert dodged an uncomfortable conversation and intended on leaving that task to Cersei so he could get back to having a good time.  Because Sandor returned with Joffrey and the Royces, he most definitely heard the news through them.  Why does this detail matter?  Well, if you were Sandor, wouldn’t you be irked that the king didn’t have the basic courtesy (or balls) to tell you himself?  The natural progression of that conversation would be discussing what that means for Sandor’s future, the inheritance of Clegane lands, and his standing with the Lannisters during this conflict.  But Robert doesn’t want to touch that topic with a ten-foot pole.  What I’m saying is, at that moment, he’s probably more pissed at Robert than anyone else.  Following that would be Ned’s decision interfering with one of his primary coping mechanisms.  So Sandor marches off straight to Cersei where he was probably told of Gregor’s purpose in the Riverlands and assured that Ned’s order would come to nothing.  Indeed, Gregor was ready for Donddarion, ambushing his party from all sides at Mummer’s Ford, soundly defeating them.  Meanwhile, Cersei was already making moves to remove both Ned and Robert.  But how did Sandor feel about all this? 

The grey light of dawn was streaming through his window when the thunder of hoofbeats awoke Eddard Stark from his brief, exhausted sleep. He lifted his head from the table to look down into the yard. Below, men in mail and leather and crimson cloaks were making the morning ring to the sound of swords, and riding down mock warriors stuffed with straw. Ned watched Sandor Clegane gallop across the hard-packed ground to drive an iron-tipped lance through a dummy’s head. Canvas ripped and straw exploded as Lannister guardsmen joked and cursed.

Is this brave show for my benefit, he wondered. If so, Cersei was a greater fool than he’d imagined. Damn her, he thought, why is the woman not fled? I have given her chance after chance … – Eddard XIV AGOT

He’s right there under Ned’s window, mocking and intimidating him.  If there was any tiny glimmer in Sandor that maybe Gregor would be finally held accountable for any of his crimes, it was almost immediately overshadowed by his cynicism and confirmation bias.  Knowing that Ned’s goose is cooked, Sandor would think Ned a great, naive fool for not understanding how the world really works and how outmatched he is.  His worldview is validated yet again by the cunning of his masters.  The only thing he can do is attempt to cure Sansa of the same infirmity before its too late for her. 

Just before the Blackwater battle, Sandor brings up her father and tries to put some dents in his image to argue his points.  For a little context, Sandor was alone on the roof of the Red Keep until Sansa showed up.  We can infer with his anxieties about the wildfire that Sandor was up there contemplating his own mortality, which is why he goes so particularly hard in needling Sansa.  It seems as if Sandor must have been in the middle of some pretty intense brooding.  If he dies in the battle by fire no less, it is in the thankless service of awful people, and Gregor still goes on living and unpunished.  If this is how it all ends, well, it’s pretty depressing and of course, as he should have always expected.  And here Sansa is still insisting on her idealistic worldview. He goes for a low blow.  In that process, he reveals his anger and trust issues with fathers.   

She hated the way he talked, always so harsh and angry. “Does it give you joy to scare people?”

“No, it gives me joy to kill people.” His mouth twitched. “Wrinkle up your face all you like, but spare me this false piety. You were a high lord’s get. Don’t tell me Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell never killed a man.”

“That was his duty. He never liked it.”

“Is that what he told you?” Clegane laughed again. “Your father lied. Killing is the sweetest thing there is.” He drew his longsword. “Here’s your truth. Your precious father found that out on Baelor’s steps. Lord of Winterfell, Hand of the King, Warden of the North, the mighty Eddard Stark, of a line eight thousand years old … but Ilyn Payne’s blade went through his neck all the same, didn’t it? Do you remember the dance he did when his head came off his shoulders?” – Sansa IV, ACOK.

Of course, Ned must be a liar because his father was.  He’s got to be no different than Tywin, the high lord he knows best.  All fathers and killers are the same.  This is the truth as he sees it:  those on top, who hold near-godlike power of life and death over their subjects, secretly enjoy exercising that power behind a virtuous countenance.  Does Sandor honestly believe this about Ned, or is he trying really hard to convince himself of that?  Because for a flickering moment there, it almost sounds like a part of Sandor thinks of Ned in a grand, larger-than-life image before he pauses in thought…  

And since he’s the one who brought up Ned and his execution, he also can’t deny that he witnessed a man condemning himself as a traitor in exchange for the safety of the daughter the Lannisters held hostage.  He did the very thing his own father would not do:  endure the public shame and stigma for love of his child.  That is proof that Ned’s honor wasn’t just about his public image, which surely didn’t go unnoticed by someone sensitive to such things, whether he was ready to accept that or not.  That Ned wasn’t just merely outmatched by more cunning players, he was the victim of treachery and deceit, failed by a negligent king uninterested in dealing with corruption.  While he still does think Ned a fool, there’s a sense that Sandor has adjusted to thinking of him as a decent, honorable, and tragic sort of fool, much like his daughter.  What good did that integrity do him?  None.  The monsters won.  Illyn Payne still took his head off while he and his daughter watched.  Did you catch how the detail of Ned’s twitching limbs was burned into Sandor’s memory, the same one that plagued Sansa’s nightmares?  Yeah, it affected him too.  So I do think Sandor is trying to convince himself that Ned was actually a phony and a shitty person because Sandor doesn’t want to empathize with anyone and yet finds himself doing so anyway.  Like with Sansa, caring* means having confused and conflicted feelings that force him to re-examine his own life.  Add to the fact that Sandor is also the child of a murdered father.  I could see a young Sandor having very complicated feelings about mourning his own massive disappointment of a father if he allowed himself to mourn him at all.  I don’t see how those memories could not be dredged up.       

* I’m still debating whether or not “caring” is too strong a word in regards to Ned.  Let’s just say that upon later reflection, I think certain things about Ned’s life and death resonated with Sandor.    

It’s a very small, but not unremarkable shift considering how much of a jaded idealist cynic Sandor is.  Death probably also has a way of memorializing Ned in a similar way to how separation causes Sandor to reframe Sansa’s courteousness as something he highly esteems; however, Sandor just can’t say that he was wrong these things openly, so you have to read between the lines.  Later while telling Arya of his intention to return her to Catelyn and Robb, Sandor says he’s willing to wager that Robb won’t kill him:

If he doesn’t take me, he’d be wise to kill me, but he won’t. Too much his father’s son, from what I hear. – Arya IX, ASOS.

What Sandor is hoping for first and foremost is for Robb to take him into his service, right after stating that he’s done with loathsome and unappreciative masters.  In an indirect way, it is an admission that Ned, Sansa, and the other Starks are not just different, but better.  Still foolish because it would be “wiser” to kill someone like him, but definitely better.  Sandor assumes Robb will be pointing his army toward King’s Landing to free Sansa, so he believes his Lannister intel will make him a valuable asset.  “Maybe I’ll even kill Gregor for him, he’d like that.“  What’s also interesting is that he fantasizes about changing Robb’s negative opinion and winning his favor by taking down Gregor for him (in the name of the king’s justice), essentially fulfilling the duty Ned charged Dondarrion with.  While he may think he’s got one over on Robb and his long-awaited revenge will be the cherry on top, his wording points to a subconscious desire to please and serve Ned through his stand-in eldest son.  That he wants a chance to earn positive recognition from a worthy king, someone who Sansa also loves and admires.  The thought eases the pain of his failures and screw-ups regarding her during the Blackwater.  Except this goes up in smoke with the Red Wedding.  

I don’t know if in the future Sandor will ever have any lines where he openly and positively speaks of Ned, but that would be something I would love to see.  Since I am sure he and Sansa are bound to reunite, it would probably come up then.  Or Ned’s presence could be quietly felt in the continuation of Sandor’s arc through his choices and actions.  Or it could be both.  We just have to wait until Winds to find out.                                                  

[tanadrin]

@bpd-anon:

I think I agree on some points and disagree on others but mostly I would love an expansion of this part: "I don’t think he actually understands fantasy as a set of generic conventions as well as he thinks he does." Can you explain the parts that he is misunderstanding and what true understanding looks like?  

For some context, I have never seen GOT. I read the first book and it's tied for my favorite book ever but then college and its stress hit and I mostly stopped reading (same reason Blindsight is another favorite book ever but I haven't read Echopraxia). I mostly read science fiction books and I haven't even read the all-important LOTR (mainly because I hear there isn't any moral greyness, sounds boring). 

Martin has said things like this:

“I admire Tolkien greatly. His books had enormous influence on me. And the trope that he sort of established—the idea of the Dark Lord and his Evil Minions—in the hands of lesser writers over the years and decades has not served the genre well. It has been beaten to death. The battle of good and evil is a great subject for any book and certainly for a fantasy book, but I think ultimately the battle between good and evil is weighed within the individual human heart and not necessarily between an army of people dressed in white and an army of people dressed in black. When I look at the world, I see that most real living breathing human beings are grey.”     

“Ruling is hard. This was maybe my answer to Tolkien, whom, as much as I admire him, I do quibble with. Lord of the Rings had a very medieval philosophy: that if the king was a good man, the land would prosper. We look at real history and it’s not that simple. Tolkien can say that Aragorn became king and reigned for a hundred years, and he was wise and good. But Tolkien doesn’t ask the question: What was Aragorn’s tax policy? Did he maintain a standing army? What did he do in times of flood and famine? And what about all these orcs? By the end of the war, Sauron is gone but all of the orcs aren’t gone – they’re in the mountains. Did Aragorn pursue a policy of systematic genocide and kill them? Even the little baby orcs, in their little orc cradles?” 

“By the time I got to Mines of Moria I decided this was the greatest book I’d ever read… And then Gandalf dies! I can’t explain the impact that had on me at 13. You can’t kill Gandalf… Tolkien just broke that rule, and I’ll love him forever for it. The minute you kill Gandalf, the suspense of everything that follows is 1,000 times greater. Because now anybody could die. Of course, it’s had a profound effect on my own willingness to kill characters at the drop of a hat.” 

Taken together, Martin is one of the people I’m thinking most of when I say things like “nobody reads Tolkien, only their caricatures of Tolkien.” About the only thing I can say for him is that he’s right on Tolkien being about an external battle of Good versus Evil a lot of the time; though for my part, Martin’s world doesn’t come off so much as Gray versus Gray as Evil versus Evil, and a lot of what he seems to take for “moral ambiguity” to me is perfectly unambiguous: they’re all (or mostly) villains, doing villainy things to each other. Sometimes for quite human reasons; but the best villains have comprehensible motivations beyond pure evil. Doesn’t make them not villains.

First of all, he’s simply nakedly incorrect that Tolkien never considered the difficulties of rule, or never looked at the practical aspects of his worldbuilding. They don’t come in much for emphasis, but they’re absolutely there (most notably in the scenes set in Minas Tirith, in the run-up to the Battle of the Pelennor Fields), and indeed the moral nature of the Orcs, and therefore the correct stance to take toward them, was of deep concern to him, and subject to a lot of later revision as he struggled with the idea of what we would now refer to as an Always Chaotic Evil fantasy race.

Tolkien certainly critically interrogates the morality and moral authority of rulership. In the Silmarillion, he has plenty of figures who cut heroic profiles but make bad (or at least ambiguous) kings, with much resulting conflict; and indeed, that ambivalence is something he’s in part borrowing from his medieval sources! To say that the medievals had a totally black-and-white view of kingship is to betray a lack of familiarity with actual medieval writers, who even (especially?) in the Early Middle Ages are adept at portraying leaders with powerful qualities that turn against them in the wrong situation. Beorhtnoth, the heroes of Njal’s Saga, and Beowulf would have all been extremely familiar to Tolkien, and are good examples I think. Tolkien absolutely understood that people come in shades of gray, and there are various admixtures of light and dark in almost all his characters. Even Frodo for Chrissakes puts on the Ring at the end--and Gollum redeems him. Like, come on! That’s one of the most memorable parts of the main trilogy! But from Galadriel right down to the Sackville-Bagginses, Tolkien is intensely conscious of the moral complexity of everybody in his stories, he just doesn’t need them to say “fuck” in order to express that.

What Martin seems to have confused for Tolkien is, like, the semi-mythic style of Arthurian romance (which... is still not always super black and white?), which is only a small part of the generic conventions Tolkien is drawing on. Tolkien is much more steeped in the conventions of the realist novel, with its penchant for psychological complexity, even as he’s borrowing the setpieces of older literature. I think that’s important because it’s what marks Tolkien out as a fundamentally modern writer, despite his sources; yet people skate over this and like to pretend he was some kind of reverse Connecticut Yankee who stumbled out of the 13th century with medieval sensibilities intact. Which is... weird.

The quote about Gandalf is especially telling. Gandalf’s death happens for extremely clear structural reasons: it provides a climax to Book II (if you’ve never read LOTR: each volume is divided into two “books”; the three-volume split was a post-writing publication decision, LOTR was originally written as a single continuous unit, and the “books” are like mega-chapters), much like, but stronger than, the Flight to the Ford at the end of Book I; it sets up the sojurn in Lorien (recovering from the trauma of the loss of their nominal leader); it helps the narrative transition from the low-stakes, bucolic setting of everything west of the Misty Mountains to the high-stakes dangers of the rest of the story; and it serves the conclusion of the story because without Gandalf’s sacrifice (plus many other events), the Ring never would have made it to Mount Doom. Also, not to put too fine a point on it, but Gandalf comes back, in a way that feels sensible within the world Tolkien has built, and which sets up further development of both the main plot and the the themes Tolkien is concerned with.

If Martin had written Lord of the Rings, Gandalf would have died to a random Orc arrow, would never have come back, and the Ring wouldn’t have made it to Mount Doom at all. And you’d be left feeling like Gandalf dies for basically no reason--and you’d be right. The suspense in Lord of the Rings doesn’t come from wondering who will die (the only major named characters who die permanently are Boromir and Gollum; both similarly serve important thematic and plot functions when they do, but by Martin’s standard, Tolkien isn’t even trying), or wondering how things will turn out--does anyone ever doubt that the good guys will win?--it comes from seeing how they get there, from wanting to experience the emotional and narrative beats of the story, wanting to see the narrative logic being brought to its conclusion. It’s why it’s a good story even if you know the ending! And all of Tolkien’s work is like that: a well-constructed narrative that is perennially satisfying is far better than a one-off surprise that can never be repeated. That’s a mistake a lot of modern media is making right now, which the rise of undue emphasis on spoilers isn’t doing anything to reduce.

More generally: there’s nothing wrong with high fantasy externalizing the conflict between good and evil. That is in fact one of its functions, as a kind of moral metaphor or moral proving ground in the same way that, say, science fiction often serves as moral and philosophical proving ground for ideas around technology or exploration or the alien. It’s not obligatory, but to cite that as an insufficiency of any work in the genre is to fail to understand the genre. Tolkien specifically provides some arch moral figures (Morgoth, Sauron, Manwe, Aragorn), but he also provides some much more mixed ones: Denethor, Saruman, Grima Wormtongue, Boromir, Gollum, etc. (also Thorin, Feanor and his sons, and in fact just like a huge chunk of the cast of the Silmarillion in general), and gives his characters plenty of opportunity to reflect that, even in a conflict with a literal evil spirit, there is room for ambiguity (cf. Sam’s meditation on the Haradrim in Ithilien). And the sum total of the effect in Tolkien’s work is that it actually feels like something is at stake. I don’t feel like that in Martin’s world. I feel like if the Night King were just to destroy all of Westeros that would make as much sense and be about as satisfying as any other outcome, because there’s nothing that feels especially worth preserving there.

In discarding everything about both the moral and narrative structure of high fantasy, Martin’s world leaves nothing for one to hang one’s hat on, nothing to use as a fixed point of reference when it comes to orienting yourself in it; he is writing a critique against many things, perhaps, but not an argument for anything. The result leaves me quite cold.

[letterboxd]

Most Picture 2020.

In which we award the Most Picture Oscar to the most-rewatched of the 2020 Best Picture nominees, and track down the Letterboxd member who most obsessively rewatched the Most Obsessively Rewatched Film in our 2019 Year in Review—Avengers: Endgame—to ask “Why?”.

Once again, we dive into the data on the Oscar Best Picture nominees to name not the Best Picture (respect to Parasite!), but what is the Most Picture, as in, which of the nine 2020 finalists was rewatched the most by Letterboxd members?

And the 2020 “Most” Picture Award goes to… Once Upon a Time in Hollywood.

Letterboxd member Movie15 has the distinction of having logged Once Upon a Time... in Hollywood the most—a whopping 26 times since its August release, and though he hasn’t reviewed it on Letterboxd, we’ve enjoyed his quest to see Tarantino’s latest in as many Los Angeles movie theaters as possible, on 35mm as often as he can.

Bong Joon-ho’s multi-Academy-Award-winning masterpiece, Parasite, comes next, just 859 views behind—Khoi is the Letterboxd member who has most obsessively rewatched the film to date, with eleven recorded watches. Third place (and almost 14,000 views behind the two leaders) goes to Joker, watched the most (seventeen times) by Kenai Fleck, a hard-core Batman fan.

In fourth place, Little Women. Micah Simmons has logged the film fourteen times (but may in fact be pushing 20 views). On the thirteenth view, “I have nothing to add, except for mentioning a shot right before the scene where Amy does *the thing* to Jo, and there’s a crazy shot that foreshadows *the thing* so well and fuck this movie is smart.” Then come Marriage Story, The Irishman, 1917, Jojo Rabbit and Ford v. Ferrari in that order.

The official Letterboxd Most Picture list reveals the combined number of watches for all members with two or more entries for these films.

The Rewatches We Logged Along the Way

Avengers: Endgame was the Most Obsessively Rewatched Film of 2019 in our Year in Review, which means it had the highest number of Letterboxd members logging it five or more times in their diaries.

Member Max Joseph has the distinction of having logged Avengers: Endgame more times than any other. When we told him we needed to know why, he replied: “I’d be honored to talk about my love for Avengers Endgame!” Spoilers follow in this Q&A with Max (though at this point if you haven’t seen Avengers: Endgame it’s probably only because Max has watched it for you). This interview was conducted prior to the 2020 Academy Awards.

How many times do you think you have seen Avengers: Endgame? Max Joseph: Well, I’ve logged it 26 times as of today. But I also think there are a good three or four watches I didn’t log because I occasionally put it on before bed, and just never logged it. So I’d say my final answer is 29, but that honestly may be lowballing it. I have a feeling that by the time the Oscars roll around, it’ll probably be at 30. I always watch every single film, documentary and short nominated for the Oscars, and thankfully, Endgame was nominated!

What’s your reaction to the news that you are the member who has logged it the most? Kind of shocked! I really didn’t even realize how many times I watched it until you told me! I watch Avengers: Endgame because it brings me happiness, and I love the adventure! When it finally came out on Blu-ray and digital, there were a few times I would watch it multiple times in one day. Then I’d throw something else on, then get upset that I wasn’t watching Avengers. So maybe it isn’t as shocking as I had thought!

What keeps you coming back to it? I love all genres of film. Take this season for example. I love the more meaty and dramatic films like Parasite, 1917, Waves, Queen & Slim. I love comedies like Jojo Rabbit and Booksmart. Animation like Toy Story 4, Frozen II and Klaus.

But, you give me someone flying, turning invisible, super speed… that’s where I live. Superhero movies are just my favorites, and I think the reason I keep coming back to Avengers: Endgame is because besides being a superhero movie—which I just naturally gravitate towards—in Endgame, I get a little bit of every genre and mood. I also like that it’s split up into three acts, and each act gives me what I want in a superhero movie:

Act one is the slow burn, which we never really got in the MCU up to this point. It’s the aftermath of Avengers: Infinity War, and them dealing with the implications and the new normal of the universe. And this gives a chance for the story to build, and our actors to show off, especially Robert Downey Jr., Chris Evans and Scarlett Johansson. It gives something new to the fans of the franchise and is one of the biggest reasons I keep coming back for more.

Act two is the “time heist” and it is a pure love letter to the fans of the franchise. They revisit some of the best parts of our MCU journey over the last eleven years and mess with it. Is it fan service? Absolutely! But I think they did it right.

Act three is the final battle at the now-destroyed Avengers headquarters. And this was where the slow burn pays off. It is what we’ve all been waiting for since 2008. The grand finale. The culmination of eleven years and 22 films. We are gifted my favorite battle I’ve ever seen, bone-chilling and heartbreaking moments, as well as the most cathartic endings to the most epic story I’ve ever had the privilege to watch, nearly 30 times over.

What have you noticed with each rewatch? Two things: firstly, how unbelievable the visual effects are. I may be alone in this, but I think Marvel has the best visual effects on the planet. By miles. And rewatching this makes me appreciate how much time and dedication was put into making this. So much happened behind the scenes, that I personally don’t really think about while watching it. But after 26 views, I start to think about green screens, the motion capturing, all of those elements, it’s insane! Go on YouTube and just check out all of that work they did visually. It’s beautiful.

Secondly, how brilliant Robert Downey Jr. is. I’ve been saying it for years, but RDJ was born to play Tony Stark. Has he had many other brilliant performances throughout his career? Absolutely. But I think that if he was not cast as Iron Man, this franchise wouldn’t have turned out the way it did. He is the heart of the MCU. And he has so many brilliant moments throughout the film, meets his dad during the “time heist”, the realization of “the one”, even the way he interacts with his daughter, Morgan. It’s truly exceptional work. I think it’s his best performance as Stark.

What is the single greatest scene in the film? Oy, well that’s near impossible. A few standouts are Cap wielding Mjölnir, the scene with Tony and his dad, the reveal of Professor Hulk, thicc Thor, Cap vs. Cap, “the snap”. There are so many! But I think the popular answer is also the greatest, and that is when our Avengers return.

As soon as I heard Sam Wilson’s (Falcon) voice, I lost my mind. And they brilliantly added “On your left” right before all the portals open up. “On your left” is a callback to Captain America: The Winter Soldier. That’s the first line of the movie, and is repeated again at the end. Both times are between Sam and Steve, and it was the same in Endgame. And then you add Alan Silvestri’s score (the song is titled ‘Portals’) which is building and building with emotion, which leads into Cap finally saying…

“Avengers (music cuts) Assemble”… (enter Avengers theme song)

It. Is. Perfection. I have chills as I type this. It was probably the greatest theater experience I’ve had in my life. I was sobbing. Imagine how I was by the end…

What has the overall Avengers cinematic adventure meant to you? I remember seeing the first Iron Man in theaters with some friends in 2008. We all dressed up in suits, because we were at a high school awards show kind of thing, and just went straight to the theater, and we had the best time. From the first moment ’til the end, when Tony says, “I am Iron Man”, then Black Sabbath’s ‘Iron Man’ starts playing, my jaw was on the floor. I gave a standing ovation. In a suit. From that moment on, I knew that this was made for me.

It has given me the greatest moments in a movie theater, incredible discussions with friends and strangers, and although it may seem cheesy, some much-needed happiness in some of the most difficult times in my life. I watch these stories because I love them. They mean something to me. They are an important part of who I am.

What would you say to people who say that blockbusters like these aren't ‘real’ cinema? Hahaha! This is a hilarious question, and I’m thrilled that you asked it. I’ve actually had a good 20 people ask me this, and I always said that I’d write something or make a video about it, so here we go…

Let me start off by saying that Martin Scorsese is arguably one of the greatest directors of all time. I love his work, I respect it, and I encourage everyone to watch his full repertoire, ’cause it’s beautiful.

That being said… ‘real cinema’ is a matter of opinions. To me, Avengers: Endgame is just as much real cinema, as The Irishman, Goodfellas, The Shawshank Redemption, The Godfather, anything. I don’t care who you are, you can be Martin Scorsese, Kevin Feige, one of my friends, a stranger, I don’t think you have the right to tell me what is ‘real cinema’. You can say something isn’t good, or only being made to earn a profit, but you don’t get to say that movies like this aren’t worthy of being ‘real cinema’. To me, they are. You’re more than entitled to that opinion! I just happen to disagree with you, but you’re not wrong by any means. I’m entitled to my opinion, you’re entitled to yours. And that’s what it comes down to. Opinions.

Thicc Thor—keep or send back to the gym? I totally don’t care. Taika Waititi figured out how to write that character in Thor: Ragnarok, and thankfully they continued writing him this way in Endgame. So as long as the writers continue on the path that Waititi sent him on, I’m good. Make him thicc, give him an eight-pack, as long as the character has purpose and the lines flow naturally, I’m more than satisfied with whatever he looks like.

How amped are you to learn more about Natasha’s background in this year’s Black Widow? Finally! We’ve been waiting since Iron Man 2, and it is finally time for the Black Widow movie she deserves! I’m fascinated by the Red Room, which was where she started her training as a Russian spy. They showed us glimpses of her beginnings in 2015’s Avengers: Age of Ultron, and I’ve always been hungry for more information because it looked really interesting.

I also think that we may finally find out what happened in Budapest. It was first mentioned in The Avengers back in 2012, as a bit of banter between Black Widow and Hawkeye (Jeremy Renner), and has kind of been a mystery ever since. It was actually mentioned again in Endgame. I’m basing this on the San Diego Comic-Con Hall H panel. There was a title card that said “Budapest”, so it would make sense that we’re gonna get what we’ve been asking for!

I’m also thrilled because the cast is awesome. Obviously double Oscar-nominated actor this season, Scarlett Johansson, Rachel Weisz, David Harbour and one of my favorite actors, Florence Pugh, who had an unbelievable 2019, with Fighting With My Family, Midsommar (one of my favorite performances of the decade), and she topped it off with an Oscar-nominated performance in Little Women!

What do you think should win best picture at this year’s Oscars? Parasite. And it’s not even close. I think Parasite is one of the greatest films I’ve seen in my life. I think it deserves that number one slot on your Top 250 Narrative Features list.

It features the best performance from an ensemble, Song Kang-ho should have been nominated for supporting actor (he should be winning). The production design is fabulous. They literally built the Park family’s house for the film! Hong Kyung-pyo’s photography is worthy of being framed. He created a few shots that are permanently engraved in my head (in a good way). And of course, Bong Joon-ho’s direction flows with emotion and his script is original, gripping and electric. He is the definition of a visionary, at the top of his game.

Parasite is the crowning achievement of the decade and should be awarded as such. It would be the perfect way to end the decade with the first foreign-language film (now titled “International Feature Film”) winning Best Picture at the Oscars. #BONGHIVE all the way!

What do you think will win? My heart says Parasite, but I think it may end up going to something like Once Upon a Time… In Hollywood, The Irishman or 1917 (which is in my top ten this year). The easy answer is probably Hollywood because it won the Globe, but that doesn’t always translate into an Oscar.

But if it’s not Parasite, I think it should be 1917. It is a technical work of art from Oscar, Golden Globe and Tony Award-winning director Sam Mendes. Roger Deakins outdid himself and is pretty much guaranteed to earn his second Oscar [update: he did!]. Thomas Newman’s score is probably my favorite of the year (possibly of his career), followed closely by Emile Mosseri’s for The Last Black Man in San Francisco and Hildur Guðnadóttir’s for Joker. And George MacKay and Dean-Charles Chapman should be on everyone’s radar. They’re phenomenal. It’s shaping up to be quite a race this year!

What’s your favorite thing about Letterboxd? I think the reason I love it so much is because it feels like a family. I’ve had such a passion for the cinema for my whole life, and I like to share it wherever I can. But other social platforms (as wonderful as they are), aren’t always the best place to post about every single movie I’ve watched, or a top ten that I make. Letterboxd is the only place where I can let out all of my opinions, all of my thoughts, without feeling embarrassed or like I’m bothering anyone when I say how perfect Avengers: Endgame is. Or if I watch it and spot something new, I can post about it, and have great conversations about what I’ve discovered. It is the place for movie lovers, and it actually helped me love movies more, and to learn more about the crews, studios, and everything behind the film.

[quarantingz]

slow mornings, impermanence and turning 21

10 April 2020 9:32 am (but I started writing this 30 minutes prior)

I’m currently sitting out on the deck, listening to Leon Bridges and Khruangbin’s Midnight which has quickly become one of my favourite tunes for slow mornings like this. I made myself a flat white, without which any morning would feel not empty but lacking. Of energy and warmth. Cathy and I decided to deviate from our usual Karajoz beans and opted for a more economical 1kg bag of this Italian brand of coffee beans so we don’t have to keep going back to the supermarket which to be honest I didn’t even mind. The sole fact that it was an outside activity and I could be in the presence of and observe other human beings for an hour made it a nice pasttime.

I’m looking up at the sky, noticing the shade of blue change from minute to minute. It’s a lighter shade compared to how I saw it two minutes ago. Almost reminiscent of a classic light wash pair of Levi’s denim jeans. I’m staring specifically at this spot between two neighbouring trees where faint clouds have now come into view like smoke wafting from a chimney. I look to my right, eyes fixating on the rows of houses stacked on top of each other just beneath the horizon, framed by power lines that stretch from one end of this distant street to the other. Although from my vantage point it looks like I could walk over to the said street in less than five minutes if I jumped over the fences of the houses that block what would otherwise be a straight path, unguided by concrete roads.

Now Lovely Day by Bill Withers is playing from my Spotify playlist titled ‘21st at the park, eating Mediterranean food’ and I look up at the aforementioned spot in synchronisation with this bird landing on a lanky branch, perched there for a moment. Just as the song switched to Here Comes The Sun by The Beatles, it flies out of my view. A random thought comes to mind: how many times have I seen the same bird without knowing in my existence? Last year in September, we lost our cockatiel Coco who took flight when he saw his chance. Cathy had him on her shoulder when she sneezed and startled poor Coco and sent him flying over to the garage door which was open and out he went. Just like that. Never to be seen again. I was doing work in one of the studios at uni with my friends, WE533 I think that was, when Cathy delivered the heart-wrenching news to me via Instagram. I started crying, to everyone especially Cullen’s surprise. He thought it was the workload stress getting to me and in true Cullz fashion says, “Chill, we good.” I hadn’t cried in front of them before and I chose to do so over a bird. But Coco wasn’t just a bird, we had him for 4 years but I guess birds were meant to fly. Not domesticated and caged throughout their rather long lifespan. About 30 minutes after I let my guard down in front of them, Cat, Shannon and Cullen started dancing. Moving their feet to a non-existent beat in the middle of the room. I was laughing then. One of those sincere, loud chuckles where your mouth contorts into a grin so big your face hurts.

I needed to mourn over my loss even for just a moment, a step which I think we shouldn’t try and skip in times of grief. Whether it’s a breakup or realising you just poured down the pasta water you were supposed to save to help thicken the sauce for your pasta al limone down the drain. Coincidentally, In My Life by The Beatles started playing and it occurred to me how crazy it was that I pieced this birthday playlist together as if I knew I was going to be sitting here a day before turning 21, reflecting on my morning and now inevitably my life as a whole.

There are places I'll remember All my life, though some have changed Some forever, not for better Some have gone, and some remain All these places had their moments With lovers and friends, I still can recall Some are dead, and some are living In my life, I've loved them all

21 is a pivotal age in one’s life, or at least society made us believe that it is. I don’t know what else this year has in store for me but right now I’m more hopeful than ever. Three days ago I was wallowing internally over the fact that my initial birthday plans were all for naught as not even my parents are going to be here to celebrate it with me. But on the same day and in the same hour, I read this article on how companies like Dyson and Ford who don’t design or manufacture medical devices are having to respond to the increase in demand of mechanical ventilators by outputting their own versions. And just like that, my birth week didn’t seem to matter so much. I didn’t seem to matter. I am but a speck, a crumb (ha!) on this planet where countless of other (more important) events are all happening at the same time. This thought brings me comfort more than anything else. At this point I don’t even know where this entry is going as I haven’t attempted to write something ‘postable’ in a while. I guess what I’m trying to get at is that we or at least I need to stop living under societal as well as my own pressure. Since I was little, I’ve always carried this notion with me that I needed to always be striving to achieve something, whether that’s an A+ on a project or a perfectly browned crust on practically anything I bake. In response to Alyssa’s most recent blogpost (that’s right, we’re bloggers now!) why can’t we [I] just do things just cause? Or without there even being a cause. Just do. To be honest right now I’m rummaging through the drawers in my brain for more words to at least try and write an ending to this that makes sense. In doing so, I’m going against exactly what I just said before. Merde.

I guess it’s all human nature. Sometimes I feel too much, my cup filled to the brim and spilling out onto the surface in a messy puddle. Other times I feel nothing at all, staring at nothing and thinking about nothing in particular. Humans are ambivalent, I suppose. I felt alive, empowered and motivated yet light and calm when I first started writing this in my physical journal. Now I’m sitting typing away on my laptop two hours later wanting this entry to mean something. But maybe it doesn’t have to like Alyssa said. With or without readers I’ll just treat all of this as practice. Besides, what got me to put my thoughts into writing in the first place was this line in a book I should’ve taken my time with and not rushed to finish (again, pressure on myself):

“Writer’s block isn’t hard to cure. Just write. Write poorly. Continue to write poorly, in public, until you can write better [...] Do it every day. Every single day. Not a diary, not fiction but analysis. Clear, crisp, honest writing about what you see in the world. Or want to see. Or teach (in writing). If you know you have to write something every single day, even a paragraph, you will improve your writing. The resistance, of course, would rather have you write nothing, not speak in public, keep it under wraps [...] Write like you talk. Often.”

Except I actually don’t talk often which I realised a long time ago. I’m trying to now though as I get older. As cliche as it sounds, this year brought me new lessons as I encountered new people. From guys I’ve gone on a date with to the product development engineers who are also pro badminton players I met at work, they taught me that I need only to be myself around people. And I mean really unapologetically myself. Without comparing myself to anyone else which I spent a lot of time doing in my formative years. Instead of a photo, I’ve decided to share my birthday playlist and use it as the cover of this entry as it includes (almost) every song I’ve ever loved and abused by playing repeatedly throughout these years. So I guess I present to you: the soundtrack of my life. 🙃

Now to carry on with my day and make my own rendition of the Mediterranean food I was supposed to have with my friends and family tomorrow night for my birthday... 

- p

[douchebagbrainwaves]

YOU GUYS I JUST THOUGHT OF THIS

_ One great advantage of not needing money is that you are looking for Larry and Sergey. I thought studying philosophy would be a shambles. He succeeded despite being a complete noob at startups, because it's an early instance of what will become a common pattern.1 That's a big advantage.2 The latter is much more damping. The idea sounds horrible, doesn't it? In the average car restoration you probably do make it.3 The whole thing was only a couple thousand left. You could call it Work Day.

You'll pay more for Internet services than you do.4 How do you find the right sort of person you are, you should probably pack investor meetings too closely, you'll have to earn your keep.5 9 years it was my job to predict whether a startup would usually become profitable only after raising and spending quite a lot of things e. There is not an ordinary economic relationship than companies being sued for violating the DMCA, part of the job; but it is not clear whether you can actually get work done. Wealth is defined democratically.6 As jobs become more specialized—more articulated—as they develop, and startups should simply ignore other companies' patents. Design by committee is a synonym for very. But I suspect it's the startup world. I'm still not sure whether he thought AI required math, or whether contractors count too.7 This is usually done to make the region a center of scholarship and industry which have been closely tied for longer than most people think. And indeed, that might be at different companies. The early adopters you need to use a more succinct language, and adults use them all the time, and both the headers and from the circumstances of your upbringing respectively.

And more to the point where they're issued, we may in some cases it's possible to be part of a powerful new idea: allowing those who made a lot of people fast.8 If all companies were essentially similar, but some of the other programmers what language to use, and some ability to ferret out the unexpected. Till now, nearly all humans find human faces engaging. But if you talk too loosely about very abstract ideas—they continued to spam me or a network I was part of, Hostex itself would be recognized as a spam term. Bill Yerazunis. Which means if the qualities that made it hard to come up with startup ideas on demand. And since no one is doing them yet. Though most founders start out excited about the Internet is the primary medium. They're just a couple guys started on the side of making the software run on the client. Impossible? Measurement alone is not enough. In another year you'll be making $80k a month instead of $160k.9

But I don't see why it ought to be writing about them. Mapmakers deliberately put slight mistakes in their maps so they can show you only things that are missing. Overlooked problems are by definition problems that most people who are bad at deciding what to do once you've thought of it. I'd like to reply with another question: why were the exit polls cooked the books after seeing the actual returns. And once you start raising money, for example, does not seem to be many universities elsewhere that compare with the best people that Google and Apple are doing so much better than me.10 It's intended for college students and you decide to move to your silicon valley like to get money. All I took with me was one large backpack of stuff. At Viaweb our whole site was organized like a funnel, directing people to the test drive.11 The ones who keep going are driven by exit strategies. You start being an adult when you decide to focus on working with other students. But there's a magic in small things that goes beyond such rational explanations. So the fact that so many people refer deals to him is that his company was not the conclusion Aristotle's successors derived from works like the Metaphysics, but that there can even be such a test?

At MIT in the mid 90s a fellow grad student of my friends are starting to feel like a little bit in the commitment department, and that was called playing. Systematic is the last word after all.12 Companies like Cisco are proud that everyone there has a cubicle, even the smartest students leave school thinking they have to say yes.13 The unsexy filter is to ask, could one open-source browser. Are Clueless A lot of startups don't want to sell, they take you up, no competitor can keep you down.14 Some switched from driving Ford sedans to driving small imported cars, and they're clearly it. In Lisp, functions are first class objects.15 Whereas now the phrase already read seems almost ill-formed. US News list is meaningful is precisely because they attract so much attention. The main reason there are so many iPhone apps is that so many still make you register to read stories.

Kids know, without precedent: Apple is popular at the low end. The professors will establish scholarly journals and publish one another's papers. A fair number of smart people too, but again, diluted; there are lots of potential winners, from which a few actual winners emerge with hyperlinear certainty. I go to bed leaving code with a bug in code you just wrote. How much is that extra attention worth?16 He was one of few they had that we didn't even know they were recording. And if things go well, this shouldn't matter. We just took it for granted. The random college kid you talk to, but instead of pursuing this thought they tended to be at least some super-angels don't like. If you work on changes you. After we were bought by Yahoo, the customer support people and hackers.

Notes

For example, if your school, and partly because you can eliminate, do it is.

It would be to say that Watt reinvented the steam engine.

If you believe in free markets, they made more margin loans. 166. Analects VII: 36, Fung trans.

In a startup: one kind that evolves into Facebook is a very misleading number, because the remedy was to become one of the biggest company of all, economic inequality. That's the lower bound.

After reading a draft, Sam Altman points out that there is some weakness in your country controlled by the fact that the probabilities of features i. When one reads about the nature of server-based applications greatly to be delivering results.

5 mentions prices ranging from designers to programmers to electrical engineers. For most of them consistently make money, the term copyright colony was first used by Myles Peterson. Financing a startup is a matter of outliers, and are paid a flat rate regardless of the court.

Parker, William R. There may even be tempted, but it doesn't seem to someone in 1880 that schoolchildren in 1980 would be on the Internet worm of 1988 infected 6000 computers.

8 says that 15-20% of the edge? Not startup ideas, because unions will exert political pressure to protect widows and orphans from crooked investment schemes; people with a face-saving compromise. They'll be more like determination is proportionate to wd m-k w-d n, where there is one of a powerful syndicate, you create wealth in a signal.

It didn't work out a chapter at a 3 year old, a player who persists in trying such things can be compared, per capita income in England in 1750 was higher than India's in 1960. But that is not to. Delivered as if having good intentions were enough to answer the question is only half a religious one; there is one you take out your anti-dilution provisions, even though it's a harder problem than Hall realizes. But that oversimplifies his role.

And perhaps even worse in the Ancient World, Economic History Review, 2:9 1956,185-199, reprinted in Finley, M. This is almost always bullshit.

It was common in, but nothing else: no friends, TV, go ahead.

The meaning of a place to exchange views. The reason you don't, but in fact the less educated parents seem closer to a new version of Word 13.

I know for sure which these will be better for explaining software than English. Most unusual ambitions fail, no one is going to work in research too. P supermarket chain because it was because he was exaggerating. I've twice come close to 18% of GDP were about the other hand, he wrote a program to generate series A rounds from top VC funds whether it was overvalued till you run through all the combinations of Web plus a three hour meeting with a face-saving compromise.

You can safely write off all the East Coast. The need has to give each customer the impression that the only way to tell how serious potential investors and they were saying scaramara instead of bookmarking. Information is too general. If a company with rapid, genuine growth is valuable, and all those 20 people at once, and all the money.

Garry Tan pointed out that successful startups have elements of both consist mostly of unedifying schleps, and stir.

But the money.

[themattress]

“You don't have to kill anyone. You don’t go around killing people. It's not nice.”

This was said by George Lucas when developing Return of the Jedi, as justification as to why he axed Han Solo’s death even though Harrison Ford desperately wanted in (and as a result phoned in his performance throughout the movie), and why he didn’t even want to kill Yoda. 

What’s disheartening for me is that too many fans these days agree with him.

I am not arguing that all character deaths are good, because that is far from the truth. Character deaths that are done for shock value, for misogynistic reasons, for not being able to think of anything else to do with the character even when there are obvious creative paths available....those are all terrible and should be condemned.  But so many people these days just condemn any character death (or imperilment, troubles, or any kind of high-stakes conflict, really) as “BAD WRITING!” It’s a knee-jerk reaction just because they’re upset about the death or whatever, without actually taking time to think and analyze if it was earned or not, if it’s truly objectively bad writing or if it’s just writing that they personally don’t care for.

Which brings me to my main subject here: Anthony and Joe Russo.

The Russo Brothers have directed four hit Marvel movies: Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Captain America: Civil War, Avengers: Infinity War, and Avengers: Endgame. Despite all of these movies being critical and financial successes, there remains a sizable constituent on the internet who hates these movies and the Russo Brothers because they dare to kill off characters, create difficult and challenging conflicts between characters, and raise the stakes to the highest personal extent possible, with a happy ending not always guaranteed for all.

Yet despite these fans’ constant accusations of the Russos being the definitive bad MCU directors and for their movies to be full of bad writing, when looked at objectively these just don’t hold any water. The S.H.I.E.L.D - HYDRA connection? That was set up in the previous Capain America movie and in The Avengers. The titular Civil War between the Avengers? Makes absolutely perfect sense not just when considering the Sokovian Accords and Bucky being framed but also when considering the pasts, characters and motivations of each individual Avenger, especially Cap and Iron Man. And then of course we have Infinity War and Endgame, which have gotten the majority of fan outrage. And why is that, exactly?

Well, mostly because characters died. Some temporarily, some permanently, some horribly, some peacefully, but there was a lot of death. And naturally the fans of those characters are angry about that. But is it bad writing? Were those deaths unearned and hold no deeper significance? No. All the temporary deaths had to happen because that’s literally how the story goes - this is a loose adaptation of The Infinity Gauntlet, where half of all life in the universe is wiped out and then later restored, so of course that was going to happen here. 

Heimdall had to die in-universe as a sacrifice to get Bruce back to Earth and out of universe because Idris Elba didn’t want to play the role anymore. Loki had to die because a noble death for the sake of his family was always the trajectory of his arc in the whole MCU and it had to be done here after the original plan to do it in Thor: The Dark World fell through, plus it effectively establishes Thanos’ ruthlessness and kick-starts Thor’s arc in these two films. There are a lot of reasons for the death of the prime timeline’s Gamora and of alt!timeline’s Nebula later on which could fill a post of its own, but the bottom line is that they were narratively justified and well built up to. Vision had to die for obvious reasons and it’s nebulous at this point if it’s a permanent death anyway. And Tony Stark’s death was essential to closing out his overall character arc - I know that fans would love to see him live happily ever after with his wife and daughter, but when you put your feelings aside and look at him objectively you realize that this would be a betrayal of everything that had been established and developed about the character. As Doctor Strange put it, this was the only way.

The one death that I think is actually debatable is Natasha’s, and even then I feel that this is mitigated by the fact that they were also considering killing Clint instead: one of them had to die for the Soul Stone to be obtained and it was just a matter of which one would make the sacrifice play, which offers a brilliant thematic contrast between how Thanos obtained the Stone. While I’m sad it was Natasha, I admit that I do think it’s better off being her than Clint.

Some also take issue with how some characters got portrayed, chiefly Thor Odinson, Bruce Banner, and Steve Rogers. With Thor, it’s a complicated issue involving either fans loving what was done with him in Ragnarok and upset that so much of that was reversed (although I find that the most essential things from that film were followed up on), or taking offense to his fat, drunken portrayal in Endgame (something I think is more a matter of bad acting than bad writing). With Bruce, they don’t like the Professor Hulk angle they went with, even though by all means it’s the logical conclusion to the character’s struggle with his dual nature and pays off brilliantly when all the Infinity Stones are collected. And I don’t think the ending for Steve himself is bad per se, but I will admit that if anything in these films absolutely deserves to be called bad writing, it’s his ending due to the implications it has for both of the Carter women. But since it only comes at the end and only affects a few characters, it’s not too bad, IMO.

An Infinity War-specific complaint is Thanos, whom people say is either made too sympathetic or even heroic and not villainous enough (which is a damn lie: Thanos as a three-dimensional being who is framed as the hero in his own mind and as the “hero” of the movie in order to serve its gut-punch of an ending does not make him any less of a repulsively evil monster), is adequately villainous but the narrative takes his side or acts like he has a point (again, confusing the deliberately twisted framework of the movie’s story for authorial intent, when in reality the Russos expect their audience to be intelligent enough to know that Thanos is hopelessly deluded in his messiah complex, which is made much clearer in Endgame), or is a bad villain because his plan makes no logical sense (if his plan made logical sense, he wouldn’t be the MAD Titan or even the villain, his plan is meant to be insane because he’s insane, it’s supposed to be illogical because Thanos isn’t adhering to real logic but to his twisted view of what should have been done on his homeworld that he is applying to the rest of the universe as part of a narcissistic desire to validate himself to everyone.)

An Endgame-specific complaint is time travel, which is messy in any story and thus always has people confused about its shaky and often inconsistent rules. Complaining about that misses the point that this is both a character drama so that’s where the focus should be - on how the time travel shenanigans affect them and not on the shenanigans themselves - and a freaking comic book movie, and comic books are full of these nonsensical elements. They always have been and they always will be. If you’re going in expecting every fantastical element to always make sense or always be consistent, then you’re watching the wrong film.

And of course there are nitpicks everyone likes to make. And that is the death of cinema.

If you don’t like the Russos’ movies for any personal reason, then you’re free to do so and to admit that. But going on that they’re “badly written”, or that they somehow trashed the MCU’s story and characters, or whatever hyperbole you come off with based on your emotions rather than looking at things objectively is wrong. It’s not your cup of tea, and that’s OK. But the fact still stands that these movies are objectively well-written and well-directed movies, and that characters dying and high-stakes conflicts transpiring are sometimes necessary. 

[fibula-rasa]

August 2018 in Review

I have a weird memory. It’s highly pattern-driven and very visual. This means that my memory of films I’ve watched is based on images and series of images that made an impression instead of plot points. It’s why I rewatch movies so often. Even though I’ve been tracking my movie viewing habits for two and a half years, that doesn’t mean I’ve created strong memories for all those movies. That’s why I’m gonna start doing monthly roundups of the new-to-me films that struck me, one way or the other.

[If you wanna know all the films I’m watching, I keep full lists on letterboxd and imdb.]

The reviews below are essentially transcriptions of the notes I took right after watching the films. Because of Summer Under the Stars and my cosplay challenge, this month was pretty TCM heavy for me.

Full Roundup BELOW THE JUMP!

Teen Titans Go to the Movies (2018)

27 July 2018 | 84 min. | Color

Directed and Written by Aaron Horvath and Peter Rida Michail

Starring Greg Cipes, Scott Menville, Khary Payton, Tara Strong, and Hynden Walch

I’m already a fan of the show and the movie kicks it up a notch with its humor and style. [If you liked the original series, give TTG a chance already.] TTG to the Movies is a great superhero movie for anyone who’s down for superhero stories but is fatigued by the current spate of offerings. Grain-of-Salt warning here because I think Superman III (1983) is great.  

Fun that they included some gags here and there for the parents out there who’ve had to hear the Waffles song a few too many times. Also, one of the best ending gags for a kid’s movie ever.

Where to Watch: Still in theaters, but I’d imagine Cartoon Network will be playing it soon.

Doctor X (1932)

27 August 1932 | 76 min. | 2-strip Technicolor

Directed by Michael Curtiz

Written by Earl Baldwin and Robert Tasker

Starring Lionel Atwill, Lee Tracy, and Fay Wray

I made the statement that Darkman (1990) is the most comic-book movie that isn’t adapted from a comic book. I hadn’t seen Doctor X yet though.

The set pieces are phenomenal. Each shot is artfully constructed and the way the shots are strung together makes the most of the production design. If one were to do a comic adaptation, it would take some imaginative work to not just mimic the film. The 2-strip technicolor is particularly effective in the laboratory scenes in creating an eerie aura. Sensational.

Lee Tracy is playing, as usual, a press man and he’s doing so perfectly. Tracy is so underrated.

Where to Watch: Looks like the DVD is out of print, so maybe check your local library or video store. TCM plays it every once and a while and, since Warner Bros has a deal with Filmstruck, I wouldn’t be surprised to see it pop up there eventually.

The Half-Naked Truth (1932)

16 December 1932 | 77 min. | B&W

Directed by Gregory La Cava

Written by Corey Ford and Gregory La Cava

Starring Frank Morgan, Eugene Pallette, Lee Tracy, and Lupe Velez

You might very well think Lee Tracy was a featured TCM star this month. (Maybe next SUTS? Pretty please.)

Lupe Velez is so talented and natural it was nice to see her in a film where her wits were matched. I’ll be honest, I’m a big Lupe fan but, for most of her films, she’s the only good reason to watch them. This wasn’t the case here! There are a lot of wonderful moments with small movements and gestures that make Velez and Tracy’s relationship feel very real, as if they’re actually that caught up in one another. Eugene Pallette, Franklin Pangborn, and Frank Morgan round out the ensemble. The running eunuch joke might not be all that funny, but it’s a masterclass in not saying what you mean. Also, very cute chihuahua.

Where to Watch: The DVD is available from the Warner Archive. (So, once again, local library or video store might have a copy.)

The Cuban Love Song (1931)

5 December 1931 | 86 min. | B&W

Directed by W.S. Van Dyke

Written by John Lynch, Bess Meredith, and C. Gardener Sullivan

Starring Jimmy Durante, Lawrence Tibbett, Ernest Torrance, and Lupe Velez

Lupe is wonderful in this. She plays a Cuban woman who sounds an awful lot like a Mexican woman--which might be something you have to overlook to enjoy the film FYI. Lawrence Tibbett has a shocking dearth of charisma in the lead, but Jimmy Durante, Ernest Torrence, and Louise Fazenda take the heat off him well. It’s a little hard to root for Tibbett’s character and the ending is disappointing. (Spoiler: privileging of the affluent “white” couple.)

The songs are great. I love the habit of placing people in musicals so that they are singing full force directly into each other’s faces. I don’t know why I find it so funny, but it’s not a mood ruiner for Cuban Love Song. The editing is fun and energetic. Until the war breaks out, there’s a lot of solid humor.

After watching so many Lupe films this month, I’d love to sit down with people who do and don’t know Spanish to talk about her films. There seem to be some divisions on social media and across blogs about Lupe’s films that might be attributable to whether or not one understands Spanish. I myself understand Spanish reasonably well and I think knowing what Lupe and others are saying makes almost all of her films funnier. And boy, does Lupe like calling men stupid animals.

Where to Watch: This one seems kinda rare. Looks like there may have been a VHS release, but you may just have to wait for TCM to play it again!

The Night Stalker (1972)

11 January 1972 | 74 min. | Color

Directed by John Llewellyn Moxey

Written by Jeffrey Grant Rice and Richard Matheson

Starring Carol Lynley, Darren McGavin, and Simon Oakland

and

The Night Strangler (1973)

16 January 1973 | 74 min. | Color

Directed by Dan Curtis

Written by Jeffrey Grant Rice and Richard Matheson

Starring Darren McGavin, Simon Oakland, and Jo Ann Pflug

I loved that these films are exactly like the Kolchak TV series. My SO and I have been watching the show weekly as it airs on MeTV and so he surprised me by renting the movies that kicked off the series. Honestly, watching backwards may have made the movies even more entertaining. How is Kolchak still working for Vincenzo in Las Vegas?? The answer is in Seattle.

The TV movies were intended as a trilogy, but after the success of the first two films, it was developed into a series instead. It’s cool to see how every piece of the Kolchak formula was in place immediately and how firmly Darren McGavin had a hold on the character. His chemistry with Simon Oakland (Vincenzo) is spectacular--a great comedy duo TBH. If you like their shouting matches on the show, Night Strangler has a humdinger to offer you.

Night Stalker is a pretty straight-forward vampire story, written by Richard Matheson, one of the great spec-fic writers of the 1960s and 1970s. Matheson also wrote one of the best undead novels of all time, I am Legend. What elevates the film over the basic mythology, aside from the great performances, pacing, and editing, is that the story’s really about how suppression actually goes down--how mundane and frustrating it can be even in the face of the supernatural.

Night Strangler is a little more creative with its monster. They integrate the nature and landmarks of Seattle in fun ways. The stripper characters are delightful. Jo Ann Pflug gives a truly funny performance and feels like a natural contender for Kolchak. Even his romantic relationships should be affectionately combative. The ditzy lesbian, Charisma Beauty (Nina Wayne) is hilarious and Wayne’s timing is impeccable. (BTW: they don’t explicitly call her a lesbian but it’s still made very overt.) There’s also a wonderful cameo by Margaret Hamilton.

As far as I can tell, it’s easier to get access to these films than the series. They’re worth seeing even if you haven’t seen the Kolchak TV show. They’re also a good pick if you’re a fan of X-Files, as Kolchak is the mother of that show. Even though I’m an X-Files fan and grew up watching it, Kolchak is edging it out for me lately. Maybe because if you’re telling a story about fighting for truth against the suppression of information, you undercut yourself by making the protagonist a fed.

Where to Watch: Kino Lorber is releasing restored editions of the films on Blu-ray and DVD in October!

The Mask of Dimitrios (1944)

1 July 1944 | 95 min. | B&W

Directed by Jean Negulesco

Written by Frank Gruber

Starring Sydney Greenstreet, Peter Lorre, and Zachary Scott

This was great! I loved Peter Lorre and Sydney Greenstreet together. If you’re looking for a mystery story that flows and escalates well and presents a parade of interesting characters and locales, Dimitrios is for you. It’s also always nice to see Lorre in the lead.

Where to Watch: The DVD is available from the Warner Archive. (So, once again, local library or video store might have  copy.)

Strait-Jacket (1964)

19 January 1964 | 93 min. | B&W

Directed by William Castle

Written by Robert Bloch

Starring Diane Baker and Joan Crawford

I mentioned in my Joan Crawford CUTS post that I’d been meaning to see this for years. My enjoyment of the film didn’t suffer a bit from that length of anticipation.

I like William Castle’s movies a lot. I like the campy humor and quirky stories. This one is campy still, but not as heavy on the humor--unless you have a real weird sense of humor. That’s not a strike against Strait-Jacket though. Castle builds so much tension that by the end of the film, you feel like anyone could be axe-murdered at any moment, which becomes absurdly fun. The ending might be a little predictable, but it’s fun to go along for the ride. I didn’t particularly like the tacked on ending but I guess every JC movie needs to end on JC?

Largely unrelated, but if you’re a Castle fan, have you checked out his TV show Ghost Story/Circle of Fear? The first episode, The New House, in particular is top notch.

Where to Watch: It’s on Blu-ray and DVD from Sony (your local library or video store might have a copy) and it’s for rent on Amazon Prime. It’s also still on-demand via TCM for another few days.

One I didn’t write up: Cairo (1942). I brought up in my Jeanette MacDonald post that I was hoping to find a MacDonald film I enjoyed watching on her Summer Under the Stars day and I did!

[emmetohboy]

Favorites: The 2020 Conundrum

Illustration credit: Orkenoy

I’ve heard it from numerous colleagues, friends and family members. The sentiment along the lines of "...can't end soon enough." or " Worst year ever." I don't disagree. Along with virtually everyone I know, this year has meant personal loss, crippling angst and the missing of loved ones. But do I wish 2020 had not happened? Along with the uncertainty and hardship, would I wish away everything else that the years has brought? I don't know.

I'm not one to pontificate what the pandemic has taught us or accelerated or revealed. But I am interested in drawing it as a frame around the creative work that was generated in the context of it. At the close of 2016 I hoped that the lemon of the new political environment might bare the lemonade of generational creative output. That may or may not have been the case. We’ll have to wait longer to assess that from a more objective distance. But the last 10 months have been a concentrated, intensely focused, if not simply harrowing time. Has the pressure been so intense, in such a short period, that we graduated from lemonade to forging cultural carbon into diamonds at an unprecedented speed? Are these gems be so luminous, that they will one day be viewed as heirlooms? Was the pain of 2020 worth its blessings?

Listen

Released right at the onset of quarantine was my absolute favorite record of 2020. Waxahatchie's St.Cloud is a stunner first track to last. Some hook you instantly ("Can't Do Much"), and others slowly worm their way into your soul ("Witches"). Several year-end best lists included the latest from Lucinda Williams, Katie Crutchfield's musical hero. I disagree with its inclusion, finding the tracks a little flimsy and familiar.  Katie's St. Cloud, however, is as close to prime Lucinda as anyone has gotten in quite some time.

Termed "Hip-Hop's first pandemic masterpiece by Exclaim magazine, Oddisee's Odd Cure brought a lot of joy this year. A tidy mix of R&B tinged hip-hop intertwined with calls to friends and family, the record has broad appeal and a narrative that only 2020 could supply.

The Remote Tiny Desk concert Oddisee performed with his band, mostly present, is fantastic.

Every year I can count on being introduced to one or two new artist via the New Music Mix that Apple Music serves me every Friday. This year I was pulled in to the track "Safe in Sound" by Orlando Weeks. I dropped it into a growing playlist that I have for background music while working. Each time it came up on shuffle it begged to be replayed. Eventually I tapped the entire record and googled Mr. Weeks. He is not a new artist to me at all. The former frontman for the U.K. band the Maccabees had ventured into a solo career. And it is so strikingly different from the Maccabees record I love, 2007's Colour it In, that it is no surprise I didn't recognize him. Weeks’ A Quickening is transformative and almost spiritual at times. He contemplates fatherhood ("Milk Breath") and community ("St. Thomas") and an aging seafarer’s relation to the elements that surround him ("Moon Opera"), in such ways that the record works in prioritizing what is important during difficult, if not odd times. 

I came late to Natalie LaFourcade and I’m a little angry at ignorantly depriving myself of this joyful talent for so long. She is a prolific dynamo. 2020 brought Un Canto por Mexico Vol.1. And so as the tile suggest, there will be another volume on its heels. Natalia had similarly released the wonderful Musas as two volumes spread over 2017-18. These three records along with 2015's Hasta la Raiz have supplanted the Trio Los Panchos records I played for cooking  accompaniment.

One of the most creative and infectious records I heard all year was Buscabulla's Regresa. The husband and wife outfit returned from New York to their native Puerto Rico following the tragedy of hurricane Maria. The environment made for joyful and melancholic results musically.

Buscabulla’s remote performance for NPRs Tiny Desk, from the back of their car at the beach in Aguadilla, Puerto Rico makes me smile the entire 13 minutes. Here’s to the resourcefulness of creativity.

I've been a fan of White Denim for some time. They are also quite prolific, generating new records almost yearly since 2009. So who could have blamed them after releasing Side Effects in 2019 if they had taken 2020 lying down. Not James Petralli and Michael Hunter. When faced with Austin Texas' pending stay at home order, the band wrote and recorded the entire record in thirty days. World as a Waiting Room is among the band's best. 

2017 Juno award winner William Prince is a huge star in Canada and should be stateside as well. His voice is as unique and warm as any I can recall. And his songwriting is as earnest, if not as clever as fellow Canadian Ron Sexsmith. "Wasted" is an unintentional anthem for 2020.

I am hooked Frazey Ford's vocal delivery. There is a Van Morrison quality to it, so nonchalant to almost be conversational. It as if the lyrics might be different every time she sings the song. U kin B the Sun is laden with grooves and a casual coolness that  always set me down lakeside on a summer day.

Circles feels like it was released a lifetime ago. The loss of Mac Miller was devastating and his partnership with Jon Brion is was one the most visionary collaborations of all time. This record feels timeless.

Lianne LaHavas is one of the most talented musicians alive. This year’s self-titled release is as close to a Sade record as we've had in a while.

Its great to see local acts get such national acclaim. Even better when they demonstrate creative growth. DEHD's Flower of Devotion expands the bands previously bare bones approach to music making with lovely Cocteau Twins-esque shimmer.

Orkenoy in the daytime.

Speaking of things local, I have been rooting for Orkenoy since finding out the Humboldt Park brewery was in the works back in 2019. What a journey it has been for the folks behind it all. Brewing equipment, transported from a distance, tumbles off of the truck as it nears its new home. It was damaged but not irreparable. It was nothing compared to what was to come. We may have hit the tipping point on craft breweries, but can you imagine readying your passion project for the world and the world snaps back with a global pandemic. They admirably soldiered on.

Turns out they are not just another brewery. They bill themselves as a "creative enclave operating as a brewery, kitchen and synergetic haunt for local artists." Their offerings, from brews to food, are a delicious blend of the rare and traditional, Norwegian Smørrebrøds and French Farmhouse, to new and experimental. Their branding is charming and narrative. We've taken carry out of cocktails and beers. Both were fantastic. Very recently Orkenoy has added even more allure to their footprint in the Kimball Arts Center by stringing lights from their facade to the elevated Bloomingdale Trail. As the nights have grown to their longest, my morning runs begin in darkness. So when I came upon the illuminated Orkenoy early one morning last week my path became a bit merrier. I was also struck by how much the scene reminded me of Van Gogh's Cafe Terrace at Night. 

Orkenoy at pre-dawn run.

Lulu Miller has worked as a producer for Radiolab and is a co-creator of the NPR show Invisibilia. Her book Why Fish Don't Exist was my favorite read of 2020. Told in Miller's quirky voice, the pages navigate herculean scientific achievements, our country's racial history, murder and ultimately love. While this may all  sound a frantic lot, Miller weaves it together tersely and with self-deprecating humor.

One of my favorite books of years' past is Michael Pollen's lesser known, Second Nature. It was in my initial reading of this that I learned from Pollen about Aldo Leopold's Sand County Almanac. I purchased a copy and thumbed through it when I finished Second Nature. A recent interest had me recall the work, so I set about our house to find it. It's a short book and so it took me a couple of looks to locate it behind thicker, stacked volumes on our bedroom bookshelf. I've been immersed in it ever since. I'm intentionally taking small bites, savoring every page, even highlighted passages—something I haven't done probably since reading Pollen. Leopold was an American philosopher and naturalist long associated with the University of Wisconsin. His writing is keenly observational, almost poetic. As he winds through the seasons on his Wisconsin farm, he introduces us to the behaviors of migrating geese, defensive plover and elusive trout among other inhabitants. Leopold is almost always alone with these creatures and his thoughts, save occasionally his dog. And while I wish I had a printing that contained the forward by Barbara Kingsolver, Leopold's original forward from 1948 suits me just fine. 

Aldo Leopold

"...the opportunity to see geese is more important than television., and the chance to find a pasque-flower is a right as inalienable as free speech...But wherever the truth may lie, this much is crystal-clear: our bigger-and-better society is now like a hypochondriac, so obsessed with its own economic health as to have lost the capacity to stay healthy. The whole world is so greedy for more bathtubs that it has lost the stability necessary to build them, or even turn off the tap. Nothing could be more salutary at this stage than a little healthy contempt for a plethora of material blessings."

[ljones41]

"LOST" RETROSPECT: (3.13) "The Man From Tallahassee"

"LOST" RETROSPECT: (3.13) "THE MAN FROM TALLAHASSEE" Aside from one episode, I have no real love for the first half "LOST" Season Three. Along with the second half of Season Two and the first half of Season Six, it is one of my least favorite periods during the series' six-year run. However . . . I did say "first half". Season Three began to redeem itself with the airing of the John Locke-centric episode called (3.13) "The Man From Tallahassee".

The episode picked up immediately where the previous one, (3.12) "Par Avion" left off. Oceanic 815 survivors John Locke, Kate Austen and Sayid Jarrah had decided to leave the survivors' camp to find the Others' main camp and rescue their fellow castaway, Dr. Jack Shephard. The trio eventually found Jack at the Others' camp at the end of "Par Avion'and were astounded to discover him playing a friendly game of touch football with his captors. While Locke and Sayid remained in a state of shock, Kate went into warrior mode and decided to shoot as many Others as possible in an attempt to free Jack. Due to the "brainwashing room" that she and James "Sawyer" Ford had discovered during their escape from the Others in (3.07) "Not in Portland", Kate believed that Jack had been brainwashed. Both Locke and Sayid managed to stop Kate before she could commence upon her bloody rescue plan. Locke advised that they wait until dark to rescue Jack. While Kate and Sayid attempted to rescue Jack, Locke decided to embark upon his own agenda regarding the Others' submarine he had learned about from Other Mikhail Bakunin in (3.11) "Enter 77". Since this episode is Locke-centric, the flashbacks featured turning points in Locke's relationships with girlfriend Helen Norwood and his con artist father, Anthony Cooper. The flashbacks revealed how Locke tried to put his obsession over his father behind him and focus upon solidifying his relationship with Helen. But his goals failed when a young (Patrick J. Adams of "SUITS") named Peter Talbot sought Locke's help in breaking up his mother's upcoming wedding to Cooper. However, Locke's re-entry into his father's life resulted in tragedy for young Peter and himself. "The Man From Tallahassee" not only marked the beginning of better writing for Season Three, I believe it proved to be one of the season's best episodes. Screenwriters Drew Goddard and Jeff Pinkner did an excellent job of utilizing a certain aspect of John Locke's personality that drove forward the narratives for both the island's present story line and Locke's back story. Audiences have seen how Locke's obsession with Anthony Cooper in episodes like (1.19) "Deux Ex Machina", (2.03) "Orientation" and (2.17) "Lockdown" led to a good deal of misery in his life, previous to the Oceanic 815 crash. Ever since the plane crash, Locke had directed this obsessive trait toward the island and its "secrets". His obsession reached a higher level in "The Man From Tallahassee". The past John Locke finally seemed intent upon staying out of his father's life. But one visit from Cooper's future son-in-law left Locke determined to re-enter Cooper's life and save Peter's mother from falling into the con man's clutches. Locke's obsession with the island and his discovery of the Others' submarine in "Enter 77" led him to abandon the plan to rescue Jack and change his agenda. His actions not only led to a cat-and-mouse game with the Others' leader, Ben Linus, but also soured his relationship with Jack and Sayid even further. This episode not only continued the series' exploration of Locke's obsessive nature, but also a trait of his that I have always found disturbing - namely his penchant for enforcing his will upon others. Audiences have seen this trait in past episodes such as (1.13) "Hearts and Minds" and (2.16) "The Whole Truth". When I first saw "The Man From Tallahassee", I wondered why Locke had bothered to destroy the Others' submarine with the C-4 explosives he had pinched from Mikhail. The episode never fully explained Locke's actions in so many words. But I eventually began to suspect that Locke did not want anyone leaving the island - whether that person be an Oceanic 815 survivor or a member of the Others. Again, this is merely speculation on my part. However, a part of me also suspect that Locke believes the island is the best solution for everyone's troubles. After all, it had healed his legs and led him to a renewed interest in life after so many failures. But the thing is . . . Locke's faith in the island was based upon what it did to his legs. He never really had an idea what the island was about, why the Others were determined to protect it from outsiders or whether it was the right solution for every soul that inhabited it. Locke's destruction of the Others' submarine ruined Jack Shephard's chances of leaving the island. Some time between(2.09) "Stranger in a Strange Land" and this episode, Jack made a deal with Ben Linus to leave the island on the subm. Would Ben have kept his deal and allow Jack to leave? Many fans would say "no". Personally, I have no idea. Benjamin Linus could be a controlling liar in order to serve his goals. Yet . . . he kept his promise to Oceanic 815 survivor Michael Dawson and allowed the latter and son Walt Lloyd to leave the island in the Season Two finale, (2.24) "Live Together, Die Alone - Part II". So . . . who knows? The submarine's destruction achieved something else. I suspect that Locke's action led Ben and the island's resident immortal, Richard Alpert, to introduce the castaway to the island's latest newcomer, Anthony Cooper. When I first saw this episode, I had assumed that Cooper was simply a tool Ben was using to push Locke's emotional buttons. Now, I know better. Cooper's presence was basically a test for Ben and Richard to see whether Locke was worthy of becoming an Other. Speaking of Anthony Cooper, "The Man From Tallahassee" also revealed how Locke ended in a wheelchair before his fateful flight aboard Oceanic 815. I have to be honest. I never saw it coming when I first saw this episode. For two seasons, viewers like myself wondered how John Locke became physically handicapped. Although I had had been aware of Cooper since "Deux Ex Machine", I never thought he would end up being responsible for Locke ending up in a wheelchair. During my first viewing of this episode, I had practically gasped aloud when I saw the con artist shove his son out of that window.

The operation to rescue Jack not only ended in failure - at least from Kate and Sayid's point-of-views - but also sidetracked the latter's character. Sayid really had nothing to do in this episode but suffer as a prisoner of the Others. On the other hand, this episode also featured Jack and Kate's reunion after the latter's escape from Hydra Island with Sawyer in (3.06) "I Do" and "Not in Portland". And man . . . did it turn out to be memorable. Many fans of "LOST" have never viewed the Jack/Kate relationship as particularly sexy or passionate. Although I had originally shared their feelings, I also believed that Jack and Kate's relationship was more than simply about sex and passion. However . . . sex and passion certainly had a strong impact upon their reunion in "The Man From Tallahassee". And the ironic thing is that the meeting of lips or the exchange of bodily fluids were not involved. . . . only heated words and hand play. The "Man From Tallahassee" featured some very fine acting from the cast. Only two cast members did not benefit from this episode. As I had earlier pointed out, Naveen Andrews, who portrayed Sayid Jarrah, spent most of the episode either looking shocked, annoyed and frustrated. Elizabeth Mitchell's Dr. Juliet Burke did very little in this episode, as well. The episode featured a sly performance from M.C. Gainey as Others member Tom Friendly. It also featured an earnest performance from guest star Patrick J. Adams. Kevin Tighe continued his excellent portrayal of Locke's treacherous father, Anthony Cooper. And Michael Emerson was also excellent as the Others' leader, Ben Linus. Matthew Fox and Evangeline Lilly knocked it out of the ballpark, while portraying the passionate regard both Jack Shephard and Kate Austen held for each other. But this episode belonged to Terry O'Quinn, who gave a brilliant performance as the always complex John Locke. O'Quinn took Locke's characterization all over the place - from emotionally needy to ruthlessly determined - and still managed to keep his performance in control. It is not surprising that O'Quinn won his Emmy Award for Outstanding Supporting Actor in a Drama Series for his performance in this episode. Ironically, I have never considered "The Man From Tallahassee" as one of my top ten favorite "LOST" episodes. Locke's tale in this episode has always struck me as slightly depressing. But I cannot help but regard it as one of the best episodes from Season Three . . . and one of the best that the series had to offer.

[underachievers-please-try-harder]

Interview // Everything Everything

I inteviewed Alex Robertshaw and Michael Spearman of Everything Everything for 7digital.

Congratulations on the extremely creepy video for ‘Can’t Do’. Those masks are pretty unsettling.

Michael Spearman: Yeah, my mum doesn’t like it. She said it was creepy and horrible.

Alex Robertshaw: Jon [Higgs, singer] found the masks. This record is based around early Warp Records stuff, so we were looking at those great Aphex Twin images that make you feel uncomfortable, to fit in with the whole notion of a fever dream.

You reference Warp, but there’s a real rock feel to some of the tracks too.

AR: Yep, I feel like my 14-year-old self is finally being satiated, where I was all about Warp and Ok Computer and Nirvana and Weezer. Ok Computer is still an important part of my life; it got me into music and playing guitar more and more, and appreciating that bands can be more than just three-chord nonsense.

Discussing your last album, Jonathan said that he wanted it to be “like a sledgehammer.” What was the goal for A Fever Dream?

AR: I started a lot of the writing for this record, so for me personally it was about reigniting the flame of my [interests from] childhood. I felt like a lot of the stuff we’d written before was courting R&B and hip hop and stuff, with Arc and Get To Heaven. And that was cool, but with this record I really want to connect with what I was into. We didn’t want to feel ashamed of being a guitar band, or doing music that makes us happy, or to feel a duty to bamboozle people or whatever. Writing was much more natural.

MS: And quicker as well, because we weren’t trying to make things work; it was just a case of bringing a certain side to the fore.

AR: Musically, it’s our most honest record, I think.

A Fever Dream might be your most honest album, but musically it’s still very complex. You’re still not making it easy for yourselves, are you?

AR: Going back to these Warp Records references, a lot of that stuff is known for having really interesting drums, so I was writing a lot of drum beats that were almost impossible to play. And then Michael’s learned them all, and improved them. Guitar-wise we wanted to do more solo-y type stuff, and be a bit more adventurous all round. So it’s a lot harder record to play and really exciting to listen to, and hopefully not impossible for people to understand. We wanted to be direct.

MS: There are obviously some heavy riffs and some of the album is very electronic, but musically I think it’s more cohesive. I suppose part of our manifesto as a band is not to repeat ourselves. And of course, the more you do the harder it is to not repeat yourself. We don’t really want people to be able to pinpoint our sound too easily. I think we’re slightly paranoid that people see us as the wacky band, or whatever.

Can you tell us about your decision to swap Get To Heaven-producer Stuart Price for James Ford?

AR: Well we’ve played James demos in the past and he hasn’t been into it. (Laughs) Or he’s been busy and has other projects on. But this time, he was like, “Yeah it’s perfect for me.” Stuart Price was incredible as well and that was an amazing record to make. Everyone we’ve worked with has generally been the right person for the record at that time.

MS: We did ‘Can’t Do’ with James as a tester and we just got on very naturally and easily.

AR: He got what we were trying to project in the writing, and he managed to enhance it, which is the best thing a producer can do.

Lyrically, for Get To Heaven Jonathan drew on experiences of watching rolling news about the rise of UKIP, Ebola and terrorism. The world’s not really gotten that much less stressful in the past two years...

MS: No. But things were coming to a head at that point, and now things have come to a head with Trump and Brexit.

AR: The whole world feels like a nightmare, or some sort of crazy dream, with Trump being in power and other things that you would never think would happen have happened. It’s like some crazy Alice in Wonderland thing is happening. So A Fever Dream is not overtly political or directly referencing things, as Get To Heaven was. Jonathan finds the idea of telling people how he feels is boring, so he’s talking from a view point of not really understanding what was going on. It’s about posing questions.

Was that partially about self-preservation – so he didn’t have to immerse himself in that world?

AR: Yeah, Jon admits that he watched the news too much. The difference between this record and the last record is that as soon as we started going on tour with Get To Heaven, I had written ‘Can’t Do’ within the first handful of shows back. We were just rolling on from the buzz we were experiencing with Get To Heaven so we wanted to keep working. We didn’t have that time at home [like with the last LP] where Jon just went completely insane, essentially. He had a whole year off when we were trying to write Get To Heaven, and was just watching rolling news continually at home with all his cats, and being a madman. (Laughs) He realises that and he looks back on it like, “I don’t know why I let it get that bad.”

MS: I think we engineered it so he didn’t have a chance to have too much time at home. Because it’s so binary what we do: we’re either away and playing different places and having a topsy-turvy existence on the road, or you’re at home catching up with boring stuff. It’s very easy to get isolated in these bubbles and we had to guard against that as best we could. So I remember thinking we finished our record, and thought it was time to step away from the news.

AR: There’s a sick enjoyment people get out of putting themselves through it as well. Like, “I cannot believe this is happening.” And then everyone can sit around shouting at each other, making each other feel awful. (Laughs) You know, just being so upset with what’s going on around you instead of actually going out and doing something useful.

MS: ‘Ivory Tower’ is about internet warriors. You know, everyone has an opinion and it’s all in caps lock. The internet is a super stressful place to be now. It’s just one-upmanship. Like, “I’ve got a more extreme opinion on this than you!” It’s so tiring. (Laughs)

‘Ivory Tower’ sounds like it’s made up of internet soundbites?

AR: Yeah, yeah. Jon had to remove himself from Reddit because he was just watching people say the most horrific sh*t to each other so the whole point of that song is the concept that in a social space you can hide behind anonymity. It’s just about trolling, essentially. That’s why he says some really horrendous stuff in the song; it’s not coming from Jon’s mouth, it’s coming from different characters that are within this world. So yeah it’s just about conflict and wanting it to end, and the song spirals out of control.

How else did the political and social climate influence the album?

AR: Well ‘Big Game’ is to do with Trump, and the idea that someone can be in power and yet be incredibly childish. So the whole point is that it’s meant to be naive and childish, and the language is like schoolyard bullying and lying.

What were the challenges making this record in particular?

MS: It was less challenging, I thought.

AR: It was the most work I’ve ever had to do on a record, personally. For Man Alive and Arc, Jon wrote most of it, and then with Get To Heaven we both wrote but we wrote individually. And this record I wrote more than I normally would, and then we wrote a lot of stuff sat down together. So I did more work than I normally do, but I’m fine about that. (Laughs) I think the album’s good. I mean, if the album bombs then I’ll take a step back. (Laughs)

It’s 10 years since you formed in September, right?

MS: Yeah, September 10th.

Will you be celebrating?

AR: We’ll probably just go for a curry. We’re not very adventurous. Outside of the music we have literally zero imagination. (Laughs) It all goes into the songwriting. We were saying this other day: I was staying with Mike and I was like, “Mike, maybe one day when I come up to visit, we shouldn’t always eat the same thing?!” (Laughs)

Is there anything you wish you’d known when you were starting out?

AR: I wish we’d been more honest in our writing sometimes. I think there were times in the past when we’ve written songs that we thought would be good because they’d get on the radio. I think it’s down to being more confident, essentially.

MS: It’s a hard game to play, but I think we’ve played it pretty well, really. You’re learning on the job because your first album is the first album you ever make it. If you look at film makers, they’ll do low budget films and then they’ll come out with their studio film with 10 small films under their belt. But with music you see the works in progress. We definitely learned a lot from the first two albums.

Are there any unfulfilled ambitions?

AR: Yeah, I think the next record is going to be entirely more about the songwriting as a core thing. I want to write classic songs, and for it all to be about melody and harmony.