#also now i draw anxiety a little differently since watching the film i understand her more

[icecoldfresa]

saw the film, so now i’m back with a vengeance

[spookystarfishzombie]

Just a little 'hello & welcome to my blog' post.

Most people have a pinned introduction post & I thought I should probably get on that. This will also double up as a FAQ post too.

Also, if you wanna buy me tea, you can -> (green tea of course)

First & foremost: FREE PALESTINE! I won't hear any different, go argue with a wall (no it's not performative, as I have been accused of in the past (all because I criticised an actor), I've attended marches, signed petitions, written to my local MPs, attended meetings & help set up fund raising events, so fuck off with your 'performative activism' buzz words, I'm not here for it). As I run a Stranger Things page, it's worth noting that I do not support the zi0nists in the show, most notably No*h Schnapp (tagged as 'he who shall not be named) & Br*tt Gelman (tagged as 'other he who shall not be named'. I honestly think he's down right insane). If you are one of these people that venomously supports them then this page isn't for you. You're not welcome here. And since some children in the fandom can't tell the difference between criticism and hatred, I don't hate these people (well maybe Gelman because he's actively causing my community a terrible reputation), I hope that through education and compassion they see how wrong & hurtful their words have been. Thankfully, I've been educated my whole life about isr*el through the Holocaust legacy we have in our family, my great grandmother having survived it and actively fought against the idea of isr*el, how it's just going end up brainwashing so many youths into thinking they can just turf indigenous people from their literal homes. I've unfortunately been to isr*el when I was a child because my dead beat father seemed to think it was a good idea, even if my beloved great-grandmother pleaded with him not to. Luckily my mom did the right thing and left him and my step-father has been great. He used to blindly support isr*el until he finally educated himself and has felt terrible that this was his mindset for so long. Change can happen, but you need to detangle yourself from isr*el's cluthes and realise that it's more important to protect the real indigenous people of Palestine. Listen to the Rabbi's out in the streets, protesting. Listen to the Jewish Community when we tell you that Zi0nism is a dangerous thing that has weaponised Judaism and played the victim to use as a shield ... okay that got heavy. Moving on!!!!!

Secondly, Hi, I'm Kay (she/her), I'm a veteran of Tumblr, unfortunately. I love watching films, I love to draw, read and have green fingers, yes I'm a plant mama, I just love plants. My prized plant is my monstera because she started off so small & now she's doubled in size. So happy! I also put the B in LGBTQ, I'm very proud of the bi community & love being part of it (biphobes, especially within the queer community, are truly baffling to me - so take your biphobia elsewhere, or better yet, you know, educate yourself? It's not a hard thing to do). I also have crippling anxiety and I'm irritatingly shy, I wish I wasn't but I've always been shy, so if you want to talk to me, you're going to have to be the one to reach out otherwise I'm radio silent (I'm working on it). I'm a millennial, so if you're a minor, sorry, I won't be forging friendships. But you're awsome, just know that!

I used to have Texts From Last Night (TFLN) blog for Stranger Things a few years back that was basically the same as this blog (except back then I had thousands of followers *sigh*). I deleted it because a) people were annoying about it, b) people didn't seem to understand that this wasn't to be taken seriously and c) I got chased off the site because apparently labelling Mike as bi was a death sentence. I said fuck it, and deleted. I started it around when season 2 came out & deleted just before season 4. But I'm hoping the fandom is a little more mature now & I can start up with a fresh, new Stranger Things TFLN blog again, mainly because I miss making edits. Making edits helps take my focus off my anxiety. Yay anxiety.

I take texts from the site Texts From Last Night (it's no longer being maintained, unfortunately), then I take screencaps from my own laptop or from a site called screencapped, then throw it altogether (if you want to look at the site for yourself, just a trigger warning, some of the texts are either gross or bigoted - so just a heads up, I obviously filter out those ones from my blog, I don't want that on here).

I do sometimes edit the original TFLN to fit the screencap, so if the original TFLN mentions a name, I'll change the name to say, for example, Lucas or Nancy. I'll change it if it includes ages & place names too, just to fit with Stranger Things. I also sometimes add my own Text to make it flow smoother, for example this one with Steve & Eddie (the post), the original TFLN only had the 'Eddie' part but I didn't think it flowed well, so I made up a 'Steve' text with a made up area code, so it made more sense that 'Eddie' was responding to 'Steve' rather than just having it as a stand alone text (I really over-complicate my descriptions, huh?).

The numbers on the posts are area codes, and the texts aren't colour coded, I just use what ever colour stands out against the background. I also don't do it by ships; I'll find a text that I think is funny and find a screencap that roughly matches up, so please don't request ship/character posts. I'll maybe do submissions at a later date, where you can send in your funny texts but right now, I'm just making my way through the TFLN site.

Not a particularly interesting introduction post but there you go. I ain't got much to say, I guess. But I will say thanks for your support so far on here, you guys seem to be enjoying the posts and that's all that really matters. Much love!

Kay

x

[darthbloodorange]

Some news (I guess)

I went through my desk and drawers and went through all my art WIPS. Lots going years back, some nearly a decade old now, that I never got around to finishing. Some I'm not going to finish, that I'm just going to shred and put on the garden as the art has no interest to me now. But others I really want to finish. I'm going to have to redo them from scratch as my art style has improved a lot since when I began creating fanart. (I didn't believe I could draw people before then.) I also have a lot of fic WIPs I want to finish too. Some I've started posting, most that I haven't.

I'm also kind of wanting to get into writing some longer fics. I still love drabbles. But I've got some fic ideas too large for dabbles. I've re-organized my AO3 with this in mind. I had all my bingo and event content grouped together in different series (93 in all - with multiple rounds all saved in the one series). I moved these all into Collections (119 of them, wow) which works so much better for me. This means my AO3 series contains only series, which is great (It's nice to be able to fine my actual series now). I was surprised that I had only created three series. I have plans to create a few more 😉

I gained a few new fandoms. Not that I'm leaving the Marvel fandom. I'm not! I've stopped watching the newer MCU stuff though.

[below is some of the media that have taken my interest recently. A bit rambly, sorry.]

I got around to seeing the DnD film, Honour Among Thieves. Xenk Yendar is dear to me. The movie was so earnest with its storytelling. I could see the way it was going, the tropes were heavily signposted. But it deviled perfectly. You could see what was coming and weren't disappointed with its application. (i.e. Simon/Confidence, Edgin/Letting go etc). It was really well done.

💜.

Black Sails is a pit I've fallen into and can't crawl out of... The show - Flint, really - reignited something in me I hadn't realized had gone out. The belief that it's still possible to fight for a better world.

Gates was my favourite until his death. Flint had a lot of redeeming to do in my eyes after that, but he became my new favourite. I'm sorry to say I wasn't a fan of S!lver. He gave me anxiety from the get-go with all his plotting and antics (some of which, I admittedly found amusing). I was torn between laughing and wanting to throttle him until season 3. During which, my opinion of him started going downhill with few redeeming moments. (The final episode was the nail in the coffin for me.)

Do I think S!lver killed Flint?  I don't think it matters. Both endings are equally devastating. Death or the plantation (possibly allowed to be with Thomas if the owner is benevolent enough to let them have time together - unlikely - Oglethorpe speaks of people 'cease[ing] to be' in the same way S!lver talks of 'unmaking' people. **Cough Cough Conversion Vibes Cough**.)

Funny aside. When I first saw Mariana (coupled with how Flint responded to her - He looked really grief-stricken and a little shocked? and tried), I legitimately thought she might be a ghost of someone from his past. My friend, who I was sharing my watch-through with, laughed uncontrollably. I didn't understand why... Until she actually became a ghost that haunted him.

I adore FlintHamiltons. I would say the three are my OTP of the series... but... I also really like Flane. I didn't like Vane at first but he really grew on me. I jokingly started shipping it when Vane said he was going to save Flint. I started shipping it a little more earnestly as he did as he said he would. But when Vane saved Flint from Teach it was like falling down the stairs into the ship. I was hopelessly, irrevocably lost to Flane. FlintHamiltons and Flane are near equal in my heart. So FlaneHamiltons are my really OTP because why not both?

I really loved how Teach was handled? Normally when Blackbeard is in a show I've just been disappointed. Mostly he's just a two-dimensional villain who wants ultimate power. Very boring. The sigh of relief I gave in episode one when Blackbeard was just one of Noonan's girls. I was so relieved. Then he was introduced in season 3 and I was admittedly disappointed. I loved pirates as a kid. So I recognized the name Teach. I perked up when I heard his name, because I was like "Hey, I know that name! I know Teach!!!" only seconds later to go, oh crap, it's Teach. They brought in Blackbeard. Great. I was happily surprised with how they portrayed him. That my expectations were proven very wrong. I love him. That moment with Vane in Season 3 Episode 3 where Teach offers Vane a choice, not an ultimatum hit me in the heart. The way he asks Vane to be his son/legacy. Doesn't claim. Asks! Offers him the choice. I've never seen that in a show. And it got to me. I felt horrible for Teach when Vane sided with Flint on the beach. And sad that it was in part because Teach slipped up and created an ultimatum for Vane. Him or Flint. And Vane picked Flint.

(I shall stop talking about Black Sails... for now. That show has taken up residence in my soul, I swear.)

💜.

I've reignited my love of Star Wars (though I'm not a fan of the direction Disney has taken things.), though my ships have changed slightly (Obi-Wan is still my favourite). Ob!k!n is very much a NOPE! Anak!n too, kind of... sorry (I can't get past a lot of his choices. or political views, especially with how real-world stuff has gone). Still adore the Jedi, love my soft found family of space empath wizards.

💜.

I finally watched Bridgerton. I loved it. Lady Danbury is the BEST! Her godson is a close second. But nobody is as amazing as Lady Danbury.

And a few other bits of media... which I enjoyed but don't think I'll create content for. (I've been working my way through my "to watch list".)

I watched "Some Like It Hot" (Didn't like Sugar/Joseph's relationship. But ngl, Osgood/Daphne was kind of sweet? Especially when Daph started to really like him.) and the Clue movie from the 80s (I think what Mr Green said he was going to do when he gets home was a cover-up to hide the truth of his identity from his employers. I've read a fic where Boddy was also undercover and they are partners... and I'm not letting that go. The whole "Sit" moment is really funny now with that added fantext.)

[missluckycharms]

I missed my favorite poly relashionship, would you write some for H, Joey and Izzy?

I missed these three also, Harry and his bunnies 😭

Here’s a small domestic fluff filled blurb <3

Warning: fluffy, like rot your teeth sweet af fluffy with some Angst.

—

The end of the American leg of Love On Tour meant that Harry had a few months break with his favourite people. The holidays are soon approaching and Harry couldn’t be more excited to spend it with his two bunnies and his family.

This year, it was different, Harry’s family would be travelling to the three in their New York home. His family was over the moon about being in New York for the holidays, snow is falling and the city is decorated to the max with lights and there’s many fun activities to do.

His family is set to arrive in three days, leaving Harry running around like a headless chicken making sure that everything is perfect. Joey is terrified, sure they’ve spoken to Anne and Gemma via face time, but this was their first time seeing Joey in person, they met Izzy before since her and Harry dated a year before Joey joined.

The two women aren’t sure how Anne and Gemma will react to Harry being in a poly couple. Their parents weren’t okay with it at all, cutting off ties with the women when they mentioned it to them, even though they were two separate families, Joey and Izzy’s family had the same reaction — disgust.

One night in particular is when the nerves set in, about two days ago when Harry mentioned something about his Mum wanting to bring the two and Gemma off for lunch one of the days for a girls trip. Harry thought they would be over the moon, but their anxiety was eating them alive.

“It’s not like we don’t want to H, it’s just … scary” Joey admits as Izzy lays in the middle of them, Joey on her left and Harry on her right.

Harry’s propped up on his side, his hand keeping his head up as he looks at his girls, Joey on her side also cuddling Izzy who’s looking up at Harry as she lays on her back.

“I know bunnies, but Mum and Gemma are the two most understanding people I know! They already know about us, I’m sure things won’t change when they see you both.” He tries to reassure them, his hand drawing circles on Izzy’s arm as he leans down to kiss both of their foreheads to comfort them.

“They do seem pretty excited to take us out for lunch Jo, they wouldn’t do that if they were suspicious about us” Izzy weighs in, Harry nodding and smiling as Joey doesn’t say anything for a few seconds.

“M’sorry H, I’m just in my head about it all, I’m sure that will change when they get here.” She admits with a soft laugh, her head leaning on Izzy’s as Harry smiles reaching his arm over to run his fingers through Joey’s hair.

“If you’re still abit iffy about it on the day, just let me know and we’ll sort it out. Don’t want my bunnies being uncomfortable.” He says which makes Joey relax more, knowing that Harry is understanding her feelings.

“They’ll love you Jo. We love you.” Izzy says softly, pecking Joey’s lips in reassurance as the two smile at one another.

Harry smiles at his girls, leaning down to kiss each of them for a little to show his love, giggles and kissing noises filling the room as they all just love on one another before Harry speaks up.

“Now, what film are we watching?”

“Home Alone!”

“We watched that yesterday Iz!”

“And?!”

It’s safe to say, that Anne and Gemma loved the two girls. Harry being in awe of all four of them as they spoke and spent time together. The four most important women in his life.

He was over the moon.

[collecting-stories]

Wisdom Tooth - Kiara Carrera

Request: hi there! can i request a kiara x reader where reader has to get her wisdom teeth taken out and she asks kiara to come along with her and the others come along too bc they know you like kiara. after it’s done you’re very clingy to kiara and keep complimenting her and confess that you like her ? thank you !

A/N: Fun fact, I have 3 out of 4 wisdom teeth still but I had to lose a molar when I got the one removed because it was impacted. 

Outer Banks Masterlist

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

Your mom had scheduled your appointment for after school, it was a half day and she figured you could walk across campus to the dentist’s office to get your wisdom teeth pulled before winter break. The upper right tooth was impacted, evidenced by the increasing amount of pain you were constantly in and they had decided to go ahead and pull all of them while they were pulling that one.  

“Don’t they like, dose you up with painkillers?” John B asked as the four of you cut across the parking lot after school. The only disadvantage of Kiara not going to the same school as you anymore was that you always had to wait for her to drive down from the Eight. Even now as you walked with John B, JJ, and Pope (who had invited themselves along to your dentist’s appointment for some unknown reason) you were looking for Kiara’s subaru.  

“I wanna be dosed up with painkillers.” JJ said, followed almost immediately by a groan as Pope smacked him in the chest.  

“I seriously don’t think you guys are allowed in.” You said, stopping at the front door of the house that had been refashioned into a dentist’s practice.  

“Why? Kiara’s coming.” JJ argued, glancing over as the green subaru pulled into a parking spot, “why does she get to go in and not us?”

“Is it because you love her more than us?” Pope asked, grinning when you groaned and rolled your eyes.  

“It’s because she won’t be a total dick to me when I’m all doped up.” You replied.  

“We’ll be saints!” John B swore, placing a hand over his heart. Pope and JJ quickly mirrored his stance. “Honest, we’ll sit in the waiting room and be silent.”

“You’d better.”

“What are you guys doing?” Kiara asked, coming up the front steps behind the four of you.  

JJ turned around to face her, “going inside, what are you doing?”

You didn’t say anything, opening the door and going in, everyone else following behind you. The living room had been converted to a waiting area with a fish tank and a few different activities for kids to stay occupied. You went to the front desk window to check in while JJ, Pope, and John B went over to the coloring table, sitting around on kid sized chairs as they divided up coloring pages. Kiara grabbed a chair and sat down, away enough that she could pretend the people she just walked through the door with were complete strangers and not her actual friends.  

“Okay,” you fell into the seat next to her, knee bobbing as you took a deep breath. You hated needles and surgery and anything that meant a trip to the doctor. Especially when that doctor was a dentist. It didn’t matter that your tooth hurt so bad that even now you were holding an ice pack that you’d nabbed from the school nurse against your cheek. You hated dentists, “she said they’ll call me when it’s my turn.”

“Well we’re the only ones in here so I can’t imagine that’ll take too long.” Kiara replied, reaching over to put a hand on your knee, “it’ll be okay, I’m right here.”

“I’m just freaking out.” You replied, glancing over to JJ, Pope, and John B, all huddled over coloring pages with crayons spilled out in the middle of the table, “I wish I could be that chill.”

“How’s your tooth feeling?” She asked, glancing their way before turning to you again, sympathetic smile on her face. She’d been the first one to realize that there was something wrong with your tooth.  

“Like it’s trying to murder me.” You replied, slumping over slightly in the chair. Kiara pouted at you and put her hand on your back, rubbing in small circles.  

The door by the counter opened and a nurse came out, calling your name into the small waiting room that was empty aside from your friends. When all five of you looked up at the same time she looked a little startled.

“Can I bring someone back?” You asked, getting up.

“Only one person.” She replied, eyeing the three boys drawing at the table, “this isn’t an afterschool hang out.”  

“We’re here for moral support.” JJ said, winking at you.  

You glared at him in return. All three boys knew about your crush on Kiara and had tagged along with the intention of watching you hopped up on laughing gas and uninhibited. Even Pope had been joking about you being all crazy like people always seemed in videos on youtube.  

“That’s fine, just,” you pointed to Kiara and she got up, coming over to you.  

“Alright, follow me.”  

You walked back into the dentist’s exam room, Kiara slipping her hand into yours encouragingly and squeezing. You hated the dentist as it was and if your tooth wasn’t impacted you would have kept all your wisdom teeth in.  

You weren’t exactly sure what length of time actually passed between you being led back to get your wisdom teeth out and the dentist sending you back out, five teeth, because your molar had to come out too, in a tiny plastic container. Despite the anxiety you had before and the pain you were in, you came out smiling, Kiara’s hands on your waist as she walked behind you.  

“She almost walked into the bathroom door.” Kiara explained as John B, Pope, and JJ stood up to meet you both. “I’m gonna sign her out.”

You were passed from Kiara to John B, who wrapped his arm around your waist as you hugged him. “Hi!”

“Hey, how you feeling?”  

“Look,” you held the little plastic container up and rattled it around, bobbing your head as if there was some kind of beat to the sound.  

“She made her teeth into a maraca.” Kiara mentioned, looking back at the four of you as she signed you out.  

“That’s definitely some serial killer shit.” JJ replied, grabbing your bag off the floor and heading towards the door, John B maneuvering the two of you to follow him.  

“Where are we going?” You asked, suddenly concerned, twisting your body to see Kiara.

“We’re going outside.”

“What about Kie?”

“I’m right behind you, promise.” Kiara called, grabbing her stuff and following Pope out of the little house. “Are we headed back to the Chateau?” She asked as she walked around to the driver’s side of her suv.  

When John B tried to put you in the backseat with JJ and Pope you protested, calling out shotgun. “I wanna sit next to Kie.”

“Okay, okay, we’re sitting you up front.” He promised opening the door and helping you in.

You leaned against the seat, laying your head on the headrest and turning to look at Kiara as she started the car and backed up into the road. “You’re so pretty.” You mused, drugs in full effect, killing whatever filter you would have usually had.  

JJ leaned over enough to smack John B’s arm as Pope started filming the two of you.  

“Thanks.” Kiara laughed, “you’re pretty too.”

“Do you really mean it?” You asked, looking a little teary eyed.  

“Yeah of course, you’re super pretty.”  

You smiled, leaning a little closer to her and just watching her for a minute before opening your mouth again, more damning information coming out. “I like you.”

Kiara looked back at the three boys through the rearview mirror before glancing over at you, unsure exactly what was happening right now. “I like you too.”

“Really?” You seemed even more moved by the idea that she also liked you and Kiara nodded.  

“Yeah of course, you’re my best friend.”

You groaned, rolling your head against the headrest momentarily before turning back to her, “no, not like that. Not like friends. I like you so much, you’re so pretty and I just want to go on dates with you and kiss you and love you.” You confessed. “When we went swimming last week and you had the green bathing suit and you looked so pretty and I was just like...what if we were girlfriends.”  

“Uh...” Kiara stopped the car at a stop sign, idling for longer than necessary as she fought the urge to look over at you, no doubt smiling at her like you had been since you got doped up, trying to process exactly what you’d just said to her.

“Any response there Kie?” John B asked, trying not to laugh as he leaned toward the driver’s seat.

“I think we should talk about this when you’re feeling a little less foggy.” She finally said, chancing a look over at you. She had been thrilled when you asked her to go with you into the dentist’s, as crazy as that sounded. But she got excited whenever you relied on her for something or asked her opinion or included her in something personal. She knew you were friends but it was always easy to pretend that it was something a little more than that. Hearing you say that you wanted to be her girlfriend had erupted an entire colony of butterflies in her stomach though she hadn’t quite envisioned this as the venue where you confessed your feelings.  

“I’m not foggy...I’ve never been clearer.” You replied though she had trouble believing that considering your trouble walking down the stairs.

“She’s never been clearer.” JJ chimed in.  

Kiara twisted in her seat, ready to tell the three of them that they could walk back to the Chateau if they didn’t shut up when a car pulled up behind her and beeped.  

“Sorry dude, we’re having a friends to lovers moment!” JJ shouted out the window.  

“I will come back there!” Kiara threatened as you giggled. The car behind them pulled around, slamming on their horn the whole time before finally throwing back the middle finger as they sped off.  

“Some people man,” Pope muttered and Kiara glared at him as well.  

“Why don’t we talk when we get to John B’s?” She offered, looking over at you.

“Why?” You asked, “you don’t like me? Are you gonna break up with me?”

“We’re not dating yet.”

“She said yet.” John B pointed out, smacking your shoulder like you were even coherent enough to understand the implication.  

“Okay, I am driving this car the rest of the way and if any of you distracts me I will kick you out.” Kiara announced, turning back around to face the front and taking the car out of park to continue driving on. “We will talk at John B’s.”

“Okay.” You twisted in your seat, leaning against the backrest as smiling at her as you watched her drive.  

-

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[monkey-network]

Eizouken v. Ratatouille: Dawn of the Creative Drive

WARNING: This critique will contain spoilers for Eizouken episodes 1-4 and the film Ratatouille. Also this is long. And yes, I had to make this or else I would’ve exploded. Enjoy.

Youtube’s TheRealJims made a video review of pixar’s Ratatouille not long ago, check it out by the way, and one thing about it caught me deep. He described Ratatouille as “a progressive kind of film, not in the political sense, but a very forward looking movie.” This line stuck with me as I begun to watch Keep Your Hands Off the Eizouken, an anime about a high schooler, inspired as a child, working her way to create anime with her friends. It wasn’t until episode 4 where mind threads started to knot, where that line about the pixar flic started to click with this anime in a way I’ve never thought of before. As such, I found that these two have a great thematic link, a connected warp between the creative minds of adults and children. Eizouken and Ratatouille do the remarkable in giving us the bouts and beauties to having a creative, “progressive” drive, and I wanted to explore how they stack up differently and similarly. And with that,,,,

The Ignition

The beginning scene of Eizouken where Midori see her inspiring anime for the first time is personally my favorite moment of the anime so far, borderline perfect. Like Remy, we already see her have this extrinsic passion for drawing once she arrives at her jungle gym of a newfound home; crude as they look, we see her seedling talent in jotting the details of her world onto paper. It’s then when she watches Future Boy Conan where her passion becomes etched in stone intrinsically. Miyazaki was her Gusteau, the bonafide inspiration that, taking it all in, made a simple hobby into a driven pursuit. Ratatouille more or less streamlines this whole moment with narration (makes sense cuz it’s a film) but they nonetheless bring home how a talent can be solidified if given the right push. Even if you didn’t have a desire to have a fulfilling career from it, you can’t deny that there was a moment in your life where something (be it a show, game, book, etc.) was the foundation to your biggest hobby, which then allowed you to explore it more as you grew up.

One thing to note is how Ratatouille handles Remy’s character with his interest. In spite of his palette gift, he doesn’t become a snob or too good towards his rat family; there’s not a moment where he claims he knows better than his skeptic father, they just idealistically disagree and their connection remains intact throughout the film. He has taste and knowledge, but isn’t smug about it. Midori is rounded the same way, she doesn’t push Kanamori or anyone to accept that anime is the best thing ever, and there’s that layer of anxiety to her love of anime that humanizes her aspirations a little more than Remy. It was a lot easier for Remy to be a cook than it was for Midori to make anything beyond concept art, or be sociable about it for that matter. At the same time, both remain humble in their ignited desires and understandably had to deal with an initial drawback to pursuing their dreams which is where...

The Helping Hands

Now, I’m not saying Midori is puppeting Tsubame or that Tsubame is a subversion of the whole rags to riches trope. I say like Linguini, Tsubame is one of the bridges for Midori to live out her desire, with the added bonus of being just as on board in scaffolding Asakusa’s passion to its most palpable form with her own dream of being an animator. Midori and Remy, be it their figurative or literal limitations, needed the likes of Linguini and Mizusaki to make things come to fruition. Even when Linguini doesn’t desirably wanna be a top chef himself, he witnesses Remy’s skill and is willing to put himself out there to work together and make the best cooking at the restaurant. Likewise, Tsubame is more than willing to work with Midori if it means not being forced into doing what her parents want and sharing that pathos of anime with a similar mind. And unlike Ratatouille, it helps that Tsubame is already adept in animating; I’ll talk to more on this later, but I’m glad Ōwara didn’t force us a character that wants to be somebody but has done nothing for herself. That’s what I noticed with both of these features, there’s a great semblance of support when passion is there but can’t progress singularly. There can/will be people out here to help you and they will come when you least expect it. Linguini and Tsubame both work well as the muscle of the cast, the character that does the heavy lifting in bringing the meal or anime to life. As such, we essentially have our director and the more hands on conductor of the project, but this all can’t be done without the producer.

Colette and Kanamori serve well as the anchor for our respective characters; we can’t just have the four characters go nuts with whatever, there needs to be some stability, a reality to the ambitious madness that can come with creating. Kanamori isn’t teaching the two any ground rules of anime, but she understands the analytics and guidelines to keeping things on track. Colette helps Linguini, by extension Remy, on the known etiquette to being productive in the kitchen, the same can be said for Kanamori in helping Tsubame and Midori in getting the film done clean and timely. While making a meal isn’t the same as making a whole cartoon, the ins and outs of getting things done have a parallel organized track. There’s especially more to making animation, especially on a deadline, and I’m glad Eizouken doesn’t shy away from giving you the thought process in what might go on behind the scenes; it practically gives you the ropes on what could happen if you were in each of the trio’s shoes. 

Additionally, these two are the most resolute of the three characters; they stick to the mission understanding where Remy and Midori are philosophically, and Tsubame and Linguini are fundamentally, coming from. She and Kanamori exhibit the practical outsider, the one to truly stick their neck out, don’t put up with bullshitting, to push the creative drive further. Both see the weight that comes to production and while Colette has her fallback in the 3rd act, they make sure everything goes as planned. They truly practice what they preach and are the glue that holds things together. The only disadvantage Colette has is that she lacks a relationship with Remy, it’s mostly indirect at the end while Asakusa and Kanamori are initially on better terms since they were already close friends. But with our characters on the move, there’s hardly such thing as a perfect run,,,,

The Fallback

This part is where Eizouken and Ratatouille truly divide because the problems that arises for our characters come in differently. Ratatouille has more outside factors coming in with the fact that Remy is a rat and is pulled between his connection with humans vs his own kind. Eizouken is more in-fighting between the three where Tsubame and Midori’s ambitions have to face off against Kanamori’s more realistic shut downs and options. Eizouken also presents the compromises that can come with being a creator where Ratatouille reasonably montages through the hardships that can come with human puppetry and becoming an instant hit in the kitchen. Success is portrayed more consistently in Ratatouille than in Eizouken, which focuses more on the progress. It’s obvious given that, again, making food is not as time and energy consuming as making a feature; we see that animation is a lot more than just drawing all your ideas onto the equivalent to a flip book.

To sidetrack a bit, I came to agree with Jim that Monsters University is the antithesis to Ratatouille where the hard work that one puts into their dreams doesn’t mean imminent or easily delivered success. It’s a bizarro film in that, while not breaking new ground plotwise, MU is grimly realistic in that your passionate drive won’t always lead to getting the spoils you exactly want. Eizouken cleverly sits the middle of the two, where success is achievable if you put the effort in, but that effort realistically won’t go exactly how you want. Mizusaki wants everything hand-drawn and Asakusa wants a story, but come to understand that shortcuts need to happen if they want to get it done by the  council meet. Kanamori isn’t crushing their aspirations for the hell of it, she makes it clear that time and the student body are not on their side. As opposed to Ratatouille, the final boss that are the critic(s) are notably secondary to getting the project done somehow. As mentioned before, I’m glad Ōwara made Tsubame already apt in animating because we can focus less on her being able to do it, more on the limitations that come with doing it. She has the skill, but has to bargain on her capabilities with what’s necessary as we see the tolls that come with the job.

Where I say these two collide somehow is the facet of the outsider putting the effort in for their goals. Remy and Midori are gifted and near encyclopedic in their trades, but are reasonably setback by both internal conflicting question of how far are they willing to go in exercising their drives. Remy more external than Midori since he could literally be killed if the truth was out too soon, but there is that self doubt in both of them where it can be hard to imagine that anyone can cook or that creating the great world is possible. It’s near the end of the arcs where they truly stand up for their beliefs and I appreciate that both handle the determined directing of our MCs in a respectable, pretty relatable way. They finally get to call the shots. They never sacrifice what could’ve been for what could be dauntingly realistic either; both offer an organic sense of optimism. But, with this optimism, comes the endgame that truly puts it all to the test in...

The Moment of Truth

Mr. Anton Ego, Skinner, and the Student Council are undoubtedly the final piece to these puzzles. It’s smart that they’re only present by the end of the arcs, only mentioned initially as the antagonistic force Remy and the Eizouken need to convince; they didn’t need to shoehorn their looming gavels any further. Naturally Skinner parallels the council president, a disingenuous hothead that antagonizes our MCs in a more unfair light while secretary Sakaki represents Ego, an intellectually honest person with actual standards and can see the forest for the trees. Eizouken’s episode 4 perfectly conceives why Kanamori is the boss, as she effortlessly confronts the allegations against them; not so much bluffing as she is spotlighting the council’s rash judgement. Unfortunately Kanamori can only debunk them so far, which leads to Midori overcoming her anxiety to demand that they’re given a chance. It’s great that Asakusa can suffer in silence for only so long before pushing herself to say something. This falls in line with Remy’s dad showing his son the grim realistic front of humans and rats before coming back to help him when he realizes Remy’s determinism. It’s like the rat says, the only way to go, “With luck, forward.”

Like the scene where Ego eats the titular dish, the moment we finally see the anime in full is almost disgustingly perfect. It’s fitting that a riot was going on before the presentation only for the action packed film to essentially come to life and throw chaos right back at everybody with powerful air waves, tank shells, and the tank itself jumping off the screen, literally blowing the audience away. Eizouken has literally more louder of a scene than Ratatouille’s, but both offer that climatic impart equally hard in their respective moments. They don’t shy away from grasping that immersive feeling of what you loved the most about food and/or animation, those invested in the film/series are basically with Ego and the student audience as those moments happen. It kinda hurts the brain how perfect these two moments are. Eizouken and Ratatouille, in a meta sense, weren’t successful only because they poke at our nostalgia or love, but of how they go the mile to convey it significantly. Ratatouille by the end, thanks to Ego, provides the apt idea of open-mindedness; that greatness can come from anywhere. Eizouken does this but adds the step that being open-minded can come with seeing what the efforts of that determined greatness can lead to. And with this, we see how it ends, or how it begins...

The Step Forward

I mentioned this before, but I loved that immediately after their demo reel finished, they weren’t worrying about any approval from the council or audience but discussing about what to improve on next. We see the soon boundless enthusiasm of the trio when, regardless of , they want to improve and do more as a team, all while the secretary approves the club in the hopes to see the fruitful potential. Compare this to Ratatouille for while Remy succeeds in convincing his family and Ego of his talent, they don’t sacrifice realism too much. Gusteau’s is naturally shut down, rats and humans aren’t suddenly living together by the end. At the same time, the movie wasn’t really about that, but about achieving small victories, optimistically grasping that palpable progress. Like Eizouken, Ratatouille leaves us with the progressive prospect that there’s the potential for more, for better.

To quote Jim once more, I say what makes both Eizouken and Ratatouille work fundamentally is that they keep the finger on the pulse of their respective message(s) while still creating enjoyable moments; they don’t sacrifice the fun of getting things right for pushing why it matters. They don’t sellout the bonds between our characters for irreverent romps in the kitchen or studio. Both offer a meaningfulness to their respective crafts, blending its many flavors into a well made dish that explores what it means to create and the steps that come with it. What it means to have passion and utilize that to its capable extent. What it means to enjoy a meal while watching an impressively finished production. They’re also very well animated; thanks Yuasa and Bird. 

[ladyreapermc]

Fic: This isn’t a rom-com 15/17

Author’s notes: I’ve been vague about Lilah’s heritage so far with the exception her her being latina, but it made sense to me she would speak her native language with her mom and since I didn’t want to butcher another language by trying to writing in Spanish, she’s speaking  Portuguese here. I put the translation next to it in brackets. 

Summary: Keanu and Lilah meet at the set of John Wick. Rom-com shenanigans ensues

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6  Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14

Wordcount: 2980

Warnings: just a F-bomb and an anxiety attack.

Lilah should not be missing Keanu this badly. It had only been gone a few of days since he left, but every time she caught sight of the finger-shaped bruises on her hips or the bite mark in her shoulder, Lilah felt like there was a gaping hole in her chest that made her just feel empty and everything else dull.

Lilah wanted to laugh at the irony. For someone who hated rom coms, she sure as hell was going through all the motions. She was this close to watching rainfall from her bedroom window with a sad song playing in the back. Which was sort of pathetic, so she really needed to find something to distract herself.

Good thing she still had the crushing doubt of what she would do to about NYFA and Oxford to keep her occupied. Arthur was being very understanding about her lack of response, but every time Lilah met Dr. Williams, it was the first question out of the older woman’s mouth.

“Do you know how many other candidates would kill for this opportunity?”

“Yes, I’m aware, Dr. Williams,” Lilah sighed, squeezing the bridge of her nose. This was giving her a headache. “But it’s a huge decision and I can’t just make it without thinking it through.”

She could see Dr. Williams wanted to argue some more and she braced herself for the conflict, but it never came. The other woman let out a sigh too and took off her glasses. For the first time in Lilah’s time in grad-school, the woman before her looked almost approachable.

“Lilah, I have been doing this for a while and I haven’t met many students like you. You’re brilliant and I don’t say that lightly. You work hard, you’re good at improvising, you hardly ever complain or say no, something I take advantage more times than I should, and you’re a great researcher. It would be a shame to let that go to waste.” She paused, wiping her glasses before putting them back on. “However, I also know that those same traits will make you succeed at any other career path you chose.”

“They called you, did they?” Lilah asked, twisting her hands together, heart in her throat. “From NYFA.”

“You did include my letter of recommendation in your application,” Dr. Williams said. “I told them exactly what just I told you, but you have to make a choice, dear.”

“I know,” Lilah sighed. “Tomorrow. I promise.”

“Good.” Dr. Williams said with a short nod. “I also expect the new chapter of your dissertation by the same deadline.”

All the way home, Lilah was a jumble of messy thoughts and conflicting feelings, because she had no idea what to do next. She just gave herself an ultimatum to make a decision when she told Dr. Williams she would give them an answer tomorrow. But the truth was that Lilah was no close to an answer now than she was four days ago when Lilah argued with Keanu.

Ever since this whole mess started Lilah became very aware of how ill-equipped she was to make her own choices. She had been doing a reevaluation of her life decisions and how she made them, and it was slowly becoming very clear the weight her parents’ wishes and expectations had on every step she took. Especially her dad.

She remembered being 13 and considering to join the theater club because it could help her make friends, but her dad insisted she joined the debate club instead because it would improve her English and would look much better on her college application. The same happened when she wanted to practice martial arts, but he thought the track team would be better. And that continued all the way to choosing her major for college and deciding on grad-school.

They were rarely obvious commands, it was more like nudges here and there that made Lilah doubt her own choices and start on a spiral of insecurity that was only abated once she did what he wanted, and he praised her for it. How mess up was that? How manipulative was that? Was he even aware that he did that?  

How many times did she settle for something she wasn’t all that into it just to please him? Lilah didn’t even know. And how many times she hid part of herself or her interests, so he wouldn’t be disappointed? Like he was when she decided to go to New York for grad school. That had been quite an epic fight and it left Lilah crushed and crying for days until he relented and allowed her to go. And she knew he only did it because her mother talked to him.

That was crazy! Lilah was 21 at the time. She didn’t need his authorization. She was a damn adult, but apparently, she still acted like a child searching for his approval. Right now Lilah felt like she was in a turning point and one wrong step could mean she would wreck her future beyond recognition and that prospect terrified her.

With a heavy sigh, Lilah closed her laptop and moved to her bed. She wasn’t going to get any work done right now. Not until she finally made her decision and that needed to happen right now.

“Hey, can I talk to you for a sec?” Jean asked, leaning against the doorframe and startling Lilah.

“Sure. What’s up?” Ok, maybe it could wait a few more moments.

Jean stepped into the room and walked up to Lilah, handing her a check before taking a seat on the bed. Lilah glanced at it with a frown of confusion and gasped, looking back up at Jean.

“Wh…?” she trailed off, too shocked to even form words.

“That should cover tuition for the first year, right?” Jean asked, eyebrow arched.

“I can’t accept this, Jean,” Lilah said, trying to give the check back, but her friend just crossed her arms over her chest in refusal. “I know how much you hate the trust fund your parents made for you. I’m not gonna be the reason you go to them.”

“That ship sailed a long time ago, Lih,” Jean admitted with a sigh. “I’ve been using that money to keep Novelsy afloat for the last four months. And anyway, that’s not where it came that from. That’s from the sale.”

“Sale? You sold Novelsy?” Lilah exclaimed with wide eyes, jumping from her seat. “But Jean that was-”

“My dream?” the other woman completed with a little sad smile. “See I thought so too, but I began to realize the only dream part of it pissing off my parents and Novelsy deserve better than that. Who knows? Maybe these new people can do a better job than I did.”

“Don’t say that. You did a fantastic job!” Lilah said, coming to sit next to her and wrapping her arms around Jean’s shoulders, pulling the other woman into a hug. “You could’ve talked to me, you know?”

“You had your own thing happening with film school and Keanu.” Jean shrugged and Lilah pulled away to glare at her.

“No matter what’s going on in my life, I’ll always be there for yours, ok? Always. You’re my person, remember?” Lilah said, her tone leaving no room for argument and Jean smiled and nodded. “So now what? What are you gonna do?”

“Honestly? I have no idea,” Jean replied, her expression turning into a grin. “It’s kind of exciting not knowing.”

“You and I have very different concepts of exciting,” she commented with a chuckle, resting her head on Jean’s shoulder. “But you’re really ok? About the sale?”

“I mean, I’m sad and all, but yeah. It was for the best. They promised to keep all the same staff and structure and that’s the only reason I agreed.”

“That’s good, but I still can’t take this money, Jean.”

“Yes, you can. I did some math of all you the time have helped with Novelsy throughout the years without charging a cent. That’s about what I’d owe you.”

“That can’t be right,” Lilah snorted in disbelief and Jean flashed a sly smirk.

“Ok, maybe I added a healthy bonus too, but still…” Jean took Lilah’s hand in hers, entwining their fingers together. “You’re my person too and you deserve to have a chance to do this. Let me do this for you, please?”

Lilah felt her eyes stinging with unshed tears, her heart beating wildly in her heart as she hugged Jean. she was out of words to tell her friend how much this meant to her.

“I… you… thank you,” she choked, fully crying know and watching as Jean’s eyes welled up too. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Lih.” Her expression opened up into a wide grin. “You’re going to film school.”

“I’m going to film school,” Lilah agreed, her voice a little high-pitched, her own lips drawing into a smile. “I'M GOING TO FUCKING FILM SCHOOL!”

They squealed together, jumping and hugging and laughing and it felt like the weight of the world had been lifted from her shoulders. Lilah had made her choice.

A moment later, Isaac came into the room, with a confused look on his face but since Lilah was still chanting that she was going to film school, he quickly caught on and joined the celebration. Lilah was breathless from laughing so hard, her cheeks hurting, and she might her twisted her ankle with all the jumping around, but she was so happy that she didn’t care. That was why she missed her mom’s first two calls. She only caught the third.

“Hi mom!” she greeted, signaling Isaac to turn down the music.

“Honey, you need to come home,” her mother said, her voice low and broken and Lilah felt all the cheerfulness draining from inside her. “Jamie was in an accident. He’s in the hospital…”

She couldn’t hear anything else due to the blood rushing through her ears; it felt like her ribcage was compressing her lungs and her heart trying to bust out of her chest. Her knees gave out and if it wasn’t Isaac’s quick reflexes, Lilah would be on the floor. Her phone wasn’t so lucky and she barely registered Jean talking to her mother, finding out what happened.

It had been so long since Lilah had an anxiety attack, so it took her a while to recognize it now. She sat on the floor, head between her knees as she tried to control her breathing and concentrate on something else, anything else. Her nails dug on Isaac’s arms as she tried to count her breaths and listen to what he was saying.

Lilah knew how anxiety attacks worked. She knew it was just her body freaking out because it thought there was danger around the corner. Lilah just needed to wait them out. It might feel like she was dying, but in the end, she would be ok.

It took Lilah about 15 minutes to regain control again and be able to refocus on her friends. Both Isaac and Jean were on the floor with her. She was practically on Isaac’s lap as he was holding her against his chest while Jean sat by her side. Lilah’s face was wet with tears and she had left five crescent-shaped wounds on Isaac’s arm.

“How are you, hon?” Jean asked.

“I need to go home.” It was all Lilah managed, struggling out of Isaac’s hold to get up. There was too much to do and no time to waste. “Can one of you check flights for me? I need to call Dr. Williams and my TA to cover my classes.”

“I’ll start packing your suitcase,” Isaac offered. “You should call Keanu. He’s coming back tonight, right?”

“Shit!” Lilah froze, turning to look at them. She completely forgot about Keanu. About everything else really. “I’ll call him from the cab.”

If someone asked Lilah how she managed to get everything ready and herself to Miami, she wouldn’t be able to tell you. It was all just a big blur to her. All she knew was that a little over five hours after she got her mother’s call, Lilah was stepping through the doors of Jackson Memorial Hospital where she knew Jamie would have been taken. It was the hospital he did his residency and where her father worked and taught.

Lilah knew this place like the back of her hand. Most of the nursing staff knew her so they didn’t even blink when she walked in and didn’t even paused by the reception area, just headed straight for the waiting room outside the surgical center, where she found her mom, Alba, sitting next to Jamie’s mom, Susan, comforting the other woman.

They looked up when Lilah walked in, her mother’s expression turning into one of relief as she let go of Susan long enough to meet her halfway from a hug.

“Que bom que você aqui. (I’m so glad you’re here),” she whispered, her voice wavered a little and Lilah just held her tight, breathing in the familiar scent of lilies from her mom’s skin.

“What happened?” Lilah asked as she let go of her mom to hug Susan, before taking a seat, holding her mom’s hand tight.

“They say he ran a red light,” her mom explained, and Susan let out a loud sob. “A pick-up truck hit his car, driver’s side.” Lilah felt the familiar tightness in her chest and forced out a long, shaky breath. This was not the time for another panic attack. Everyone here needed her. “Your father is with him.”

That much Lilah figured the second he didn’t see him. Technically no family member should be allowed anywhere near the OR, but her father was one of the top surgeons of this hospital and it was very hard to say no to him.

“Foi muito ruim? (How bad was it?)” she whispered to her mom, mindful of Susan. Alba took a deep breath, her hand tightening over Lilah’s.

“(Ruim) Bad.”

Once again, Lilah forced her lungs to keep working, her breath to remain steady as she tried to settle a little better on the uncomfortable couch of the waiting room. The hours dragged by without news. The only sounds in the room were hospital announcements and Susan’s sniffles.

Lilah got tired of the couch and started pacing, trying to work out some of the nervous energy running through her. Every once in a while she would check her phone, update Jean and Isaac. There had been no word from Keanu, but Lilah couldn’t bring herself to worry about that right now.

The OR doors were pushed open and her father stepped out, expression drawn into a deep frown of concern, the lines in his face deeper than Lilah remember from when she visited during the summer.

“They finished repairing his lung and had to remove his spleen. He should be out in another hour or so and head straight for observation,” he announced, his eyes landing on Lilah and his expression softening a little. “Hi, baby.”

“Hi dad,” she breathed out, against the crook of his neck as Frank wrapped her into a tight hug.

“My boy’s gonna be fine then?” Susan asked, her voice raspy from crying.

“He’s not out of the woods yet, but Jamie’s strong and Owen’s the best trauma surgeon I know,” he said with an encouraging smile, but Lilah noticed it didn’t quite reach his eyes. She had never seen her father scared before. “I’m going back in.”

With a final kiss to Lilah’s forehead, Frank turned around and headed back into the OR, leaving them behind. She could Susan on her phone, probably updating her husband while Alba’s fingers worked through her rosary and she prayed under her breath.

Lilah sighed and headed to the reception where she knew there was a coffee machine. She had been up for God knows how many hours and the adrenaline was starting to fade, exhaustion sipping so deep it almost seemed to reach her bones.

Lilah blamed her fatigue for not noticing him right away even though she must have walked right by him on her way to the coffee machine. He stood at the reception desk, carry on by his side talking to one of the nurses. It wasn’t until she heard her own name that Lilah turned to look, recognizing him.

“Keanu?” She called and he turned her way, his brow furrowed with worry.

“Lil,” he walked up to her, stopping just a step away, almost as if unsure if he could come closer, touch her.

“What you doing here?” Lilah asked her astonishment making it hard for her to process his presence.

“I heard about your brother, and I just…” Keanu sighed, rubbing his face. “I don’t know. I wanted to be here for you.”

Lilah felt the knot in her chest rising to her throat as her eyes stung. She closed the distance between them, letting Keanu wrap her into a hug, feeling him kiss the top of her head. She fisted the back of his blazer, fighting against the need to break down. It wasn’t time yet. No matter how safe she felt on his arms.

They stayed there, wrapped around each other until one of the orderlies asked them to move since they were blocking the way. They broke away, but Keanu took her hand, entwining their fingers together and Lilah led the way back to the waiting room. She paused just outside the door in hesitation, before she glanced over at Keanu.

 “This wasn’t how I pictured you meeting my family,” she said with a humorless chuckle. Keanu gave her a soft, reassuring smile and squeezed her hand.

“I know, but it’s going to be fine.”

Lilah nodded and pushed the door open. She really hoped Keanu was right.

x(tbc)x

Go to part 16

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[caeows]

      jeon jeongguk  .  cis male  .  he/him  ／  graeme bae just pulled up by blasting dirty little secret by all american rejects --- that song is so them  !  you know  ,  for a twenty three year old actor  ,  i’ve heard they’re really gullible  ,  but that they make up for it by being so tenacious  .  if i had to choose three things to describe them  ,  i’d probably say tousled hair  ,  triple dog dares and a closet full of black  .  here’s to hoping they don’t cause too much trouble  !  

hello  !  i’m deni  (  she/her pronouns  ,  gmt+9 timezone  )  .  i’m best reached on discord at gayfairy#6371 for plotting  .  below the cut is  ...  a ridiculous amount of keyboard smashing but it was a holiday and i was feeling inspired so  !!  i included a few TLDRs for some quick scanning  .  there’s also some plots at the bottom i’d LOVE to see  .    looking forward to writing with you all  !

* ☆ ·˚  background.

you could say he was destined for the spotlight  .  

      an only child  ,  he grew up watching his parents performances on the stage  ,  accepting their kisses and gentle smiles before they set off for tours around the country and left him with his cousins  .  sure  ,  they were absent --- but they tried  --- and graeme knew he wanted to be just like them  .  when his parents delighted in his little home-staged sets he presented ,  they quickly enrolled him in acting classes and coached him through first auditions  ,  even moved back to korea when it was clear some american roles wanted to confine him to one note  .  after gaining exposure  ,  graeme shared the screen with one of the biggest names in the american industry in a dramatic hit that led to some ridiculous fanmail being sent to him as a kid  ,  then excitedly landed a role in a revamped science fiction film he was stoked af abouy !!! unfortunately  ,  the film was met with an absolute brutal blowback from fans  ,  some of that hot  ,  petty anger taken out on graeme  ,  and at thirteen years old  ,  his parents made the decision for him to step back and focus on school  .   (  he still holds onto those spiteful letters------  all that hate from grown ass adults thrown at a child  ) 

      performing arts high school  ,  but graeme stayed away from the public stage for a bit  .  worked on some sets as a tech to get a better idea of the film making process  .  kept a low profile occasionally caught by curious paparazzi at a basketball court or baseball game  .  recognizable  ,  but not to the point where he couldn’t be seminormal  .  there were a few bumps in the road  ::  leaked photos of a beer at a high school party  ,  couple of fake friends sliding in for clout  ,  people pushing questions like when are you returning  ??  how does it feel to ruin one of the most important films of all time ???  shitty  .  but  ,  with the help of his parents  ,  friends and coaches  ,  graeme returned to student films to grow more comfortable in front of a camera  .  his official comeback was in the background of a friend's directorial debut  ,  a lady-love drama critics salivated over but failed to earn is’ nominations  .  still  ,  graeme’s name was back and out there  .  jumping headfirst into the thing that scares him  ,  graeme’s slated for teen flicks  ,  romantic dramas  ,  action films  .  a diverse portfolio  .  people love a comeback  .     ------as if there was something wrong with what he did before  .  

TLDR.  former international child star who took a break after experiencing a massive fan-driven backlash  .  pseudo retired  ,  did the performing arts school thing  .  popped back on the screen about a year ago and working his ass off since  .  early career inspiration : jake lloyd  ,  natalie portman  , yeo jingoo

* ☆ ·˚  current.

      suddenly  getting all this praise and earning cash  ,  living on his own in a sprawling city of work and sin  .   hasn’t stop busting his ass  ,  no  ,  but maybe he’s found outlets for all his stress in  . . . less than healthy outlets  .  some of the headlines are way off the mark  ,  some a little too close to home  .  either way  ,  it’s not something his parents or his management company are thrilled about  (  doesn’t he want to be taken seriously as an actor ,  they say  )  and he does  .  of course he does  .  but what else does he have to sacrifice to be taken seriously ?  and how serious does any twenty-something year old wanna get  ?

      late hours on dance floors  ,  strips of things he doesn’t know the name of on his tongue  ,  lips on any pretty   ,  wanting pair he can find  .  he’s young  ,  virile and at the top of his game  .  who can blame him  ?  it starts with a string of tabloid images  ,  a rumpled and sleepy-eyed graeme leaving apartments that aren’t his in clothes he was spotted in the night before  .  zoomed-in  ,  fan-cropped photos on twitter of hickeys and swollen mouths and unbuttoned shirts  .  america’s sweetheart  ?  maybe  ,  but clearly not around the clock  .  him  ,  scaling rails of hotels and dancing on top of cars  .  grabbing mics at clubs and taking over DJ boots at parties   .  twitter explodes when he moonwalks through the airport one time and baristas trend his insane coffee orders  .  

      and even though he’s got his own name --- and a variety of different spellings  ,  hashtags  ,  and whatevers --- blacklisted on social media  ,  every now and then he’ll run along a stream of grueling comments  ,  petty nitpicks about his performances  ,  his looks  ,  his voice  ,  his goddamn smile and it’s-----   it’s rough  ,  even for someone who grew up in that environment  .  there’s days where he’ll hole up in his apartment and refuse to see anyone  ,  refuse to leave  .  the guy in the interviews with the wide smile and sparkle eyes is so  ,  so far away and people almost forget that he’s human  ,  too  .  he pushes himself out of that mindset  ,  sometimes with help  ,  but it’s always a shadow on his back  ,  waiting to catch him at his weakest  .  

TLDR.  tabloids gossip about speculated hookups and strange behavior  .  potential alcohol abuse  .  pushback from management and parents  .  anxiety towards social media  .  current career inspiration : ansel elgort

* ☆ ·˚  tidbits.

      sporty as fuck —— basketball  ,  soccer  ,  skateboard  ,  swimming  ,  climbing  .  says he would’ve been an athlete if not for movies  .  fit as fuck despite a steady diet of ramen and pizza  .  claims to like horror movies the most  ,  but he’s a total schmaltz snob  .  can hold a pretty tune well enough to pass  .  has a private twitter account for the memes   ,  public accounts are all operated by a social media manager so he doesn’t have to read comments   .  watches college basketball championships religiously  .  has very strong opinions about scented candles  .  likes sugary drinks more than coffee but claims to be a connoisseur  .  loves biopics  .  punk and 2000s emo rock fan .  gets anxious easily  ,  suffers through interviews and avoids personal topics as best as he can  .  is rumored to be difficult to work with  ,  but keeps to himself on sets save for a few opinions about blocking  and lighting  .  pan as fuck and fairly open about it  .  mom and dad are chill  ,  but don’t understand much of anything past bi  .  they get on to him more for his diet and job  .   when not on the court or working  ,  spends free time rewatching anime in the safety of his bed in an threadbare pair of boxers  ,  eating Doritos by the fistful and leaving his manager on read  .

      even his underwear is black  .  occasionally, he’ll change it up with a screen printed vintage t-shirt and wears whatever kind of fancy thing his stylist squeezes him into  .  otherwise wears by a black or white t-shirt  ,  black pants and combat boots  .  seventy percent of his sneakers have sharpie drawings on them and he’s got a lot of holes in his ears and another in a place you’d be lucky  (  or unlucky  )  to see  .  loves dangy earrings and wearing his hair loose  ,  a bit long with a mild perm  .  silver on his wrists and friendship bracelets from yesteryear but no rings  .  tattooed up  !  recently collaborated to design a line of temporary tattoos  .  extensive collection of sunglasses  .  hit up a lot of music festivals in the past but that’s died down in recent months due to a busy schedule  .  swung his way into VIP passes before  .  he was a total Warped kid in the past  ,  no shame  .  no longer does fan conventions because of a negative experience a few years back  ,  and even fan meets are a little awkward  ,  but he manages to push through  .  can’t drive worth a damn but he’ll kick your ass at any arcade game  .  occasionally  ,  he’ll stream over twitch but that’s becoming less and less common  . was banned from several dave & busters before he made it back on the screen  .  moody as fuck  .

* ☆ ·˚  plots.

      so  .  bonds  .  there’s a best friend who may not have been there since the beginning  ,  but they’ve been there when it matters  .  the friendship is new  ,  fresh  ,  and maybe graeme shouldn’t be as dependent on it as he is  ,  but he can’t help it  .  clinging to them like crazy --- let’s hope it doesn’t fall to the wayside  .  (  ? / 1  )  there’s several of his idiot friends who  ,  after being stranded on too many red carpets  ,  a hundred hotel rooms  ,  and hours of press junkets  ,  have learned to survive by snapchatting each other random dares throughout the day  .  (  1 / unlimited  )  there’s a few childhood friends who  ,  like him  ,  grew up either in or close to the spotlight and they have this  ,  like  . . .  support group kind of situation  .  i don’t know  .  graeme checks on them from time to time  ,  even as they’ve grown apart  .  (   2 / unlimited  )  he’s got some partying buddies who may not have his best interest at heart --- who may or may not stop him when he’s slurred out and whining about twitter trolls .  some gaming partners he teams up with over stream  ,  but lately they’ve drifted apart  .

      it’s such a cliche that his management’s set him up for a fake dating situation  .  if graeme wants the dramatic  ,  serious roles  ,  then he needs to show he’s a mature and capable young man  .  how else to do that than jump headfirst into a few awkwardly orchestrated dates with another hotshot on the radar  ?  (  ? / 1  )  but they’re not serious  .  so  ,  he hasn’t stopped hooking up  ,  or thinking about a one night stand that totally rocked his world  .   (  ? / 5 )  and  (  ? / 1 )  media and fans definitely know about a few of these  .  the jury’s out for how they feel about it  .  then there’s his competition  ,  actors in the same demographic targeting the same roles  .  it’s a tough business and they know it  ,  but the press picks up on all these weird quotes and posts that twist shit into beefs  .  what other misunderstanding will cause the casket to blow  ?  (  ? / unlimited )  there’s some co stars on old and upcoming films  .  people who see how hard he works and how much effort he puts into what’s seen on the screen  .  they tough out hard days on set and the press circuits during promotion  .  see him at his worst and best  .  (  ? / unlimited )

[theampreviews]

Dragged Across Concrete

When I sometimes attended my Film Studies classes at University one thing stuck with me from the Script Writing class; an economy of writing was critical to the success of your screenplay. It was a mantra echoing the sentiments of William Goldman’s “Arrive Late, Leave Early” approach to scene writing (as detailed in his books Adventures In The Screen Trade and Which Lie Did I Tell?). To his mind this prevents an audience getting “antsy”. It’s a notion S. Craig Zahler wholeheartedly disregards.

If Zahler’s first two films, Bone Tomahawk and Brawl In Cell Block 99, could be described as leisurely in pace (both clock in at 142min), then Dragged Across Concrete, with its hefty 159min, is positively lethargic (which, for context, is still only 10mins longer than the last Avengers movie and 5mins shorter than Blade Runner 2049), and will likely push most multiplex audiences to their limits. Holding it to The Goldman Standard; this could be the least economical screenplay ever filmed, but it’s all the better for it.

Going into this film you need to understand that you’ll have to bed down and submit to his tempo, which is at times almost static. Zahler builds scenes of great magnitude that draw his viewers in, enveloping them like a sphygmomanometer (I had to Google that), applying ever more pressure until it’s almost unbearable. Virtually scoreless throughout, there’s precious little to distract from Zahler’s writing, but thankfully he’s still one of the most refreshing wordsmith’s out there. He might not pack his dialogue with pop-culture references as Tarantino can do (someone he’s rather erroneously compared to), but his way with words is just as pleasing to the ear. It’s hard-nosed, pulpy writing that exists purely in a world of his creation - his actors chewing on his dialogue like a T-Bone. He can also show a man eat an entire sandwich in silence and have it pay off.  

The most satisfying part of Zahler’s writing is that everything matters. There’s nothing throw-away about anything he shoots. The space he affords actors within the scenes allows them, and us, to take it all in without relying on cinematic shorthand to move things forward. No matter how long a scene is, it feels right, even (or especially) if that feeling is one of discomfort. The narrative drive of the film is relatively linear, we know exactly where we’re headed from early on, it’s in how Zahler stretches everything to breaking point in getting there that generates an anxiety that makes you shift in your seat; not the run-time. He can cut to the chase, but don’t be surprised if that chase is a leisurely tail across a freeway - the antithesis of Friedkin’s To Live & Die In L.A. but just as enthralling.

The other key attraction to a Zahler movie is his now notorious use of extreme violence. Whilst it would be disingenuous to say he has toned that down here (this is still far beyond much that you’ll see in your average movie these days), it is used more sparingly and dwelt upon less so than in his previous two. If Bone Tomahawk was sparse but unflinching in its depictions of depravity, and Brawl In Cell Block 99 relished the gonzo splatter effects of old, this time Zahler uses short, sharp jolts of violence to provoke the mind rather than overwhelm it. Often shots of explicit detail are cut away from so quickly that you’re still processing what you saw well into the next scene. It can have a disorientating effect, but one that makes you consider what you saw rather than simply have it thrown in your face.

Zahler also expands his eye for Old White Males, something I know many roll their eyes at, with his casting of Mel Gibson. Adding to the ranks of Kurt Russell and two time cast members Vince Vaughn, Don Johnson, Fred Melamed and Udo Kier, Gibson fits into Zahler’s aggressive, grim fatalism with ease. Some might consider this a role Gibson’s publicist might have urged him to avoid.

Since his original “cancellation”, Gibson has sought refuge in B-Picture pulp (Get The Gringo, Machete Kills, The Expendables 3) and couple of Father roles casting him as avenger/protector to wayward daughters (Edge Of Darkness, Blood Father) which all points to him acknowledging his new found villain status whilst also embracing a need for redemption (even the seeming outlier of Studio Festive Comedy Daddy’s Home 2 dines out on his asshole persona). Here though, the role of Brett Ridgeman felt too close to the bone for some; a bitter, mean son-of-a-bitch with a heavy-handed disdain for minorities. Be that as it may, Gibson is perfection and should be recognised for what is close to a career best - certainly it tops the list of performances in this second half of his career. Equal part hang-dog weariness and brittle rage barely concealed below a haggard surface, I can’t think of many others that could embody the character this wholly.  

Gibson and Vaughn’s Anthony Lurasetti are police officers who find themselves suspended without pay for Ridgeman’s abusive arrest of a Hispanic drug dealer; an act captured on a cell phone and spread throughout local media. The idea that Zahler frames their subsequent descent into “crime to make ends meet” as right-wing apologist rhetoric for the "forgotten majority" has made many uncomfortable, and I don’t doubt for a second that this is by Zahler’s design. Do I think he holds those beliefs? I wouldn’t know, but this film is not one for the Red Hat brigade if that’s what concerns people, but it does wave those common red flags without flinching (look to the “Black Panic” scene in which Gibson’s daughter is tormented by black youths on her way home, Gibson’s character bemoaning his lowly wage forcing them to live in such a “shit hole” with a young daughter and disabled wife).

As counter-point, the third main protagonist Henry Johns, played by a revelatory Tory Kittles, offers another staple of the genre; the recently paroled felon in desperate need of cash (imagine Denis Haysbert’s role in Heat given more screen time) providing a cultural juxtaposition to the craggy old cop routine (he and his partner Biscuits even ���whiting-up” at one point). Whilst he rises a notch or two above the others in the morality stakes, he’s no Magical Negro; his purpose is not to elevate or educate his white co-stars, he has as much stakes in the game as either (sharing a financial need for care-giving with Ridgeman), and just as much blood on his hands (and sometimes more...). 

The Heat nod was clearly intentional, as Zahler cited that as a reference point in his Q&A, along with Dog Day Afternoon and Point Blank. Lofty comparisons they may be, but as a homage to those films, Dragged Across Concrete holds its own, albeit through the filter of a filmmaker that clearly loves exploitation cinema as much as any. Swimming in those waters, Zahler toes a fine line as to what audiences will find acceptable in both content and execution, and I think he’s pushed back against that line a little further here than he has before. It’s a provocative film without being insolently button-pushing and I’m sure it’s one that will divide audiences for some time (all but guaranteed to be a future Cult Favourite though).

There’s a scene that precedes the pivotal bank robbery that proved contentious to some during the screening I was at. We’re introduced to a character (one of the principle cast members) who we assume will form a large part in the film going forward, only for her screen time to be short lived and inconsequential to the plot. It makes for a quite harrowing and frustrating vignette, prompting one audience member to ask Zahler to account for its inclusion, a question met with spattered murmurs of approval around the auditorium. Zahler, clearly relishing the fact that this scene had struck a nerve, went on to explain (accurately) how everything from that point is framed in an entirely different way. It may have elicited anger from some of those watching, but he’s right in how that scene causes a shift in how you view the film and the protagonists going forward. He also acknowledged that, had he made this film under the watchful eye of a Studio and without his Final Cut deal, that scene would be the first thing any Producer would make him cut.

In a world dominated by audience pandering franchises, I think Zahler’s singular voice is one that needs to be preserved in tact, no matter how acquired a taste it may be.

[mydarlingfilm]

TIME DOESN’T HEAL

This is going to be a very long post and I would love to read it over and over again. It was painful and timeless at the same time. This conversation is hold between an Rolling stone and Pk.

In her first-ever in-depth interview, Michael Jackson's daughter discusses her father's pain and finding peace after addiction and heartache

Paris-Michael Katherine Jackson is staring at a famous corpse. "That's Marilyn Monroe," she whispers, facing a wall covered with gruesome autopsy photos. "And that's JFK. You can't even find these online." On a Thursday afternoon in late November, Paris is making her way through the Museum of Death, a cramped maze of formaldehyde-scented horrors on Hollywood Boulevard. It's not uncommon for visitors, confronted with decapitation photos, snuff films and serial-killer memorabilia, to faint, vomit or both. But Paris, not far removed from the emo and goth phases of her earlier teens, seems to find it all somehow soothing. This is her ninth visit. "It's awesome," she had said on the way over. "They have a real electric chair and a real head!"

Paris Jackson turned 18 last April, and moment by moment, can come across as much older or much younger, having lived a life that's veered between sheltered and agonizingly exposed. She is a pure child of the 21st century, with her mashed-up hippie-punk fashion sense (today she's wearing a tie-dye button-down, jeggings and Converse high-tops) and boundary-free musical tastes (she's decorated her sneakers with lyrics by Mötley Crüe and Arctic Monkeys; is obsessed with Alice Cooper – she calls him "bae" – and the singer-songwriter Butch Walker; loves Nirvana and Justin Bieber too). But she is, even more so, her father's child. "Basically, as a person, she is who my dad is," says her older brother, Prince Michael Jackson. "The only thing that's different would be her age and her gender." Paris is similar to Michael, he adds, "in all of her strengths, and almost all of her weaknesses as well. She's very passionate. She is very emotional to the point where she can let emotion cloud her judgment." 

Paris has, with impressive speed, acquired more than 50 tattoos, sneaking in the first few while underage. Nine of them are devoted to Michael Jackson, who died when she was 11 years old, sending her, Prince and their youngest brother, Blanket, spiraling out of what had been – as they perceived it – a cloistered, near-idyllic little world. "They always say, 'Time heals,'" she says. "But it really doesn't. You just get used to it. I live life with the mentality of 'OK, I lost the only thing that has ever been important to me.' So going forward, anything bad that happens can't be nearly as bad as what happened before. So I can handle it." Michael still visits her in her dreams, she says: "I feel him with me all the time."

Michael, who saw himself as Peter Pan, liked to call his only daughter Tinker Bell. She has FAITH, TRUST AND PIXIE DUST inked near her clavicle. She has an image from the cover of Dangerous on her forearm, the Bad logo on her hand, and the words QUEEN OF MY HEART – in her dad's handwriting, from a letter he wrote her – on her inner left wrist. "He's brought me nothing but joy," she says. "So why not have constant reminders of joy?" 

She fixes her huge blue-green eyes on each of the museum's attractions without flinching, until she comes to a section of taxidermied pets. "I don't really like this room," she says, wrinkling her nose. "I draw the line with animals. I can't do it. This breaks my heart." She recently rescued a hyperactive pit-bull-mix puppy, Koa, who has an uneasy coexistence with Kenya, a snuggly Labrador her dad brought home a decade ago.

Paris describes herself as "desensitized" to even the most graphic reminders of human mortality. In June 2013, drowning in depression and a drug addiction, she tried to kill herself at age 15, slashing her wrist and downing 20 Motrin pills. "It was just self-hatred," she says, "low self-esteem, thinking that I couldn't do anything right, not thinking I was worthy of living anymore." She had been self-harming, cutting herself, managing to conceal it from her family. Some of her tattoos now cover the scars, as well as what she says are track marks from drug use. Before that, she had already attempted suicide "multiple times," she says, with an incongruous laugh. "It was just once that it became public." The hospital had a "three-strike rule," she recalls, and, after that last attempt, insisted she attend a residential therapy program.

Home-schooled before her father's death, Paris had agreed to attend a private school starting in seventh grade. She didn't fit in – at all – and started hanging out with the only kids who accepted her, "a lot of older people doing a lot of crazy things," she says. "I was doing a lot of things that 13-, 14-, 15-year-olds shouldn't do. I tried to grow up too fast, and I wasn't really that nice of a person." She also faced cyberbullying, and still struggles with cruel online comments. "The whole freedom-of-speech thing is great," she says. "But I don't think that our Founding Fathers predicted social media when they created all of these amendments and stuff." 

There was another trauma that she's never mentioned in public. When she was 14, a much older "complete stranger" sexually assaulted her, she says. "I don't wanna give too many details. But it was not a good experience at all, and it was really hard for me, and, at the time, I didn't tell anybody."

After her last suicide attempt, she spent sophomore year and half of junior year at a therapeutic school in Utah. "It was great for me," she says. "I'm a completely different person." Before, she says with a small smile, "I was crazy. I was actually crazy. I was going through a lot of, like, teen angst. And I was also dealing with my depression and my anxiety without any help." Her father, she says, also struggled with depression, and she was prescribed the same antidepressants he once took, though she's no longer on any psych meds.

Now sober and happier than she's ever been, with menthol cigarettes her main remaining vice, Paris moved out of her grandma Katherine's house shortly after her 18th birthday, heading to the old Jackson family estate. She spends nearly every minute of each day with her boyfriend, Michael Snoddy, a 26-year-old drummer – he plays with the percussion ensemble Street Drum Corps – and Virginia native whose dyed mohawk, tattoos and perpetually sagging pants don't obscure boy-band looks and a puppy-dog sweetness. "I never met anyone before who made me feel the way music makes me feel," says Paris. When they met, he had an ill-considered, now-covered Confederate flag tattoo that raised understandable doubts among the Jacksons. "But the more I actually got to know him," says Prince, "he's a really cool guy."

Paris took a quick stab at community college after graduating high school – a year early – in 2015, but wasn't feeling it. She is an heir to a mammoth fortune – the Michael Jackson Family Trust is likely worth more than $1 billion, with disbursements to the kids in stages. But she wants to earn her own money, and now that she's a legal adult, to embrace her other inheritance: celebrity.

And in the end, as the charismatic, beautiful daughter of one of the most famous men who ever lived, what choice did she have? She is, for now, a model, an actress, a work in progress. She can, when she feels like it, exhibit a regal poise that's almost intimidating, while remaining chill enough to become pals with her giant-goateed tattoo artist. She has impeccable manners – you might guess that she was raised well. She so charmed producer-director Lee Daniels in a recent meeting that he's begun talking to her manager about a role for her on his Fox show, Star . She plays a few instruments, writes and sings songs (she performs a couple for me on acoustic guitar, and they show promise, though they're more Laura Marling than MJ), but isn't sure if she'll ever pursue a recording contract.

Modeling, in particular, comes naturally, and she finds it therapeutic. "I've had self-esteem issues for a really, really long time," says Paris, who understands her dad's plastic-surgery choices after watching online trolls dissect her appearance since she was 12. "Plenty of people think I'm ugly, and plenty of people don't. But there's a moment when I'm modeling where I forget about my self-esteem issues and focus on what the photographer's telling me – and I feel pretty. And in that sense, it's selfish."

But mostly, she shares her father's heal-the-world impulses ("I'm really scared for the Great Barrier Reef," she says. "It's, like, dying. This whole planet is. Poor Earth, man"), and sees fame as a means to draw attention to favored causes. "I was born with this platform," she says. "Am I gonna waste it and hide away? Or am I going to make it bigger and use it for more important things?"

Her dad wouldn't have minded. "If you wanna be bigger than me, you can," he'd tell her. "If you don't want to be at all, you can. But I just want you to be happy."

At the moment, Paris lives in the private studio where her dad demoed "Beat It." The Tudor-style main house in the now-empty Jackson family compound in the LA neighborhood of Encino – purchased by Joe Jackson in 1971 with some of the Jackson 5's first Motown royalties, and rebuilt by Michael in the Eighties – is under renovation. But the studio, built by Michael in a brick building across the courtyard, happens to be roughly the size of a decent Manhattan apartment, with its own kitchen and bathroom. Paris has turned it into a vibe-y, cozy dorm room. 

Traces of her father are everywhere, most unmistakably in the artwork he commissioned. Outside the studio is a framed picture, done in a Disney-like style, of a cartoon castle on a hilltop with a caricatured Michael in the foreground, a small blond boy embracing him.It's captioned "Of Children, Castles & Kings." Inside is a mural taking up an entire wall, with another cartoon Michael in the corner, holding a green book titled The Secret of Life and looking down from a window at blooming flowers – at the center of each bloom is a cartoon face of a red-cheeked little girl.

Above an adjacent garage is a mini-museum Michael created as a surprise gift for his family, with the walls and even ceilings covered with photos from their history. Michael used to rehearse dance moves in that room; now Paris' boyfriend has his drum kit set up there.

We head out to a nearby sushi restaurant, and Paris starts to describe life in Neverland. She spent her first seven years in her dad's 2,700-acre fantasy world, with its own amusement park, zoo and movie theater. ("Everything I never got to do as a kid," Michael called it.) During that time, she didn't know that her father's name was Michael, let alone have any grasp of his fame. "I just thought his name was Dad, Daddy," she says. "We didn't really know who he was. But he was our world. And we were his world." (Paris declared last year's Captain Fantastic , where Viggo Mortensen plays an eccentric dad who tries to create a utopian hideaway for his kids, her "favorite movie ever.")

We couldn't just go on the rides whenever we wanted to," she recalls, walking on a dark roadside near the Encino compound. She likes to stride along the lane divider, too close to the cars – it drives her boyfriend crazy, and I don't much like it either. "We actually had a pretty normal life. Like, we had school every single day, and we had to be good. And if we were good, every other weekend or so, we could choose whether we were gonna go to the movie theater or see the animals or whatever. But if you were on bad behavior, then you wouldn't get to go do all those things." 

In his 2011 memoir, Michael's brother Jermaine called him "an example of what fatherhood should be. He instilled in them the love Mother gave us, and he provided the kind of emotional fathering that our father, through no fault of his own, could not. Michael was father and mother rolled into one."

Michael gave the kids the option of going to regular school. They declined. "When you're at home," says Paris, "your dad, who you love more than anything, will occasionally come in, in the middle of class, and it's like, 'Cool, no more class for the day. We're gonna go hang out with Dad.' We were like, 'We don't need friends. We've got you and Disney Channel!'" She was, she acknowledges, "a really weird kid."

Her dad taught her how to cook, soul food, mostly. "He was a kick-ass cook," she says. "His fried chicken is the best in the world. He taught me how to make sweet potato pie." Paris is baking four pies, plus gumbo, for grandma Katherine's Thanksgiving – which actually takes place the day before the holiday, in deference to Katherine's Jehovah's Witness beliefs.

Michael schooled Paris on every conceivable genre of music. "My dad worked with Van Halen, so I got into Van Halen," she says."He worked with Slash, so I got into Guns N' Roses. He introduced me to Tchaikovsky and Debussy, Earth, Wind and Fire, the Temptations, Tupac, Run-DMC."

"His number-one focus for us," says Paris, "besides loving us, was education. And he wasn't like, 'Oh, yeah, mighty Columbus came to this land!' He was like, 'No. He fucking slaughtered the natives.'" Would he really phrase it that way? "He did have kind of a potty mouth. He cussed like a sailor." But he was also "very shy."

Paris and Prince are quite aware of public doubts about their parentage (the youngest brother, Blanket, with his darker skin, is the subject of less speculation). Paris' mom is Debbie Rowe, a nurse Michael met while she was working for his dermatologist, the late Arnold Klein. They had what sounds like an unconventional three-year marriage, during which, Rowe once testified, they never shared a home. Michael said that Rowe wanted to have his children "as a present" to him. (Rowe said that Paris got her name from the location of her conception.) Klein, her employer, was one of several men – including the actor Mark Lester, who played the title role in the 1968 movie Oliver! – who suggested that they could be Paris' actual biological father.

Over popcorn shrimp and a Clean Mean Salmon Roll, Paris agrees to address this issue for what she says will be the only time. She could opt for an easy, logical answer, could point out that it doesn't matter, that either way, Michael Jackson was her father. That's what her brother – who describes himself as "more objective" than Paris – seems to suggest. "Every time someone asks me that," Prince says, "I ask, 'What's the point? What difference does it make?' Specifically to someone who's not involved in my life. How does that affect your life? It doesn't change mine."

But Paris is certain that Michael Jackson was her biological dad. She believes it with a fervency that is both touching and, in the moment, utterly convincing. "He is my father," she says, making fierce eye contact. "He will always be my father. He never wasn't, and he never will not be. People that knew him really well say they see him in me, that it's almost scary.

"I consider myself black," she says, adding later that her dad "would look me in the eyes and he'd point his finger at me and he'd be like, 'You're black. Be proud of your roots.' And I'd be like, 'OK, he's my dad, why would he lie to me?' So I just believe what he told me. 'Cause, to my knowledge, he's never lied to me.

"Most people that don't know me call me white," Paris concedes. "I've got light skin and, especially since I've had my hair blond, I look like I was born in Finland or something." She points out that it's far from unheard of for mixed-race kids to look like her – accurately noting that her complexion and eye color are similar to the TV actor Wentworth Miller's, who has a black dad and a white mom.

At first, she had no relationship with Rowe. "When I was really, really young, my mom didn't exist," Paris recalls. Eventually, she realized "a man can't birth a child" – and when she was 10 or so, she asked Prince, "We gotta have a mom, right?" So she asked her dad. "And he's like, 'Yeah.' And I was like, 'What's her name?' And he's just like, 'Debbie.' And I was like, 'OK, well, I know the name.'" After her father's death, she started researching her mom online, and they got together when Paris was 13.

In the wake of her treatment in Utah, Paris decided to reach out again to Rowe. "She needed a mother figure," says Prince, who declines to comment on his own relationship, or lack thereof, with Rowe. (Paris' manager declined to make Rowe available for an interview, and Rowe did not respond to our request for comment.) "I've had a lot of mother figures," Paris counters, citing her grandmother and nannies, among others, "but by the time my mom came into my life, it wasn't a 'mommy' thing. It's more of an adult relationship." Paris sees herself in Rowe, who just completed a course of chemo in a fight against breast cancer: "We're both very stubborn."

Paris Jackson was around nine years old when she realized that much of the world didn't see her father the way she did. "My dad would cry to me at night," she says, sitting at the counter of a New York coffee shop in mid-December, cradling a tiny spoon in her hand. She starts to cry too. "Picture your parent crying to you about the world hating him for something he didn't do. And for me, he was the only thing that mattered. To see my entire world in pain, I started to hate the world because of what they were doing to him. I'm like, 'How can people be so mean?'" She pauses. "Sorry, I'm getting emotional." 

Paris and Prince have no doubts that their father was innocent of the multiple child-molestation allegations against him, that the man they knew was the real Michael. Again, they are persuasive – if they could go door-to-door talking about it, they could sway the world."Nobody but my brothers and I experienced him reading A Light in the Attic to us at night before we went to bed," says Paris."Nobody experienced him being a father to them. And if they did, the entire perception of him would be completely and forever changed." I gently suggest that what Michael said to her on those nights was a lot to put on a nine-year-old. "He did not bullshit us," she replies. "You try to give kids the best childhood possible. But you also have to prepare them for the shitty world."

Michael's 2005 molestation trial ended in an acquittal, but it shattered his reputation and altered the course of his family's lives. He decided to leave Neverland for good. They spent the next four years traveling the world, spending long stretches of time in the Irish countryside, in Bahrain, in Las Vegas. Paris didn't mind – it was exciting, and home was where her dad was.

By 2009, Michael was preparing for an ambitious slate of comeback performances at London's O2 Arena. "He kind of hyped it up to us," recalls Paris. "He was like, 'Yeah, we're gonna live in London for a year.' We were super-excited – we already had a house out there we were gonna live in." But Paris remembers his "exhaustion" as rehearsals began. "I'd tell him, 'Let's take a nap,'" she says."Because he looked tired. We'd be in school, meaning downstairs in the living room, and we'd see dust falling from the ceiling and hear stomping sounds because he was rehearsing upstairs."

Paris has a lingering distaste for AEG Live, the promoters behind the planned This Is It tour – her family lost a wrongful-death suit against them, with the jury accepting AEG's argument that Michael was responsible for his own death. "AEG Live does not treat their performers right," she alleges. "They drain them dry and work them to death." (A rep for AEG declined comment.) She describes seeing Justin Bieber on a recent tour and being "scared" for him. "He was tired, going through the motions. I looked at my ticket, saw AEG Live, and I thought back to how my dad was exhausted all the time but couldn't sleep."

[nuvya]

Michael Jackson: The Human Being Behind The Superstar By Paris Jackson

Paris Jackson: Life After Neverland (Rolling Stone Interview )

In her first-ever in-depth interview, Michael Jackson's daughter discusses her father's pain and finding peace after addiction and heartache

Paris-Michael Katherine Jackson is staring at a famous corpse. "That's Marilyn Monroe," she whispers, facing a wall covered with gruesome autopsy photos. "And that's JFK. You can't even find these online." On a Thursday afternoon in late November, Paris is making her way through the Museum of Death, a cramped maze of formaldehyde-scented horrors on Hollywood Boulevard. It's not uncommon for visitors, confronted with decapitation photos, snuff films and serial-killer memorabilia, to faint, vomit or both. But Paris, not far removed from the emo and goth phases of her earlier teens, seems to find it all somehow soothing. This is her ninth visit. "It's awesome," she had said on the way over. "They have a real electric chair and a real head!"

Paris Jackson turned 18 last April, and moment by moment, can come across as much older or much younger, having lived a life that's veered between sheltered and agonizingly exposed. She is a pure child of the 21st century, with her mashed-up hippie-punk fashion sense (today she's wearing a tie-dye button-down, jeggings and Converse high-tops) and boundary-free musical tastes (she's decorated her sneakers with lyrics by Mötley Crüe and Arctic Monkeys; is obsessed with Alice Cooper – she calls him "bae" – and the singer-songwriter Butch Walker; loves Nirvana and Justin Bieber too). But she is, even more so, her father's child. "Basically, as a person, she is who my dad is," says her older brother, Prince Michael Jackson. "The only thing that's different would be her age and her gender." Paris is similar to Michael, he adds, "in all of her strengths, and almost all of her weaknesses as well. She's very passionate. She is very emotional to the point where she can let emotion cloud her judgment."

Paris has, with impressive speed, acquired more than 50 tattoos, sneaking in the first few while underage. Nine of them are devoted to Michael Jackson, who died when she was 11 years old, sending her, Prince and their youngest brother, Blanket, spiraling out of what had been – as they perceived it – a cloistered, near-idyllic little world. "They always say, 'Time heals,'" she says. "But it really doesn't. You just get used to it. I live life with the mentality of 'OK, I lost the only thing that has ever been important to me.' So going forward, anything bad that happens can't be nearly as bad as what happened before. So I can handle it." Michael still visits her in her dreams, she says: "I feel him with me all the time."

Michael, who saw himself as Peter Pan, liked to call his only daughter Tinker Bell. She has FAITH, TRUST AND PIXIE DUST inked near her clavicle. She has an image from the cover of Dangerous on her forearm, the Bad logo on her hand, and the words QUEEN OF MY HEART – in her dad's handwriting, from a letter he wrote her – on her inner left wrist. "He's brought me nothing but joy," she says. "So why not have constant reminders of joy?" 

She also has tattoos honoring John Lennon, David Bowie and her dad's sometime rival Prince – plus Van Halen and, on her inner lip, the word MÖTLEY (her boyfriend has CRÜE in the same spot). On her right wrist is a rope-and-jade bracelet that Michael bought in Africa. He was wearing it when he died, and Paris' nanny retrieved it for her. "It still smells like him," Paris says.

She fixes her huge blue-green eyes on each of the museum's attractions without flinching, until she comes to a section of taxidermied pets. "I don't really like this room," she says, wrinkling her nose. "I draw the line with animals. I can't do it. This breaks my heart." She recently rescued a hyperactive pit-bull-mix puppy, Koa, who has an uneasy coexistence with Kenya, a snuggly Labrador her dad brought home a decade ago.

Paris describes herself as "desensitized" to even the most graphic reminders of human mortality. In June 2013, drowning in depression and a drug addiction, she tried to kill herself at age 15, slashing her wrist and downing 20 Motrin pills. "It was just self-hatred," she says, "low self-esteem, thinking that I couldn't do anything right, not thinking I was worthy of living anymore." She had been self-harming, cutting herself, managing to conceal it from her family. Some of her tattoos now cover the scars, as well as what she says are track marks from drug use. Before that, she had already attempted suicide "multiple times," she says, with an incongruous laugh. "It was just once that it became public." The hospital had a "three-strike rule," she recalls, and, after that last attempt, insisted she attend a residential therapy program.

Home-schooled before her father's death, Paris had agreed to attend a private school starting in seventh grade. She didn't fit in – at all – and started hanging out with the only kids who accepted her, "a lot of older people doing a lot of crazy things," she says. "I was doing a lot of things that 13-, 14-, 15-year-olds shouldn't do. I tried to grow up too fast, and I wasn't really that nice of a person." She also faced cyberbullying, and still struggles with cruel online comments. "The whole freedom-of-speech thing is great," she says. "But I don't think that our Founding Fathers predicted social media when they created all of these amendments and stuff."

There was another trauma that she's never mentioned in public. When she was 14, a much older "complete stranger" sexually assaulted her, she says. "I don't wanna give too many details. But it was not a good experience at all, and it was really hard for me, and, at the time, I didn't tell anybody."

After her last suicide attempt, she spent sophomore year and half of junior year at a therapeutic school in Utah. "It was great for me," she says. "I'm a completely different person." Before, she says with a small smile, "I was crazy. I was actually crazy. I was going through a lot of, like, teen angst. And I was also dealing with my depression and my anxiety without any help." Her father, she says, also struggled with depression, and she was prescribed the same antidepressants he once took, though she's no longer on any psych meds.

Now sober and happier than she's ever been, with menthol cigarettes her main remaining vice, Paris moved out of her grandma Katherine's house shortly after her 18th birthday, heading to the old Jackson family estate. She spends nearly every minute of each day with her boyfriend, Michael Snoddy, a 26-year-old drummer – he plays with the percussion ensemble Street Drum Corps – and Virginia native whose dyed mohawk, tattoos and perpetually sagging pants don't obscure boy-band looks and a puppy-dog sweetness. "I never met anyone before who made me feel the way music makes me feel," says Paris. When they met, he had an ill-considered, now-covered Confederate flag tattoo that raised understandable doubts among the Jacksons. "But the more I actually got to know him," says Prince, "he's a really cool guy."

Paris took a quick stab at community college after graduating high school – a year early – in 2015, but wasn't feeling it. She is an heir to a mammoth fortune – the Michael Jackson Family Trust is likely worth more than $1 billion, with disbursements to the kids in stages. But she wants to earn her own money, and now that she's a legal adult, to embrace her other inheritance: celebrity.

And in the end, as the charismatic, beautiful daughter of one of the most famous men who ever lived, what choice did she have? She is, for now, a model, an actress, a work in progress. She can, when she feels like it, exhibit a regal poise that's almost intimidating, while remaining chill enough to become pals with her giant-goateed tattoo artist. She has impeccable manners – you might guess that she was raised well. She so charmed producer-director Lee Daniels in a recent meeting that he's begun talking to her manager about a role for her on his Fox show, Star . She plays a few instruments, writes and sings songs (she performs a couple for me on acoustic guitar, and they show promise, though they're more Laura Marling than MJ), but isn't sure if she'll ever pursue a recording contract.

Modeling, in particular, comes naturally, and she finds it therapeutic. "I've had self-esteem issues for a really, really long time," says Paris, who understands her dad's plastic-surgery choices after watching online trolls dissect her appearance since she was 12. "Plenty of people think I'm ugly, and plenty of people don't. But there's a moment when I'm modeling where I forget about my self-esteem issues and focus on what the photographer's telling me – and I feel pretty. And in that sense, it's selfish."

But mostly, she shares her father's heal-the-world impulses ("I'm really scared for the Great Barrier Reef," she says. "It's, like, dying. This whole planet is. Poor Earth, man"), and sees fame as a means to draw attention to favored causes. "I was born with this platform," she says. "Am I gonna waste it and hide away? Or am I going to make it bigger and use it for more important things?"

Her dad wouldn't have minded. "If you wanna be bigger than me, you can," he'd tell her. "If you don't want to be at all, you can. But I just want you to be happy."

At the moment, Paris lives in the private studio where her dad demoed "Beat It." The Tudor-style main house in the now-empty Jackson family compound in the LA neighborhood of Encino – purchased by Joe Jackson in 1971 with some of the Jackson 5's first Motown royalties, and rebuilt by Michael in the Eighties – is under renovation. But the studio, built by Michael in a brick building across the courtyard, happens to be roughly the size of a decent Manhattan apartment, with its own kitchen and bathroom. Paris has turned it into a vibe-y, cozy dorm room.

Traces of her father are everywhere, most unmistakably in the artwork he commissioned. Outside the studio is a framed picture, done in a Disney-like style, of a cartoon castle on a hilltop with a caricatured Michael in the foreground, a small blond boy embracing him.It's captioned "Of Children, Castles & Kings." Inside is a mural taking up an entire wall, with another cartoon Michael in the corner, holding a green book titled The Secret of Life and looking down from a window at blooming flowers – at the center of each bloom is a cartoon face of a red-cheeked little girl.

Paris' chosen decor is somewhat different. There is a picture of Kurt Cobain in the bathroom, a Smashing Pumpkins poster on the wall, a laptop with Against Me! and NeverEnding Story stickers, psychedelic paisley wall hangings, lots of fake candles. Vinyl records (Alice Cooper, the Rolling Stones) serve as wall decorations. In the kitchen, sitting casually on a counter, is a framed platinum record, inscribed to Michael by Quincy Jones ("I found it in the attic," Paris shrugs).

Above an adjacent garage is a mini-museum Michael created as a surprise gift for his family, with the walls and even ceilings covered with photos from their history. Michael used to rehearse dance moves in that room; now Paris' boyfriend has his drum kit set up there.

We head out to a nearby sushi restaurant, and Paris starts to describe life in Neverland. She spent her first seven years in her dad's 2,700-acre fantasy world, with its own amusement park, zoo and movie theater. ("Everything I never got to do as a kid," Michael called it.) During that time, she didn't know that her father's name was Michael, let alone have any grasp of his fame. "I just thought his name was Dad, Daddy," she says. "We didn't really know who he was. But he was our world. And we were his world." (Paris declared last year's Captain Fantastic , where Viggo Mortensen plays an eccentric dad who tries to create a utopian hideaway for his kids, her "favorite movie ever.")

"We couldn't just go on the rides whenever we wanted to," she recalls, walking on a dark roadside near the Encino compound. She likes to stride along the lane divider, too close to the cars – it drives her boyfriend crazy, and I don't much like it either. "We actually had a pretty normal life. Like, we had school every single day, and we had to be good. And if we were good, every other weekend or so, we could choose whether we were gonna go to the movie theater or see the animals or whatever. But if you were on bad behavior, then you wouldn't get to go do all those things." 

In his 2011 memoir, Michael's brother Jermaine called him "an example of what fatherhood should be. He instilled in them the love Mother gave us, and he provided the kind of emotional fathering that our father, through no fault of his own, could not. Michael was father and mother rolled into one."

Michael gave the kids the option of going to regular school. They declined. "When you're at home," says Paris, "your dad, who you love more than anything, will occasionally come in, in the middle of class, and it's like, 'Cool, no more class for the day. We're gonna go hang out with Dad.' We were like, 'We don't need friends. We've got you and Disney Channel!'" She was, she acknowledges, "a really weird kid."

Her dad taught her how to cook, soul food, mostly. "He was a kick-ass cook," she says. "His fried chicken is the best in the world. He taught me how to make sweet potato pie." Paris is baking four pies, plus gumbo, for grandma Katherine's Thanksgiving – which actually takes place the day before the holiday, in deference to Katherine's Jehovah's Witness beliefs.

Michael schooled Paris on every conceivable genre of music. "My dad worked with Van Halen, so I got into Van Halen," she says."He worked with Slash, so I got into Guns N' Roses. He introduced me to Tchaikovsky and Debussy, Earth, Wind and Fire, the Temptations, Tupac, Run-DMC."

She says Michael emphasized tolerance. "My dad raised me in a very open-minded house," she says. "I was eight years old, in love with this female on the cover of a magazine. Instead of yelling at me, like most homophobic parents, he was making fun of me, like, 'Oh, you got yourself a girlfriend.'

"His number-one focus for us," says Paris, "besides loving us, was education. And he wasn't like, 'Oh, yeah, mighty Columbus came to this land!' He was like, 'No. He fucking slaughtered the natives.'" Would he really phrase it that way? "He did have kind of a potty mouth. He cussed like a sailor." But he was also "very shy."

Paris and Prince are quite aware of public doubts about their parentage (the youngest brother, Blanket, with his darker skin, is the subject of less speculation). Paris' mom is Debbie Rowe, a nurse Michael met while she was working for his dermatologist, the late Arnold Klein. They had what sounds like an unconventional three-year marriage, during which, Rowe once testified, they never shared a home. Michael said that Rowe wanted to have his children "as a present" to him. (Rowe said that Paris got her name from the location of her conception.) Klein, her employer, was one of several men – including the actor Mark Lester, who played the title role in the 1968 movie Oliver! – who suggested that they could be Paris' actual biological father.

Over popcorn shrimp and a Clean Mean Salmon Roll, Paris agrees to address this issue for what she says will be the only time. She could opt for an easy, logical answer, could point out that it doesn't matter, that either way, Michael Jackson was her father. That's what her brother – who describes himself as "more objective" than Paris – seems to suggest. "Every time someone asks me that," Prince says, "I ask, 'What's the point? What difference does it make?' Specifically to someone who's not involved in my life. How does that affect your life? It doesn't change mine."

But Paris is certain that Michael Jackson was her biological dad. She believes it with a fervency that is both touching and, in the moment, utterly convincing. "He is my father," she says, making fierce eye contact. "He will always be my father. He never wasn't, and he never will not be. People that knew him really well say they see him in me, that it's almost scary.

"I consider myself black," she says, adding later that her dad "would look me in the eyes and he'd point his finger at me and he'd be like, 'You're black. Be proud of your roots.' And I'd be like, 'OK, he's my dad, why would he lie to me?' So I just believe what he told me. 'Cause, to my knowledge, he's never lied to me.

"Most people that don't know me call me white," Paris concedes. "I've got light skin and, especially since I've had my hair blond, I look like I was born in Finland or something." She points out that it's far from unheard of for mixed-race kids to look like her – accurately noting that her complexion and eye color are similar to the TV actor Wentworth Miller's, who has a black dad and a white mom.

At first, she had no relationship with Rowe. "When I was really, really young, my mom didn't exist," Paris recalls. Eventually, she realized "a man can't birth a child" – and when she was 10 or so, she asked Prince, "We gotta have a mom, right?" So she asked her dad. "And he's like, 'Yeah.' And I was like, 'What's her name?' And he's just like, 'Debbie.' And I was like, 'OK, well, I know the name.'" After her father's death, she started researching her mom online, and they got together when Paris was 13.

In the wake of her treatment in Utah, Paris decided to reach out again to Rowe. "She needed a mother figure," says Prince, who declines to comment on his own relationship, or lack thereof, with Rowe. (Paris' manager declined to make Rowe available for an interview, and Rowe did not respond to our request for comment.) "I've had a lot of mother figures," Paris counters, citing her grandmother and nannies, among others, "but by the time my mom came into my life, it wasn't a 'mommy' thing. It's more of an adult relationship." Paris sees herself in Rowe, who just completed a course of chemo in a fight against breast cancer: "We're both very stubborn."

Paris isn't sure how Michael felt about Rowe, but says Rowe was "in love" with her dad. She's also sure that Michael loved Lisa Marie Presley, whom he divorced two years before Paris' birth: "In the music video 'You Are Not Alone,' I can see how he looked at her, and he was totally whipped," she says with a fond laugh.

Paris Jackson was around nine years old when she realized that much of the world didn't see her father the way she did. "My dad would cry to me at night," she says, sitting at the counter of a New York coffee shop in mid-December, cradling a tiny spoon in her hand. She starts to cry too. "Picture your parent crying to you about the world hating him for something he didn't do. And for me, he was the only thing that mattered. To see my entire world in pain, I started to hate the world because of what they were doing to him. I'm like, 'How can people be so mean?'" She pauses. "Sorry, I'm getting emotional."

Paris and Prince have no doubts that their father was innocent of the multiple child-molestation allegations against him, that the man they knew was the real Michael. Again, they are persuasive – if they could go door-to-door talking about it, they could sway the world."Nobody but my brothers and I experienced him reading A Light in the Attic to us at night before we went to bed," says Paris."Nobody experienced him being a father to them. And if they did, the entire perception of him would be completely and forever changed." I gently suggest that what Michael said to her on those nights was a lot to put on a nine-year-old. "He did not bullshit us," she replies. "You try to give kids the best childhood possible. But you also have to prepare them for the shitty world."

Michael's 2005 molestation trial ended in an acquittal, but it shattered his reputation and altered the course of his family's lives. He decided to leave Neverland for good. They spent the next four years traveling the world, spending long stretches of time in the Irish countryside, in Bahrain, in Las Vegas. Paris didn't mind – it was exciting, and home was where her dad was.

By 2009, Michael was preparing for an ambitious slate of comeback performances at London's O2 Arena. "He kind of hyped it up to us," recalls Paris. "He was like, 'Yeah, we're gonna live in London for a year.' We were super-excited – we already had a house out there we were gonna live in." But Paris remembers his "exhaustion" as rehearsals began. "I'd tell him, 'Let's take a nap,'" she says."Because he looked tired. We'd be in school, meaning downstairs in the living room, and we'd see dust falling from the ceiling and hear stomping sounds because he was rehearsing upstairs."

Paris has a lingering distaste for AEG Live, the promoters behind the planned This Is It tour – her family lost a wrongful-death suit against them, with the jury accepting AEG's argument that Michael was responsible for his own death. "AEG Live does not treat their performers right," she alleges. "They drain them dry and work them to death." (A rep for AEG declined comment.) She describes seeing Justin Bieber on a recent tour and being "scared" for him. "He was tired, going through the motions. I looked at my ticket, saw AEG Live, and I thought back to how my dad was exhausted all the time but couldn't sleep."

Paris blames Dr. Conrad Murray – who was convicted of involuntary manslaughter in her father's death – for the dependency on the anesthetic drug propofol that led to it. She calls him "the 'doctor,'" with satirical air quotes. But she has darker suspicions about her father's death. "He would drop hints about people being out to get him," she says. "And at some point he was like, 'They're gonna kill me one day.'" (Lisa Marie Presley told Oprah Winfrey of a similar conversation with Michael, who expressed fears that unnamed parties were targeting him to get at his half of the Sony/ATV music-publishing catalog, worth hundreds of millions.)

Paris is convinced that her dad was, somehow, murdered. "Absolutely," she says. "Because it's obvious. All arrows point to that. It sounds like a total conspiracy theory and it sounds like bullshit, but all real fans and everybody in the family knows it. It was a setup. It was bullshit."

But who would have wanted Michael Jackson dead? Paris pauses for several seconds, maybe considering a specific answer, but just says, "A lot of people." Paris wants revenge, or at least justice. "Of course," she says, eyes glowing. "I definitely do, but it's a chess game. And I am trying to play the chess game the right way. And that's all I can say about that right now."

Michael had his kids wear masks in public, a protective move Paris considered "stupid" but later came to understand. So it made all the more of an impression when a brave little girl spontaneously stepped to the microphone at her dad's televised memorial service, on July 7th, 2009. "Ever since I was born," she said, "Daddy has been the best father you could ever imagine, and I just wanted to say I love him so much."

She was 11 years old, but she knew what she was doing. "I knew afterward there was gonna be plenty of shit-talking," Paris says, "plenty of people questioning him and how he raised us. That was the first time I ever publicly defended him, and it definitely won't be the last." For Prince, his younger sister showed in that moment that she had "more strength than any of us."

The day after her trip to the Museum of Death, Paris, Michael Snoddy and Tom Hamilton, her model-handsome, man-bunned 31-year-old manager, head over to Venice Beach. We stroll the boardwalk, and Snoddy recalls a brief stint as a street performer here when he first moved to LA, drumming on buckets. "It wasn't bad," he says. "I averaged out to a hundred bucks a day."

Paris has her hair extensions in a ponytail. She's wearing sunglasses with circular lenses, a green plaid shirt over leggings, and a Rasta-rainbow backpack. Her mood is darker today. She's not talking much, and clinging tight to Snoddy, who's in a Willie Nelson tee with the sleeves cut off.

We head toward the canals, lined with ultramodern houses that Paris doesn't like. "They're too harsh and bougie," she says. "It doesn't scream, 'Hey, come for dinner!'" She's delighted to spot a group of ducks. "Hello, friends!" she shouts. "Come play with us!"Among them are what appear to be an avian couple in love, paddling through the shallow water in close formation. Paris sighs and squeezes Snoddy's hand. "Goals," she says. "Hashtag 'goals.'"

Her spirits are lifting, and we walk back toward the beach to watch the sunset. Paris and Snoddy hop on a concrete barrier facing the orange-pink spectacle. It's a peaceful moment, until a middle-aged woman in neon jogging clothes and knee-length socks walks over.She grins at the couple as she presses a button on some kind of tiny stereo strapped to her waist, unleashing a dated-sounding trance song. Paris laughs and turns to her boyfriend. As the sun disappears, they start to dance.

From being a kick-ass cook to a strict dad, here are the 5 things we learned about the King of Pop from Paris Jackson.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B0kjc3VEwFM

[ajokeformur-ray]

Hi! Could I get a naruto, black butler and death note ship please?

I’m a bisexual female, I’m 5'10 and have short hair but I’m growing it out because I’ve gotten tired of short hair. I’m clumsy and shy when it comes to real life interactions but when I’m online I’m extremely open and a bit more confident (not much though). A lot of times when I first meet someone I end up telling them almost everything there is to know about myself so there are no secrets and so people have an idea of what they’re dealing with. I have really bad social anxiety off the internet in some situations though, like if I’m in crowded places I feel like I’m suffocating, or if I’m talking to someone I don’t know I’m really awkward and stutter a lot.

I’m really uncomfortable around children and I prefer to stay away from them. I like writing or reading and keeping to myself most of the time unless I’m forced to leave the house. I have mild bipolar disorder and depression, which really messes with me a lot but I try to ignore it if possible, if it’s not that easy then I seek out friends who could possibly help. I have little care about my own health or wellbeing.

I’m homeschooled and I have no friends outside of the internet. My favorite color is burgundy and I really like aesthetic photography, I like to browse around on tumblr or Pinterest to find such things.

In the future I want to become and author, it’s a dream I’ve had for a really long time and I’m even planning a book right now.

I love horror and spooky things that keep me on edge, I also really love circus’s and freak shows (so I guess you can imagine how much I loved season 3 of BB) and I even want to learn some of the acts like knife throwing, sword swallowing and contortion.

My favorite movies are Tim Burton movies, the Harry Potter series and Lord Of The Rings/The Hobbit. All of those are held extremely close to my heart since I grew up watching them.

I’m an extremely accepting person, I feel like I’d be friends with just about anyone depending on what they’ve done. I don’t judge easily or too harshly at least, I’m more of a jokester when it comes to all that.

I’m extremely insecure when it comes to affection since I’m not used to it, I haven’t been given much of that as a child and even still today so it makes me really uncomfortable sometimes and tends to scare me.

I think I’ve covered the more important parts. I hope this made things easy for you to match me with people 💗💗 thank you!! - @baritoneburps

Itachi

- When you meet Itachi and tell him everything relevant about you, he listens with an unreadable face, his eyes analysing your every movement, his mind analysing your every word and hearing what you don’t say as well as what you do. When you’re finished, he is silent for a long moment and then he thanks you for your candour. If you’re lucky, though you’re his s/o so you will be, he’d tell you a little bit about him, too, just to level the playing field. In a crowded place, Itachi would keep a hand hovering near the small of your back, not touching you, ready to steer you out of the crowd at a moment’s notice. 

- You’re very independent and you don’t ask much of anyone, which Itachi would find more of a bonus than most. He’s often away from the village on a mission so he needs an s/o who understands that he has a duty to his village that is bigger than he responsibilities with them, and he’d need his s/o to know that he can’t always check up on them or be there when they need someone. He would get annoyed by your lack of concern over your own health and would likly entrust you to Sasuke - that is to say, Sasuke drops by with food and the like with a, “Hn, I’m hungry so I bought food.” and he’d eat with you, making it look like he’s the one who needs company. This is all part of their arrangement and it suits everyone in varying degrees.

- Itachi would be sure to not spend time you with during school hours, thinking your studies more important than him - which is a valid point because while education is important, a relationship should never take priority over your future academically. Sometimes, if he has time on the way home from a mission, he’ll stop and buy a disposable camera and snap a few shots of the scenery, hoping you’ll appreciate them. He’s surprisingly good at photography… 

- Itachi would support you in your writing pursuits and would likely take you on dates to circuses and extreme talent acts, such as those who breathe fire. If he really wants to impress you, he might even show you a few of his jutsus, which are quite dangerous to perform and should be used as a last resort defence. When you’re down, Itachi would put on your favourite films and sit there with you, waiting for you to talk. If you don’t talk then it’s fine, he’ll simply observe you until he can figure it out for himself.

- Your extremely accepting nature only draws Itachi to you and he finds himself telling you about his missions - though he’s careful not to mention things that are meant to be kept confidential. He would spend more time with you at night, lying side by side but not touching unless you initiate it, and even then he’s careful to observe you for signs of discomfort - any hint of a sign and he won’t touch you for the rest of the night even if he’s in a cuddly mood. Itachi’s biggest flaw and greatest strength is the fact that he’s self-sacrificing.

Sebastian (be still, my heart…)

- Sebastian is 6′’1 (tol bean) so he’s a good height for you as far as aesthetics go. He’d be intrigued by how you differ online to how you are in real life and I suspect he’d try to help you with your confidence in real life by complimenting you - genuine compliments, he means what he says and never lies -  and would listen to you describe yourself. He might correct you on a few things if he thought you weren’t being completely truthful or if you had something wrong, but other than that he’d watch you with an unreadable face. He would then smirk, bow lowly, and tell you a bit about him. By the end of the conversation, you know each other well enough to know that you’re going to get on like a house on fire. When he has to plan social events, he always has a back-up plan to get you out of there if you need to.

- You keep yourself to yourself and that takes a weight off of his mind, especially if he rarely gets time off between managing the Manor, looking after Ciel, carrying out errands and cleaning up after everyone. It helps him to do his tasks efficiently when he knows that you’re two floors above him, curled up in the library reading or writing. He would be very curious and intrigued by your bipolar and depression and would ask you all about them, if you’d let him, and then he’d go off and do a bit of reseaarch. Within three days, he knows exactly how to help you before you even need help.

- Sebastian would be really good with your homeschooling as it’s not so different from Ciel’s own academic arrangements. I can see him flitting from room to room, helping each of you with your studies, though he tends to taunt Ciel when he can’t get an answer right as fast as he usually can. As far as aesthetic photography goes, Sebastian would always be armed with an empty camera on outings, ready to snap you a shot of whatever you find beautiful; though, sadly, he doesn’t ever let you photograph him.

- Sebastian would be quite supportive of your writing. It’s one of the oldest crafts that humankind has and he marvesl over how you can create a story from your own mind. He reads some of your work and he’s always too wuick and too thorouh for you to spot him/for him to leaavve signs that he’s been snooping. He would sometimes scare you, just to keep you on your toes. He is a demon, after all, and you need to be careful around him, something he never lets you forget. He will easily and happily show off for you, pulling all sorts of contortions and fire tricks out from his sleeves, sometimes literally, and will be your own entertainment system when he has the time to do so, even if it’s only for five minutes. He would ask you so many questions on your favourite films, even when you make him watch them all with you.

- With affection, it’s a luxury that Sebastian doesn’t ever need so he’d only touch you to stop you from tripping, slipping or if he has to rescue you when someone tries to storm the Manor - something they don’t walk away from unscathed. Your acceptance doesn’t surprise him but again, he wants to know why you’re so accepting and would wonder if you don’t sometimes have judgemental thoughts but you brush them off.

Misa

- Misa is very confident, almost excessively so because of her fame so you’d probably have to either... Deal with it or become more confident, or simply stay home when she goes to signings because they do get incredibly crowded. If you went with her to support her anyway, she’d tell one of her security guards - her most trusted one - to keep an eye out on you and if you have to go, you have to go that instant so that you don’t get panicky or overly anxious. She’d appreciate how open you are with her before the two of you got together and so nothing comes as a surprise She’s a lot more intelligent than she lets on, though sometimes you see glimpses of it.

- If any of these three would force you out of the house, it’d be Misa. If you didn’t want to though, she’d let you be, not wanting to upset you. She’d appreciate the quietness that comes with having you around as her life is so hectic and buy - and secretly murderous and dangerous - that coming home after a concert to you reading or writing makes her so drowsy she’d end up falling asleep beside you, her head resting on the back of the couch. It would bug her that you’re very careless with your health and well-being but there are times when she’s much the same way so she can’t say too much on the moral high ground. You’re always her biggest concern, though. That’s one thing that’d never change, no matter how deep into Kira’s web she became.

- You’re homeschooled and your only real contact with society is the internet, Misa and your family. She’s intelligent and perceptive and would always be able to help you with your work if you asked for or needed help, though she wouldn’t ever push it on you. She’d definitely buy you clothes in burgundy and would sincerely compliment you when you wear them wanting to give you a reason to feel confident about yourself.

- Misa could use her fame to get you along with your novel, if you wanted a bit of help getting out there and getting heard. She’d be very supportive of you. I mentioned Kira earlier and for sure, if you were together for longer than a year, she’d get you to touch the Note and she’d introduce you to Rem - you can’t get much creepier and scarier than a real Shinigami, and she certainly puts the Babadook to shame. Your dates tend to be to her concerts, though you’re allowed backstage as a VIP guest, or to circus and freakshows. Anything to make you smile, she’s down for. She’s selfless and while she can be self-centred at times, she always comes right back down to you. When you’re down or upset, your favourite films and snacks are her go-to solution.

- She loves how accepting and non-judgemental you are and she would definitely want you in Kira’s New World. If only people could be more like you, she’d think, then life would be better for everyone. She’s not much for affection and tends to use it as a weapon so really, it’d all be in your hands if you ever initiated it with her.

Hope you liked it! :)

[hollywriteslightly]

A place to call home

"You can't go home again," wrote Thomas Wolfe. For most of my life I've railed against accepting this unbearable truth, stubbornly searching in vain for a way back to homes that were lost to me; those of wood and nails, those found in other people, and, maybe the most elusive, a sense of home and belonging within myself. For all that time spent searching, what I never paused to consider was that I'd always held a way home very literally in the palm of my hand. I've wanted to be a writer since I was three years old, the age when my mother taught me to read. Our family home was on the northern end of the Gold Coast, a block from a glittering, shallow estuary of the Pacific Ocean called the Broadwater. I was always outdoors, in Mum's subtropical, ever-blooming garden – full of silver-green ironbark, scarlet bottlebrush and pink flowering tea trees – or at the sea; I could smell the salty pungency through my bedroom window. I used my life savings to leave Australia for England to give my writing dreams a wholehearted crack … I’d never been to Europe before, I was alone, and I knew no one. Illustration: Simon Letch My favourite stories were ones that reflected the landscapes I lived in: May Gibbs' Snugglepot and Cuddlepie, and Pixie O'Harris's Marmaduke the Possum. Both were tales embedded in Australian flora and fauna, told from European storytelling perspectives. As soon as I learnt to write and read, I started writing stories about gumtree kingdoms, paperbark queens, soldier crab warriors and wattle witches. When Mum added Indigenous Australian books to my library, such as Dick Roughsey's The Rainbow Serpent and The Quinkins, my fascination with the relationship between stories and landscapes deepened. As I grew older and began to choose my own books, I turned to young-adult novels and fairy tales, most of which were European or American; the culture of Sweet Valley High and The Baby-Sitters Club also mirrored most of the television and films I watched. When I was nine my family moved from Australia to North America. We rented a home in Vancouver, which we used as our base while we lived and travelled in a campervan from national park to national park throughout Canada and the US. The experience was like jumping into one of Mary Poppins' chalk drawings; suddenly I was in the world I'd read about in the adventures of the Wakefield twins, seen on Sunday night Disney television, and absorbed at the movies. North American landscapes, both wild and suburban, created an exotic sense of wonder and pure escapism that my homeland surroundings couldn't compete with. A couple of years later, on the cusp of becoming a teenager, I noticed in a vague way that the stories I was drawn to writing were always set overseas, even if the setting was only implied. It didn't feel like a conscious decision to separate my storytelling from my homeland, it was a default in my imagination. In my early 20s I moved inland to live and work in Australia's dramatically beautiful Western Desert, learning and sharing culture and stories with Anangu colleagues. For the first time I noticed a sense of Australian people, weather, bodies of water, flowers, and bushland creeping onto my page. But that wasn't to last; the desert was a landscape that became a home I loved and lost. I didn't leave because I wanted to. I left the desert because I was fleeing a violent relationship. This was not a new phenomenon to me. I had lived with male-perpetrated violence before. Ongoing research shows how traumatic experience changes the brain. According to author Michele Rosenthal, for trauma survivors who go on to develop symptoms of post traumatic stress disorder – an unmitigated experience of anxiety related to the past trauma – the shift from reactive to responsive mode never occurs. Instead, the brain holds the survivor in a constant reactive state. In my case, I lived with high-functioning fear and anxiety as a result of trauma. One of the ways this manifested was in my relationship with Australia. "Memory is the fourth dimension to any landscape," wrote Janet Fitch. By my late 20s, everything about home caused me pain and fear. Accumulated memories were embedded everywhere I'd ever been, in every sense and memory: the smell of the sea, the changing hues of red dirt. The feeling of summer heat softening in dusk air, and saltwater tightening my skin as it dried. Gum leaves hushing each other in the strengthening wind and the deep growl of thunderstorms; the smell of rain hitting baked dry earth. The unholy screech of cockatoos and drunken joy of rainbow lorikeet song at sunrise, and the haunting scents of wattle and honey grevillea in bloom. I tried different cities and jobs in Australia, but lived with the unending feeling that I belonged nowhere. I understand now that it wasn't only cultural influences that caused me to crave an escape from the familiarity of home in my writing. It was also my brain's response to trauma. Writing stories set elsewhere was an act of refuge; I wrote myself away from places that weren't safe, into fictional ones that were. The tipping point came during dinner with a trusted friend, who held space for us to talk about the debilitating sickness of shame as a result of trauma, and its consequential stasis. Why don't you go? I remember her asking. Make a new home, somewhere totally different. But choose a place that takes you towards writing. Don't leave yourself completely. I remember how time slowed between us at the dinner table as I took in her words. There was a spark in my belly as I considered following my childhood dream, the one thing that trauma had not extinguished. What would become of my life if I tried to follow and honour that one constant in how I identified and understood myself? An old memory arose: sitting at my childhood desk with the window open, sea breeze blowing in while, oblivious, I hand-wrote stories full of wonder. Everything I hoped for was possible. Six months after that dinner conversation, I used my life savings to leave Australia for England to give my writing dreams a wholehearted crack: I accepted a place at university in Manchester to do my master's of creative writing. I'd never been to Europe before, I was alone, and I knew no one. The contrast of the moody, consistently grey north-west of England to the extreme weather and bright colour of central eastern Australia was a deep shock. No matter though how I struggled with the lack of sunlight, the colourless skies and a dampness I could feel in my bones, it was also – immediately – a place of deep relief. Manchester was a tabula rasa; fear and anxiety were still enormous parts of my learnt behavioural responses, but, for maybe the first time in my independent adult life, I didn't panic about what or who might be around every proverbial corner. In my first week I met the kindest man I've ever known and somehow knew enough to not turn away from the sense of safety and sun-warmth being in his company gave me. I was on different time, under a different sky, with different trees, seasons, light, wildlife, cultures and people. And I'd gotten myself there to write, something I hadn't done in a long time. There was a brief period a few years earlier when I'd tried, but it had caused too much conflict in my relationship at the time. Held liable for the wandering depth and breadth of my imagination, I had hidden away my lifelong calling to write. Every new morning in Manchester, my mind seemed to unfurl a little bit more with another day of freedom and possibility. I took to my northern life with as much zest and gusto as I could muster. I started writing and, again, vaguely noticed most of my new writing was set everywhere and anywhere but Australia. I didn't return until 2012, three years after I'd left; I shook with fear for most of the long-haul flight to Brisbane. Homecoming was painful, poignant, anxious and beautiful. My fear was mainly unfounded, like a child's fear of the dark. When I returned to England six weeks later, a question began to form that I'd not considered before. It niggled and agitated deeply in my mind, a pea under a princess's mattresses. I wouldn't turn to it, I wouldn't ask it. I didn't want to have to answer. What does it mean to exile ourselves from the places that make us? Back in Manchester, a couple of years passed. I was writing regularly and working on storytelling projects that took me to places in the UK and Europe I never expected to go. I was in a healthy, loving relationship with a kind man. I felt safe. I began to trust myself. At the same time, the longer I stayed away from Australia, the louder the country started to call to me. In my dreams, in my memories and most of all, in the gaping spaces between the lines of everything I wrote. In 2014, when I sat down and wrote the first line of my first novel, it was immediately clear that the story was set in Australia. Even more surprising and unfamiliar to me was how utterly right it felt. I wrote the entire first draft of The Lost Flowers of Alice Hart in Manchester. Over 12 months my office, home, and wherever possible, wardrobe, became a trove of Australian native flora, scents, photos, art, music, poetry and objects. I was driven to embody my story's world as much as possible, insatiably hungry for the sea I grew up beside; the feeling of salt on my skin; the mystifying green sugar cane fields at the end of my grandmother's street; the peach and violet-blue sunsets I watched from my mum's verandah; the wildflowers and red dirt of my old desert home. Safe to freely remember the landscapes that meant home to me caused a hunger like first love. It was blissful, unstoppable agony to revive them to life on the page. It was blissful, unstoppable agony to realise I was writing my way back home to them and them to me; I was coming home to myself. I'm writing this at my desk in Manchester in mid-November, when the holly bushes and rowan trees have burst into red-berried bloom and night draws in at 4.30pm. People around me are buttoning up for winter. All this time of year signals to me is home: in a couple of weeks I'll pack my suitcase stuffed with togs, thongs and cotton dresses, and make what has become an annual pilgrimage south for a long slurp of summer in Mum's garden. The journey home has grown easier since 2012. With the publication this year of The Lost Flowers of Alice Hart, returning has become outright magical, and in all my years of travel the international arrivals gate at Brisbane Airport is still the best destination I know. The beauty of clutching my mum and stepdad, grinning with teary faces as we walk out into the sweltering humidity and I catch my first glimpse of gumtrees in their native soil, fills my heart like nothing else. Until I wrote Lost Flowers, I had thought that to escape trauma I needed to separate myself from everything that reminded me of it. But, it turns out home is deeper than pain, deeper than love. Those roots go deeper. The landscapes, flora and fauna that raised me will never be any further from me than the microsecond between my heart's beat or the unseeable dark in the blink of my eye. Those places are always there. Here. Home. Writing has been my homecoming in all senses, to places made of wood and nails, to accepting and reciprocating the love and kindness of others, and to learning that I wholly belong to myself. Maybe this is what Thomas Wolfe meant: we can never go back to what was. We can't go home again, to home as it was when we lost it. But we can find our own ways to return, anew. And in those ways, maybe everything we hope for can be possible.

© Holly Ringland 

First published in the Sydney Morning Herald's Good Weekend Summer 2018 reading issue: 10 short stories by 10 big authors. ​ With much gratitude to Editor, Katrina Strick. 

[estellacalvert]

The Potential of Film as a Medium FMP - blogpost

Film as an extension of photography

To begin with, I regarded film as an extension of photography. When watching commercial movies, what excited me most were the held frames. One that notably sticks in my memory is (I believe) from Once Upon a Time in the West (Sergio Leone, 1969,) although I must admit to only watching it in part while my dad had it on the TV, and if you asked me what it was about I would scarcely be able to tell you more than its genre. I am not even sure if my memory of the scene is correct, but the frame I recall was of a white building, with the camera set far away so that you could see clearly the blue sky and the horizon line that fell behind the building. The foreground was that dusty stone that seems almost terracotta in stark contrast to the blue, and the landform formed a frame around this building. This shot was held with no movement of the camera, and small black, ant-like figures walked around the area of the building. I just remember thinking ‘this would be a beautiful photograph, but it's more than a photograph – it's alive.' I think this more than anything is what drew me to the medium of film. More and more I found myself feeling that moments were inadequately captured in a photograph. Film made it easier for me to get at what I was trying to say – whether that was ‘look, how this line follows, how it looks like a drawing' or … Film, especially when observing things, gives me the power to record what I regard as a visual sentence. In my "sketches" each shot is one sentence: a change of frame in a continuous shot may relate to some kind of punctuation.

Post-production

Not only does film allow me to document my train of thought when looking at something, but through editing I can make connections between different clips that could have been considered as having no relevance to each other. The seams (when one shot changes to another) of a film are critical to the fluidity and continuity of the film as a whole, as it is not natural to have such immediate jump to another space, time, point of view etc. This is not how we experience our own reality, and so when viewing a film if there is no necessity or logic in the transition from one shot to another it can feel disjointed and jarring, and viewer engagement is easily lost. In editing footage, it's interesting to discover what shots complement each other hinged together. It allows for me to have control over what the viewer is likely to be thinking; I can guide their train of thought as if I were delivering to them a dictation – just as they would follow my words, they follow my image.

When watching films, I always take note of the seams. One of my favourite cinematic techniques I see used is when a frame is held for just a split second too long. For example, in John Crawly's Brooklyn, there is a scene where Saoirse Ronan is sat on a bench if I recall correctly, waiting for a ferry, and that basically sums up the entire shot. The difference being, and I remember this scene because it was the first sign this was drawn to my attention, is that the frame was held for longer than I expected. I realised I was almost counting down in my head when the shot was due to change. I think that it is true when it comes to cinema that we sense a general pattern din seams: we are used to seeing a character looking after another who has just walked out of frame for about 3 seconds; maybe a shot of a character deep in thought for about 5 seconds before the shot changes to show a close up of their face, so we may better understand just how deep in thought they actually are. I have been accustomed to expect these changes, and why I remember Brooklyn is because the change did not happen when I expected it to. The effect of this "second too long" was an almost tangible tension and sudden anxiety as a viewer – I felt as if I had been looking at the wrong thing, perhaps that's why my expectation was unfulfilled. I was left not just looking at the leading lady waiting for the scene to change but spurred into searching throughout the entire frame to try and assess what I might have missed. This meant when the scene did cut, soon after this (what I can only describe as a) little anxiety shock, the film had won my full attention. Amazed at the effect this technique had had on me, I always keep it in mind when constructing my own films. The balance is in knowing when a single shot has been held for too long to the point where it has lost its tension and the ability to cause that moment of slight stress at potentially mislead expectation.

Alain Fleischer makes the statement that "something is lost for the film to continue" when it moves from one shot to another (Film Cuts, 1995.) I think his implication that there is greater value in the subject matter of the film than in the actual film itself is not necessarily true. He assumes that "something is lost" when the shot changes, and in one sense I can understand since when editing my own footage there is often a sense of reluctance in having discard footage for the sake of the film as a whole. However, I hope I have argued that there is something to be gained in these abstract interruptions through the medium of film.

Relationship to light and space

One property of film that broadens its potential as a medium is its intrinsic relationship to light and space. The very first moving images were created using firelight and material form to create shadows on stone walls, making the immediate world an image. With advances in technology, there are different ways in which light can be used to permit the experience of film. We are very familiar with screens; film seems to exist within them, and if we wanted to we can go right up to the film and touch it, and it will stay under our fingertips. In this way it is very controlled, contained. Even the shape of our screens resembles a frame, and I feel like choosing to display a film work on a screen on the wall invites the viewer to consider the work in a very similar way to displaying any other rectangular composition on the wall whether it be a painting, print or photograph. 

I think the medium of film has greater potential through the means of projection. Light is both a wave and a particle; When an object is projected, be it moving image or photograph, it inherits both the material and incorporeal properties of light. You can feel the energy of the projected image (moving or still) and know that it is not contained to the boundaries of a screen but takes on the space around it. If you were to go up to try and touched a projected film, you would find yourself left with your shadow: you cannot touch the object under your fingers; its existence is not defined to a given space, and if you raise your hand in front of the light, you in effect alter that objects existence for as long as you choose to keep it there. Tacita Dean in her exhibition Portrait at the National Portraits Gallery in 2018 used semi-opaque lightweight board as the surface upon which to project her works. You could walk round the suspended film and view it from both sides, and the space in the darkened room surrounding fell  away. The floating films seemed to transcend, the energy of the projected light being so focused and concentrated onto their designated space. 

(I recently took a different approach to projection. In a group crit I chose to project a film across a large spread of wall, which meant that the film functioned more in creating an atmosphere and altering the viewing experience of other pieces of work rather than being considered in a one to one dialogue with the viewer.) 

While I am aware that this may sound very lofty, I genuinely believe it to be true. There is so much more energy contained within a film when it is projected; when it doesn't depend on a wall, a canvas, or any other set surface. It could exist anywhere.

This also is what helped film so accessible to the public in history, as it was able to be delivered to audiences anywhere so long as there was a means of projection and a wall. Working with projection, therefore, offers a great deal of flexibility: a film can be distorted by exploiting the surface it's projected onto, made to take up a greater or lesser amount of space. In the future, I think the idea of projecting onto public buildings could be really interesting – since the image created has no permanence, the duration I would be allowed to continue what I would be doing before being asked to stop, especially with films that are about exploring different media.

The moving image and the temporality of film

Film is a fascinating medium to be working with now as our relationship with time is changing. Everything is becoming faster, and with that comes the expectation that we become faster as well. Film can be difficult to engage with sometimes purely because it demands time from the viewer. While it is true that any artwork which aims to be considered demands time, the way in which film demands time is different because time exists within the film. A film's request of a viewer's time seems a lot more formal than the request of a painting, because the film's time request is specific, whereas the request of the painting is indefinite and ambiguous. When using film as a medium, there is an extent to which the filmmaker has complete control over the length of the conversation between itself and the viewer (to hark back to my previous analogy of a film as a sentence.) But this can make the relationship between the object of film and the viewer dictatorial. The exchange completely breaks down if the viewer decides to cut the exchange short by removing themselves, and the choice to do this feels a lot more detrimental than when the same choice is made in front of a painting. There is no concept of "start" or "finish" with other mediums. Consequently, someone can disengage at any time without causing any real offense. However, film cannot shake itself of this concept of "start" and "finish." Even if a film is played on a loop, the fact it cannot be its whole self all at once still demands this linear definition; the object of film exists in time, not materiality.

The fact that a film cannot be its entire self all at once is an intrinsic characteristic of moving image. After all, all film is numerous still images shown in quick succession so as to feign movement. No one image is any less a part of the film, but none of them alone can make it up. It is not even enough for them to exist together, they must exist in running succession, otherwise, the object in question is not a moving image. This calls into question when the moving image actually is, what is it and how can it simultaneously be one thing and a plurality of things? The question of the movement of film challenges its wholeness and integrity, and I think this element of film has incredible philosophical potential worth exploring.

People on film

People or persons as the subject of film draws the medium out of philosophical abstraction. It grounds it in something we consider real, and that we can immediately relate to our everyday experience of the world. The fact that film is able to use real images (‘real' here used in a sentimental, not scientific sense) that directly relate to our experienced reality gives the medium unparalleled potential to construct characters. The consideration of characters pulls film into a different playing field – it is at this point that I feel the distinction between the terms "film" and "movie" becomes blurred. When I think of the potential of film with regards to character, a number of what I would consider "movies" come to mind; I think that part of the difference is made by the fact that the object of film is being used to ends entirely separate from the medium itself: in movies, film is the medium of storytelling, but storytelling is not a prerequisite of film as a medium.

One of the movies that come to mind is Peter Farrelly's Green Book. The subject of the movie is, in fact, the relationship between two unlikely companions, and each scene is geared towards the telling of their shared story. Other subjects of the film tackled issues of race and prejudice, but in reality, these were by-products of the primary subject, questions that were raised due to the nature of their relationship. It is undeniable that a focus on character has the ability to have a significant impact on a viewer, and in the case of Green Book I left the cinema with a feeling of something between happiness and joy – I had fallen in love with Tony and witnessing the loving relationship between him and Dr Shirley left me unable to stop smiling for the next 45 minutes.

Another movie which had a similar effect was Naomi Kawase's An. The plot of this film is incredibly simple, and if asked what it is about the tempting answer to give is "bean paste." While this is not entirely wrong, it is misleading. The movie forms the character of Tokue, an eccentric old lady with leprosy, with incredible sensitivity and managed to move me to tears within the first 10 minutes. Although this is perhaps more telling of me as a viewer than the movie, I think it is true to say that when the subject of film is human, emotions come into play – although this is more the potential of persons as subject as opposed to the potential of film as a medium. I think this is an important distinction relevant to my art practice: I am concerned primarily with the properties of the object of the medium in question, not the subject.

To come back to the focus of this inquiry, I think Han Bo's An Elephant Sitting Still is a good example of a work that almost calls for the title "movie," but not quite. It is interesting that in all the descriptions of this work I have read, it is referred to as a "feature-length film." Bo uses character as a tool to talk about the harsh society of impoverished urban China. His effective use of character accompanied by his skilled use of his chosen medium meant that he was able to hold my attention to his dictation for just under 4 hours. The way he builds character is not through dialogue, a critical tool for character building used in the previous two movies I have mentioned, but through image (his choice of shot, from the length of time it is held to how close to the character the viewer is allowed) and action (how the characters act and interact with their environment in the film – the choices they choose to make.)

Film and abstraction

While reading The Cinema Effect by Sean Cubitt, I found it fascinating that after reading for a good hour, only once had the camera been referenced in a mention of the shutter. That was it. This was strange to me since in doing film, the camera is indispensable. As an extension of the filmmaker, it is the means of creating film. Film cannot happen without the camera (or perhaps it can…this may be something I return to for later inquiry.) This being said, it is true that when experiencing cinema, one is not thinking about the camera; it departs from its means of creation. This distancing effect, the ability film has to transcend the material yet retain the façade of being of our world and retaining features that we recognise as belonging to our own reality, gives film the potential to abstract subject matter, while making it feel less abstract. I will attempt to illustrate this point further: in personalising an individual through film, giving insight into their private world, their private thoughts, makes the viewer feel closer to them, and feel as if they are less abstract due to their enhanced understanding of the individual. However, to personalise the individual is to abstract them from the social world. Even the individuals closest to us, our friends and family members, are not to us personalised in this way. Other people are object – we can refer to them by name, we can describe them with language. The personalisation of individuals and even places through film lifts them out of the object realm of language and into the subject realm of experience, the experience of the individual becomes the defining element, and so the individual has been abstracted.

The film Lost Highway (David Lynch) has no moral, its plot is incoherent, you do not warm to any of the characters, it does not have any profound emotional or intellectual impact. I found that you can take nothing of value away from this film – all of its value is completely contained within the experience of watching it. This is why I think it is a good example of film's potential to be abstract, in the same way, a painting might be, but obviously with their necessary distinctions.

The expectant relationship we have to film

Our present relationship to film originates in the shortening of the working week in the late 1800s across Europe and North America, which gave people a lot more surplus time, and led to the commodifying of film. This is what has framed our standards and expectations of being entertained by film – this was displayed very clearly when the feedback cards from the 2018 Turner Prize exhibition, which consisted of 4 films, contained comments like "would have been better with comfy chairs and popcorn." I don't think I have ever gone to a gallery with the intention of viewing art expecting there to be snacks to enhance my experience, nor have I left thinking "that would have been better with biscuits." Film's intrinsic relationship to cinema cannot be ignored when presenting work to a public audience.

The question stands as to whether this association of film and cinema is a limitation of film as an artistic medium, or offers the artistic medium potential. Undoubtedly, film's connection to cinema can bring the subjects of art to more people. Film is accessible and does not have the same class boundaries historically that art does, hence its potential capacity to bridge the high-low art gap.  Film has the potential to reference itself without undermining it: you can make a film about film without undermining film. "Art" does not have this capacity: you cannot make art about art without undermining art.

[bellabooks]

“Wonder Woman” and the wonders of writing women

Wonder Woman, the latest in the DC Comics film franchise, will be released in theaters on June 2, 2017.  It’s noteworthy because the Wonder Woman character is the only female superhero featured in this line-up, soon to be followed by Aquaman and The Flash in 2018. These films, including Shazam, will continue the all-male tradition of superhero films. Bella authors, who regularly write about women, definitely have something to say about this iconic character. Renée J. Lukas, a Bella author and film fanatic, shares her perspective on this momentous step by Warner Bros., and why it’s so important to increase female visibility in film.   Why Did it Take So Long for Wonder Woman to be Brought to the Big Screen? Warner Bros. response: they found it difficult because they knew they had to “get it right.” You’re darn right they did. They had to make her soft enough to appeal to the traditional members of the audience, but badass enough to appeal to women like me who are still likely to rake them over the coals for her skimpy outfit. Heck, even if the movie is absolutely perfect, some critics, including myself, are still not likely to be happy about it. So is it any wonder a studio would fear Wonder Woman? But eventually, the public outcry about Wonder Woman’s omission from the Marvel superhero line-up became too deafening. And now, a gazillion years later, action has finally been taken.   What is the Problem with Wonder Woman? First, let’s be clear. It isn’t Wonder Woman’s fault. Her character has the same problem that the first LGBT character or black character or Hispanic character or Asian character, etc. has. When you’re the lone example of your group, (in this case—in a particular genre), standing on the horizon, everyone is going to assume you represent ALL of your group, which is never the case. And that’s a lot of pressure, even for a fictitious character.   We Haven’t Come a Long Enough Way, Baby The more pervasive problem: According to the acclaimed documentary MissRepresentation, only 16% of women are protagonists, or main characters, in U.S. movies. Women make up 51% of the U.S. population, yet are virtually non-existent in leading roles in big studio films. Yes, there are exceptions, but this is still the rule. And the numbers are worse when talking about the superhero genre. So in that context, the pressure is really on Wonder Woman’s shoulders, as a shining beacon of female superhero-ness. The solution? Fill the screens with more women, so they can be treated as diverse characters the way male characters are. What a revolutionary idea! Among male characters on the big screen, you have your heroes, your bad apples, your much older men who happen to still be alive after age forty, and you have your heroic but flawed guys. Guess what? I’ll let you in on a big secret. Come a little closer. . . women are like that, too! Who knew?   Hollywood’s Female Problem In the superhero/action genre, male writers seem to have a block when it comes to writing women. In other words, they can’t do it. The problem is they see a man at the center of the universe, and any woman who enters the plot is usually just a manifestation of male fantasy—the love interest. But a love interest isn’t a real person who yells back at the TV news, who steps in something sticky on a sidewalk. . .things mere mortals do. A love interest is on a pedestal, so her lines are very limited and reveal little about her as a person. The love interest’s dialogue is populated with things that assist the male character, lines like “Can I help? You seem tense.” Why does this matter? Statistically speaking, whenever you go to the movies, 9 times out of 10 you’re seeing a film directed by a man. Since film is the most powerful medium in shaping cultural attitudes, this translates to a male-dominated viewpoint that profoundly impacts our collective consciousness. Let that sink in a moment. Even in classics like Casablanca, they shot Ingrid Bergman with a high angle so the audience was literally looking down on her, while looking up at Humphrey Bogart with a low angle. Imagine that.  It’s so disturbing it’s worthy of a separate blog.   Bella Books and the Deep, Deep Secrets of Writing Women At Bella Books, we writers are used to writing women as people—flawed, magnificent, not-so-magnificent. . . and our readers find our characters to be colorful, often relatable and even frustrating at times. It’s ironic, though. Even as lesbians who do find women to be our “love interests,” we tend to treat women to a fully multi-dimensional existence in our stories. In my comedy, The Comfortable Shoe Diaries, there’s a woman plagued by anxiety disorders. In Hurricane Days, there are double-crossing women whose intentions (they both think) are equally honorable. But these women aren’t all good or all bad.  Like life, there’s plenty of gray area. It baffles me to see how Hollywood continues to stuff female characters in boxes. All you have to do is live a little, and you’ll meet so many wild, weird, wonderful women. Why is it so puzzling to write about them?   How a Trope Becomes a Trope So we’re left with female film tropes and very little deviation from them. Why does this happen? A trope becomes a trope when a writer copies what he sees in other works without drawing from his own experience. It’s lazy writing, to say the least. Either that, or the only women most male writers in Hollywood have ever met have been prostitutes, strippers or the always supportive housewives who are content to live their lives through the actions of their husbands—the ones who wait at the door with a fresh avocado and a neck rub. Personally, I’ve never met any of these women. Back to superheroes. As someone who likes character-driven stories, I’ll admit I’m not a big Avengers/Marvel franchises fan. I don’t enjoy watching stories where the women are placed as props for the men, which is so often the case. But it didn’t always seem this way. In the mid-‘70s Superman franchise, Margot Kidder’s Lois Lane had way more personality than the cardboard “love interest” we see so much of today. In fact, her character was infused with plenty of the drive you see in women trying to make a name for themselves in the big city. She was humorous and lovable, not just a silky voiced woman who slid on stockings at just the right camera angle. Unfortunately, women in many of today’s superhero films are on set merely as decorations with extra cleavage. Or, “Oh look, she can kick bad guys while wearing a skin tight suit!” The flip side: When a female superhero is included, meaning she has more than three lines, the idea is that she must be as tough and badass as possible in order to be considered equal to the male characters. Now I’ll admit Scarlett Johansson’s Black Widow can tie me up any day. But this thinking leaves you with heroes that must continuously be bigger and badassier than ever until there’s hardly a shred of humanity left in the character—or until they’re all more like stereotypical action guys. Is that true equality? It’s nothing but punching and kicking and more action than an energy drink commercial. It’s exhausting. Now I understand that fans of superhero action flicks aren’t going for depth of character. Your expectations for dialogue are more like “Hand me that rope!” with a focus on the death-defying situations that will be faced. I get that. I also get that we’ve had some films that dared to put a woman front and center in the action genre—a risky move indeed. (Not risky, but the studios seem to think it is.) Speaking of Scarlett Johansson, she’s enjoyed some success as the lead in the traditionally male sci-fi genre with incredible films like Lucy and Under the Skin.  Oh, and who can forget Sigourney Weaver carrying the Alien franchise. . . But for some reason, the superhero genre has eluded female characters for quite some time. I did believe they’d use every last male character in their line-up (Ant Man? Squid Guy? Sewage Rat. . .), anyone else, before attempting a female superhero. Now that it’s happening, we have to hope it won’t be a one-shot wonder.   Sometimes Being a Lesbian Complicates Things As a lesbian, I always feel conflicting emotions when I think of iconic women in movies. On the one hand, in my mind, no one but Lynda Carter will ever be fit to throw that golden lasso. And yes, she’s older now AND still sexy. If Jack Nicholson can play roles until he’s a hundred, Lynda Carter can still be Wonder Woman. Next, it would be great if Wonder Woman is hot, but not in a male titillation kind of way. Now hear me out. . . Since nearly everything in Hollywood is written, packaged and produced for the male gaze, I cringe at the thought of Wonder Woman being yet another prop for male fantasy. Of course this begs the question—what are the differences, even subtle, between lesbian and straight male fantasies? I’d argue there are differences in the way sexy women are depicted, but sometimes there’s probably overlap. For me, it boils down to the under-representation of women in front of and behind the camera, as mentioned earlier. So despite my overall wariness about superhero/action movies, I’ll be going to see Wonder Woman in theaters when it comes out, hopefully to break box office records, to send a message to studios that female characters CAN and SHOULD open a tentpole film, and that women in Hollywood should be paid what their male counterparts are paid. As of now, it’s a political act. And it will continue to be a political act until female characters are as diverse as males, and until it’s not such a big deal to have a female superhero headlining a film. Renée J. Lukas holds a B.A. in Motion Picture History, Theory & Criticism from Wright State University. She is the author of four books published by Bella Books, the latest one, In Her Eyes, due out this July. http://dlvr.it/PJSxX8

[captainswan-asyouwish]

6 years… 6 years Emma Swan has become a part of me. 6 years I have found a huge part of me inside this broken woman. 6 years I have never stop admiring her. From the woman who couldn’t give her trust to anyone, lonely, living in the darkness, hopeless, feeling unloved, running away to protect herself from suffering, wearing an armor for not being hurt. This Emma was and still is me. I loved watching her opening herself, finding her family, finding love, being vulnerable and  stay the strong hero I have loved from the beginning. Her character development is so beautiful. I am so proud of her. I love Emma Swan. I will always love Emma Swan. I also know if I love her so much, it’s because of Jennifer Morrison and the perfect way she gave life to her and her emotions. My life is chaotic. So much. And my light in this darkness I am surrounded by was Emma and her journey, and Captain Swan, and JMo. She has given me strengh, she has given me hope when everything was more hopeless than ever, she has given me the inspiration to never give up, because of her I didn’t feel too alone even if every single day I have to deal with loneliness, but I still need her to take my hand to move forward…

I knew something was going on about Emma, Jen and the possible season 7, I could feel it, I could see it from little spots here and there since weeks, but I didn’t want to believe it. Keep hoping. Stay in denial. It couldn’t be possible. I was looking for all the tiny things that could make me believe I was wrong to think it was happening… I stayed focused on this desperate season 7 I was sure we would have to say goodbye properly and have one more year to prepare myself to « let go », but I prayed for a season 7 with Jennifer, with Emma, with Captain Swan. But now it will never happen. Instead of that, I must deal with a huge anxiety and pain in a few days because the farewell will be on next Sunday and we were not warned in a decent time for that. Right after an amazing episode and a wonderful event we have been waited for 5 damn long years… There are still so many things I wanted to see in Emma’s life. Canon things I wanted to see in her life. I wanted to see her and Killian happily married and dealing with things of life. I wanted her to give birth to her second child she would never abandon, I wanted her to be the mother she couldn’t have been for Henry. I wanted to see her and the family she and Killian would build. And so much more…  

I love Jennifer. I respect her decision and I understand why she took it. She probably had to deal a lot with what to do and it was probably very hard for her too… But God I will miss her. Beyond words. She has been a part of my life since much more years than OUAT. Since House. Because my Mom loved House and I watched with her from the beginning, and I loved Cameron (I stopped watching House when she left, as well as I will stop watching OUAT if ABC, A&E go for one more season -and only be back for the only episode she will be back in-). From this period, I think Jen has never really left me. She has always been on my TV week after week. Even if there was about a year between her departure from House and her arrival on HIMYM, I didn’t really realize it because House was aired later than in the US in France so her absence was shorter than it really was. And she filmed the pilot of OUAT when she played on HIMYM so I knew she was coming back just a few months after her last appearance on the sitcom. So many years growing up with Jennifer Morrison as an inspiration. As a guide, a « mentor ». I know I am a grown up now, but a grown up with severe issues, an empty life that needed to be fullfilled with stuff like a fictional character and her journey, and the actress who gave life to her. Today, I feel more lonely than ever. I have the feeling I lost a part of me. And I don’t know if I will find this part of me again. Someday. My heart has been ripped out from my chest and someone is crushing it. Crushing it. Crushing it. Over and over again. I feel pain. Anxiety. Sadness. I am breathless. Empty. The hole in my chest is too big. And tomorrow is uncertain (how ironic it is to write those three little words now). I don’t know how to handle the blurry times to come without Emma Swan coming back in my life after summer, without watching at Jen’s acting week after week. It means no spoilers pics from set. No fangirling over new things that will happen. It means no more San Diego Comic Con this summer to fangirl over interviews of her and Colin. It means no more OUAT… How will I fulfill my empty and pathetic and chaotic life with those sweet little moments that will never come back ? Her new projects will now be so different. I am so proud of the direction she wants to give to her carreer. She is extremely talented and she is a brilliant director. She will amaze all of us in the future with her projects. She says she will still act. But I don’t think she wants to be on a TV show again. And I will miss that. A lot. I wish her all the best but I’m gonna miss her so much. Too much. I have the feeling I am losing my « best friend » in some ways…

I don’t know how to handle the pain I feel. I don’t know how to fix my broken heart. I wish I had other « real » things to focus on and happy things too… Instead of that, everything is becoming darker. Emma and Jen were my lights. And they are leaving for new horizons. I have never been so attached to fictional characters, to an actor or actress, to a fictional couple. Things will never be the same… Time will do its job to soothe the pain, I know that. But I also know it will be very long. And right now, I can just cry. I haven’t stopped since the minute Jen posted her message on Facebook. I don’t know when I won’t have enough tears to stop crying. But I am exhausted to cry. And it physically and mentally hurts… And I feel stupid. And so lonely. I know there is still Tumblr and I am so grateful for that. I am glad I joined in 3A after one year of lurking. Since then, you all have making my days. So many hours to smile, laugh, and cry together. Thank you for being a part of me too. Keep making gifsets, keep writing beautiful metas, keep drawing amazing fanarts and funny strips. Especially now. It will help to get better day after day... We are in the same boat after all. At different degrees of sadness, but in the same boat.

And you know what ? When I think about all of this and the pain and the tears, I am pissed. Not at Jen. Not at all. But at ABC. At Adam and Eddy. It’s their fault if today, I am a total and complete mess. We should have been warned a long time ago that what would happen with the show. Instead of that, they have decided to let us hope. For nothing. They had to give us time to prepare ourselves for that moment. Everything is too rushed now. And it’s not possible to deal with that so quickly. I will try to enjoy the season (series) finale. But it will be very hard and every minute of it will drive us closer to the end. And what a great end that keeping the young married couple separated about 95% of the double episode… It will be so cool as a farewell (irony). Yay, enjoy the last two minutes of Captain Swan you will have, because that’s all what you get! I am not okay. This is not the end I expected. And I should stop writing this incoherent and boring post right now, before I can’t see the words again because of the tears…

I am sad. It’s a sad day. And it will be rainy days for a long time…