#and that animals in captivity have had a rather awful history

[jouno-s]

i think maybe it’s a little telling that almost every person i’ve had the ‘are zoos/aquariums ethical?’ debate with doesn’t actually work in the industry or have any animal-specific education

[bao3bei4]

fan language: the victorian imaginary and cnovel fandom

there’s this pinterest image i’ve seen circulating a lot in the past year i’ve been on fandom social media. it’s a drawn infographic of a, i guess, asian-looking woman holding a fan in different places relative to her face to show what the graphic helpfully calls “the language of the fan.”

people like sharing it. they like thinking about what nefarious ancient chinese hanky code shenanigans their favorite fan-toting character might get up to⁠—accidentally or on purpose. and what’s the problem with that?

the problem is that fan language isn’t chinese. it’s victorian. and even then, it’s not really quite victorian at all. 

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fans served a primarily utilitarian purpose throughout chinese history. of course, most of the surviving fans we see⁠—and the types of fans we tend to care about⁠—are closer to art pieces. but realistically speaking, the majority of fans were made of cheaper material for more mundane purposes. in china, just like all around the world, people fanned themselves. it got hot!

so here’s a big tipoff. it would be very difficult to use a fan if you had an elaborate language centered around fanning yourself.

you might argue that fine, everyday working people didn’t have a fan language. but wealthy people might have had one. the problem we encounter here is that fans weren’t really gendered. (caveat here that certain types of fans were more popular with women. however, those tended to be the round silk fans, ones that bear no resemblance to the folding fans in the graphic). no disrespect to the gnc old man fuckers in the crowd, but this language isn’t quite masc enough for a tool that someone’s dad might regularly use.

folding fans, we know, reached europe in the 17th century and gained immense popularity in the 18th. it was there that fans began to take on a gendered quality. ariel beaujot describes in their 2012 victorian fashion accessories how middle class women, in the midst of a top shortage, found themselves clutching fans in hopes of securing a husband.

she quotes an article from the illustrated london news, suggesting “women ‘not only’ used fans to ‘move the air and cool themselves but also to express their sentiments.’” general wisdom was that the movement of the fan was sufficiently expressive that it augmented a woman’s displays of emotion. and of course, the more english audiences became aware that it might do so, the more they might use their fans purposefully in that way.

notice, however, that this is no more codified than body language in general is. it turns out that “the language of the fan” was actually created by fan manufacturers at the turn of the 20th century⁠—hundreds of years after their arrival⁠ in europe—to sell more fans. i’m not even kidding right now. the story goes that it was louis duvelleroy of the maison duvelleroy who decided to include pamphlets on the language with each fan sold.

interestingly enough, beaujot suggests that it didn’t really matter what each particular fan sign meant. gentlemen could tell when they were being flirted with. as it happens, meaningful eye contact and a light flutter near the face may be a lingua franca.

so it seems then, the language of the fan is merely part of this victorian imaginary we collectively have today, which in turn itself was itself captivated by china.

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victorian references come up perhaps unexpectedly often in cnovel fandom, most often with regards to modesty.

it’s a bit of an awkward reference considering that chinese traditional fashion⁠—and the ambiguous time periods in which these novels are set⁠—far predate victorian england. it is even more awkward considering that victoria and her covered ankles did um. imperialize china.

but nonetheless, it is common. and to make a point about how ubiquitous it is, here is a link to the twitter search for “sqq victorian.” sqq is the fandom abbreviation for shen qingqiu, the main character of the scum villain’s self-saving system, by the way.

this is an awful lot of results for a search involving a chinese man who spends the entire novel in either real modern-day china or fantasy ancient china. that’s all i’m going to say on the matter, without referencing any specific tweet.

i think people are aware of the anachronism. and i think they don’t mind. even the most cursory research reveals that fan language is european and a revisionist fantasy. wikipedia can tell us this⁠—i checked!

but it doesn’t matter to me whether people are trying to make an internally consistent canon compliant claim, or whether they’re just free associating between fan facts they know. it is, instead, more interesting to me that people consistently refer to this particular bit of history. and that’s what i want to talk about today⁠—the relationship of fandom today to this two hundred odd year span of time in england (roughly stuart to victorian times) and england in that time period to its contemporaneous china.

things will slip a little here. victorian has expanded in timeframe, if only because random guys posting online do not care overly much for respect for the intricacies of british history. china has expanded in geographic location, if only because the english of the time themselves conflated china with all of asia.

in addition, note that i am critiquing a certain perspective on the topic. this is why i write about fan as white here⁠—not because all fans are white⁠—but because the tendencies i’m examining have a clear historical antecedent in whiteness that shapes how white fans encounter these novels.

i’m sure some fans of color participate in these practices. however i don’t really care about that. they are not its main perpetrators nor its main beneficiaries. so personally i am minding my own business on that front.

it’s instead important to me to illuminate the linkage between white as subject and chinese as object in history and in the present that i do argue that fannish products today are built upon.

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it’s not radical, or even new at all, for white audiences to consume⁠—or create their own versions of⁠—chinese art en masse. in many ways the white creators who appear to owe their whole style and aesthetic to their asian peers in turn are just the new chinoiserie.

this is not to say that white people can’t create asian-inspired art. but rather, i am asking you to sit with the discomfort that you may not like the artistic company you keep in the broader view of history, and to consider together what is to be done about that.

now, when i say the new chinoiserie, i first want to establish what the original one is. chinoiserie was a european artistic movement that appeared coincident with the rise in popularity of folding fans that i described above. this is not by coincidence; the european demand for asian imports and the eventual production of lookalikes is the movement itself. so: when we talk about fans, when we talk about china (porcelain), when we talk about tea in england⁠—we are talking about the legacy of chinoiserie.

there are a couple things i want to note here. while english people as a whole had a very tenuous knowledge of what china might be, their appetites for chinoiserie were roughly coincident with national relations with china. as the relationship between england and china moved from trade to out-and-out wars, chinoiserie declined in popularity until china had been safely subjugated once more by the end of the 19th century.

the second thing i want to note on the subject that contrary to what one might think at first, the appeal of chinoiserie was not that it was foreign. eugenia zuroski’s 2013 taste for china examines 18th century english literature and its descriptions of the according material culture with the lens that chinese imports might be formative to english identity, rather than antithetical to it.

beyond that bare thesis, i think it’s also worthwhile to extend her insight that material objects become animated by the literary viewpoints on them. this is true, both in a limited general sense as well as in the sense that english thinkers of the time self-consciously articulated this viewpoint. consider the quote from the illustrated london news above⁠—your fan, that object, says something about you. and not only that, but the objects you surround yourself with ought to.

it’s a bit circular, the idea that written material says that you should allow written material to shape your understanding of physical objects. but it’s both 1) what happened, and 2) integral, i think, to integrating a fannish perspective into the topic.

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japanning is the name for the popular imitative lacquering that english craftspeople developed in domestic response to the demand for lacquerware imports. in the eighteenth century, japanning became an artform especially suited for young women. manuals were published on the subject, urging young women to learn how to paint furniture and other surfaces, encouraging them to rework the designs provided in the text.

it was considered a beneficial activity for them; zuroski describes how it was “associated with commerce and connoisseurship, practical skill and aesthetic judgment.” a skillful japanner, rather than simply obscuring what lay underneath the lacquer, displayed their superior judgment in how they chose to arrange these new canonical figures and effects in a tasteful way to bring out the best qualities of them.

zuroski quotes the first english-language manual on the subject, written in 1688, which explains how japanning allows one to:

alter and correct, take out a piece from one, add a fragment to the next, and make an entire garment compleat in all its parts, though tis wrought out of never so many disagreeing patterns.

this language evokes a very different, very modern practice. it is this english reworking of an asian artform that i think the parallels are most obvious.

white people, through their artistic investment in chinese material objects and aesthetics, integrated them into their own subjectivity. these practices came to say something about the people who participated in them, in a way that had little to do with the country itself. their relationship changed from being a “consumer” of chinese objects to becoming the proprietor of these new aesthetic signifiers.

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i want to talk about this through a few pairs of tensions on the subject that i think characterize common attitudes then and now.

first, consider the relationship between the self and the other: the chinese object as something that is very familiar to you, speaking to something about your own self vs. the chinese object as something that is fundamentally different from you and unknowable to you. 

consider: [insert character name] is just like me. he would no doubt like the same things i like, consume the same cultural products. we are the same in some meaningful way vs. the fast standard fic disclaimer that “i tried my best when writing this fic, but i’m a english-speaking westerner, and i’m just writing this for fun so...... [excuses and alterations the person has chosen to make in this light],” going hand-in-hand with a preoccupation with authenticity or even overreliance on the unpaid labor of chinese friends and acquaintances. 

consider: hugh honour when he quotes a man from the 1640s claiming “chinoiserie of this even more hybrid kind had become so far removed from genuine Chinese tradition that it was exported from India to China as a novelty to the Chinese themselves” 

these tensions coexist, and look how they have been resolved.

second, consider what we vest in objects themselves: beaujot explains how the fan became a sexualized, coquettish object in the hands of a british woman, but was used to great effect in gilbert and sullivan’s 1885 mikado to demonstrate the docility of asian women. 

consider: these characters became expressions of your sexual desires and fetishes, even as their 5’10 actors themselves are emasculated.

what is liberating for one necessitates the subjugation and fetishization of the other. 

third, consider reactions to the practice: enjoyment of chinese objects as a sign of your cosmopolitan palate vs “so what’s the hype about those ancient chinese gays” pop culture explainers that addressed the unconvinced mainstream.

consider: zuroski describes how both english consumers purchased china in droves, and contemporary publications reported on them. how: 

It was in the pages of these papers that the growing popularity of Chinese things in the early eighteenth century acquired the reputation of a “craze”; they portrayed china fanatics as flawed, fragile, and unreliable characters, and frequently cast chinoiserie itself in the same light.

referenda on fannish behavior serve as referenda on the objects of their devotion, and vice versa. as the difference between identity and fetish collapses, they come to be treated as one and the same by not just participants but their observers. 

at what point does mxtx fic cease to be chinese? 

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finally, it seems readily apparent that attitudes towards chinese objects may in fact have something to do with attitudes about china as a country. i do not want to suggest that these literary concerns are primarily motivated and begot by forces entirely divorced from the real mechanics of power. 

here, i want to bring in edward said, and his 1993 culture and imperialism. there, he explains how power and legitimacy go hand in hand. one is direct, and one is purely cultural. he originally wrote this in response to the outsize impact that british novelists have had in the maintenance of empire and throughout decolonization. literature, he argues, gives rise to powerful narratives that constrain our ability to think outside of them.

there’s a little bit of an inversion at play here. these are chinese novels, actually. but they’re being transformed by white narratives and artists. and just as i think the form of the novel is important to said’s critique, i think there’s something to be said about the form that fic takes and how it legitimates itself.

bound up in fandom is the idea that you have a right to create and transform as you please. it is a nice idea, but it is one that is directed towards a certain kind of asymmetry. that is, one where the author has all the power. this is the narrative we hear a lot in the history of fandom⁠—litigious authors and plucky fans, fanspaces always under attack from corporate sanitization.

meanwhile, said builds upon raymond schwab’s narrative of cultural exchange between european writers and cultural products outside the imperial core. said explains that fundamental to these two great borrowings (from greek classics and, in the so-called “oriental renaissance” of the late 18th, early 19th centuries from “india, china, japan, persia, and islam”) is asymmetry. 

he had argued prior, in orientalism, that any “cultural exchange” between “partners conscious of inequality” always results in the suffering of the people. and here, he describes how “texts by dead people were read, appreciated, and appropriated” without the presence of any actual living people in that tradition. 

i will not understate that there is a certain economic dynamic complicating this particular fannish asymmetry. mxtx has profited materially from the success of her works, most fans will not. also secondly, mxtx is um. not dead. LMAO.

but first, the international dynamic of extraction that said described is still present. i do not want to get overly into white attitudes towards china in this post, because i am already thoroughly derailed, but i do believe that they structure how white cnovel fandom encounters this texts.

at any rate, any profit she receives is overwhelmingly due to her domestic popularity, not her international popularity. (i say this because many of her international fans have never given her a cent. in fact, most of them have no real way to.) and moreover, as we talk about the structure of english-language fandom, what does it mean to create chinese cultural products without chinese people? 

as white people take ownership over their versions of stories, do we lose something? what narratives about engagement with cnovels might exist outside of the form of classic fandom?

i think a lot of people get the relationship between ideas (the superstructure) and production (the base) confused. oftentimes they will lob in response to criticism, that look! this fic, this fandom, these people are so niche, and so underrepresented in mainstream culture, that their effects are marginal. i am not arguing that anyone’s cql fic causes imperialism. (unless you’re really annoying. then it’s anyone’s game) 

i’m instead arguing something a little bit different. i think, given similar inputs, you tend to get similar outputs. i think we live in the world that imperialism built, and we have clear historical predecessors in terms of white appetites for creating, consuming, and transforming chinese objects. 

we have already seen, in the case of the fan language meme that began this post, that sometimes we even prefer this white chinoiserie. after all, isn’t it beautiful, too? 

i want to bring discomfort to this topic. i want to reject the paradigm of white subject and chinese object; in fact, here in this essay, i have tried to reverse it.

if you are taken aback by the comparisons i make here, how can you make meaningful changes to your fannish practice to address it? 

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some concluding thoughts on the matter, because i don’t like being misunderstood! 

i am not claiming white fans cannot create fanworks of cnovels or be inspired by asian art or artists. this essay is meant to elaborate on the historical connection between victorian england and cnovel characters and fandom that others have already popularized.

i don’t think people who make victorian jokes are inherently bad or racist. i am encouraging people to think about why we might make them and/or share them

the connections here are meant to be more provocative than strictly literal. (e.g. i don’t literally think writing fanfic is a 1-1 descendant of japanning). these connections are instead meant to 1) make visible the baggage that fans of color often approach fandom with and 2) recontextualize and defamiliarize fannish practice for the purposes of honest critique

please don’t turn this post into being about other different kinds of discourse, or into something that only one “kind” of fan does. please take my words at face value and consider them in good faith. i would really appreciate that.

please feel free to ask me to clarify any statements or supply more in-depth sources :) 

[toondisneypunx]

Movies and TV shows I have been watching recently (October 2021- February 2022)

1. Inside Job

Rating: 10/10

Well, it isn’t just the fact Alex Hirsch was involved with it, this is quality. I kin Reagan myself and I enjoyed her character arc. Also, it has a wonderful cast of characters with interesting conspiracies. This is a must watch!

2. The Eternals

Rating: 7/10

While it was entertaining, the plot was not well executed. It was confusing for a Marvel movie. All the characters were introduced at the same time, making us see barely any character development. I enjoyed some of the fight scenes and the humour, but overall, it lacks as a Marvel movie. 

3. Kid Cosmic

Rating: 9/10

Another hit from the animation legend himself, Craig McCracken. As many people know, I am a huge fan of his work. Kid Cosmic has enjoyable characters and a captivating storyline. Do yourself a favour and go ahead and give it a chance. 

4. Encanto

Rating: 9.5/10

I know most people have seen it as it was super popular. However, I wanted to give some of my insight. I absolutely loved the well composed music by the theatre legend himself, Lin Manuel Miranda. I also enjoyed the family dynamic of the Madrigals, especially Bruno. I had We Don’t Talk About Bruno stuck in m head for weeks. 

5. House of Gucci

Rating: 7/10

While the movie was enjoyable, they were never clear about the time periods each event took place in, making it confusing. I did struggle to understand the plot but I did enjoy the story.

6. Spiderman: No Way Home

Rating: 10/10

Not going to spoil it but it was fantastic and action packed. It was very unpredictable from its plot and I was at the edge of my seat while watching it.

7. Home Sweet Home Alone

Rating: 3/10

Well, here's another Home Alone reboot but by Disney. I had no faith in this film, even before I saw it. It was predictable and unfunny. Even the Buzz McCallister cameo did not make the movie any better. The scenes where the bad guys get tricked was so unfunny and rather violent. This movie was just a cash grab.

8. Chris Chan: A Comprehensive History

Rating: 10/10

Before you ask, I do not SUPPORT anything Chris Chan has done. However, I was invested in her life story and how she became known on the internet. This documentary series is 59 parts and very detailed about her life. I can’t wait to see more episodes. 

9. Sing 2

Rating: 6.5/10

I do believe that even though the Sing franchise is not perfect, it’s over hated. This movie follows an average sequel formula, introducing new characters and having a predictable plot. I enjoyed the directing and music throughout the movie. 

10. The King’s Daughter

Rating: 4/10

While the movie was watchable, it was mediocre at best. There was overuse of CGI for the mermaid character and the plot was predictable. The worst part of the film was that they used one of Sia’s pop songs in a 1600′s setting.

11. Arcane: League of Legends

Rating: 9.5/10

While I’ve never played League of Legends, I was still able to enjoy and understand the plot of the show. The show has many good characters and arcs.  I cannot wait for the release of season 2. My only problem with the show is that it was slow paced and kind of boring during the fourth and fifth episode, but eventually the pace picks back up. This show definitely deserves a watch.

12. Diary of a Wimpy Kid (2021)

Rating: 6/10

I was initially expecting this movie to be awful, but I was pleasantly surprised. Of course, this iteration has many flaws, but it was executed well. The main thing I disliked about the film was that they left out some plot points the original film had included, like when Greg auditioned for the play and his dislike for Patty. Overall, it was “okay” at its best.

13. The Cuphead Show!

Rating: 8.5/10

I was super excited for this show because I actually played the game myself. While the show kept the tone of the game, it had a few flaws. I did not see some of the characters (or bosses) I wanted to see. I understand the show was mainly trying to focus on Cuphead and Mugman, but I wanted to see more characters. I enjoyed seeing the Devil, King Dice and The Root Pack the most. I have high hopes that season 2 will improve on the show.

[designdekko]

How art can be used for supporting good cause

Unlike words, which come in sequences, each of which has a definite meaning, art provides a range of forms, symbols and ideas with meanings that can be determined by the artist.

Throughout history, art has had countless distinctive functions, therefore it is unfathomable to quantify art’s purpose to a clearly defined concept. This does not imply that the purpose of art is “vague” but that art has had many unique and diverse purposes behind its creation.

Expression of the imagination

Art aids the expression of imagination (things, places, ideas that are unreal or unknowable) in non-grammatical ways. Unlike words, which come in sequences, each of which has a definite meaning, art provides a range of forms, symbols and ideas with meanings that can be determined by the artist.

Also Read: 7 Simple steps to Declutter your Work Space

An artist can create visual imagery of mythical animals, religious concepts such as heaven or hell, fictional places, or carve out other elements through their creative minds. Art has become a practice that leverages the power of culture and creativity to catalyze change, growth and transformation in communities.

Art that inspires and intrigues us

Every time we look at art and stand in awe of its beauty, it consequently awakens the creativity and beauty inside all of us. There is nothing more powerful than drawing inspiration from art that intrigues you. Such inspiration can, in turn, help you dwell on deeper thoughts and ponder upon more profound issues from a different perspective.

Also Read | 7 Subtle ways to add an earthy vibe to your home

A great artwork can captivate the beholder, even if it is for a brief moment, and have a lasting impact. The astounding aspect of such an emotional and inspiring experience is that it stays with the looker and the emotions are re-lived every time that artwork is looked at.

Addressing more than the obvious

Artists started including the broader subject of politics in their art, too—painting satirical, humourous, and critical works on political affairs, and corrupt politicians and bureaucrats. Exquisite and poignant art has the dynamic power to underline the recondite nuances of a social cause. Such art can bring a moment of epiphany for the person looking at it, and in turn, be the much-needed motivation for millions of people

Also Read: Vastu-verified selection and placement of furniture is key to evoke prosperity and positivity at home

Now, you can assess why art is the best path to raise awareness for a good cause. Art is one of the few beacons that can spark the right light and bring an issue under the spotlight. Even without the use of words, art efficaciously highlights the very essence of a social cause and goes on to become a compelling call for action.

Influence and contemplation

The influence of art is in many ways the influence of music. Artworks remain with us and keep us contemplating. Most artists are extremely conscious of this influence that art holds, which drives numerous artists to choose art as a means to express themselves, make a statement, or promote action towards a cause. Some artworks aim to start a dialogue about sex, identity, censorship, sensuality, sexuality, and societal constraints in an open and humorous way.

Also Read | 6 Reasons why businesses are switching to smart lighting

As an artist, it is important to delegate a significant part of your time and expertise to help raise consciousness and awareness for notable issues such as global warming and tobacco addiction.

Extending the reach of issues through personal experience

I would like to give the example of an artist who depicts ‘Human Rights’ since he migrated to Delhi from Kashmir, due to the political disquiet there. Since then, he has tried to use art to reflect his anguish at the situation prevalent at his home. He strives to make a statement on human rights, rather than politics. He constantly seeks to highlight the turmoil that comes with separation from heritage and to bring to the fore the increasingly narrow alley that exists for culture and art in Kashmir.

Also Read | 7 Feng Shui tips to attract positive energy in your living room

Many foundations’ communities of leading social innovators and many forum cultural leaders have networks that can serve as role models who are leveraging the power of creativity and storytelling to address the world’s greatest problems. Since time immemorial, paint brushes have effectively addressed pressing issues, one beautiful artwork at a time.

Let’s work hand in hand

Artists and galleries are increasingly coming together to either offer individual artworks or mount online exhibitions to benefit a range of good causes connected with the impact of various social issues. A pandemic may seem like a strange time to begin collecting art but if a purchase delivers the double whammy of making a charitable donation and owning a great work, then why not?

Capturing the days gone by

Keeping the old days alive is also the ‘cause’ behind many artworks worldwide. I grew up following the Telangana culture, traditions, and rituals. I recall various instances from my juvenescence, the ones that I desire to simulate and preserve through my art. I often notice how the essence of the old days seems to be vanishing.

Also Read | Six types of floor styles to complement your interiors in the perfect way

A handful of people remember the old ways of living, while many don’t celebrate them. My art is an attempt to remind people of that era and to keep it alive through my work. I truly believe that old is gold, therefore art should carry it and make it ever pervasive.

Open to interpretations

While I create art that resonates with me, I strive to leave room for interpretation. Each person who looks at the artwork has a distinct understanding of it. It makes me pleasantly surprised to know that each beholder draws out a different meaning from the artwork, yet carries the innate message with her/him. For me, art is a way of venting out and reacting to situations, to talk about problems that we know exist, but hesitate to acknowledge or talk about. Furthermore, I leave it to people to decipher or interpret my works of art. I don’t narrate to them what to make of the artwork, and I believe that is where the true beauty of art lives!

Supporting a cause: Raising funds through art

Art is a great source of generating funds for the greater interest of society. Many NGOs believe in the power of art and its various forms like painting, photography, dance, theatre, music etc. that have the dynamism to change lives. The idea of such institutions is to promote art, and raise funds to support significant social causes such as health care and education for the under privileged. In the present times, damage due to calamity or coronavirus can be obliterated by bringing such issues to the fore, through art. It is only when the masses know about an issue that they will come forward and help those in need. Artists contribute to help raise funds by donating their artwork or by subsidized pricing.

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By incorporating artworks that voice out issues that are often shot down in flames, your support towards a cause gets reaffirmed each time you look at the artwork. Through art for cause exhibition or auctions, you can donate to a cause you care about—and take home art you love. Now, that’s a deal worth it!

Contributed by: Minali Thakkar.

Minali is a sculptor, an art consultant and director of the art advisory firm Art Approach. She is also the Vice President of the Bombay Art Society (1888), a non-profit premier art organization for the betterment of fine artists. Views expressed are of author.

Source

[angelcakedraws]

Rin’s past is filled with twists, turns, death, and a freakshow that changed her soul forever.. care to hear? Give me a listen and let me tell you the tale of Rin Himura...

Rin was born into a middle class family in the countryside of Japan, in a small but quaint neighborhood. Her parents were young but loving, and they cared with all their heart about their little girl. She loved animals, however she didn’t have many friends because of her appearance. Being pale, having dark hair, and kinda creepy eyes frightened other children, but she didn’t mind. She had a few friends and her parents. Her quirk manifested when she was seven, as she had picked up a dead lizard that a neighbors cat had killed, and it had easily been dead for two days. Her parents were shocked but thrilled, neither of them had that quirk. Her parents told her that her quirk could save lives, like a doctor. She set her mind on becoming a doctor since then, and she wanted to save lives. 

Rin’s quirk allowed her to raise and control the dead. Anything animal had died, she could bring them back using her quirk and control their every move, like a necromancer.

Rin kept growing and was quite an intelligent girl, but with a Macabre side, like her mother. Her mom had always liked creepy old fashioned things, like a Victorian horror story. That had rubbed off a lot on Rin, and she would read stories with her mom. Her mother collected that type of clothing but never wore it, in order to preserve it, she kept it in her closet high up where Rin couldn’t reach. When Rin reached the age of 12, her parents took her to a renaissance festival in order to get some new stuff for a Victorian style. Unfortunately, Rin got separated from them. Next thing she knew, she was yanked into a dark tent and knocked out.

A group of men kidnapped her based on her appearance, since she looked to be very creepy. The people who kidnapped her were circus people and wanted her for gain, the recent development of quirks from the past years has led to a rise in the freak show business again. It was more underground than it was before but it was still humiliating for anyone who was a part of it. When they found out about her quirk they were even more excited. 

They made her show off her quirk in front of large audiences until it exhausted her, she’d pass out from the excess use of power, and get whipped when she would stop. She has scars all over her back now and that’s why she wears so much clothing. She had to overuse her quirk almost every day, and it caused her arm to start to rot away from excessive power use, a side effect of her quirk. She brought to life any animals, big or small, predator or prey. They even made her revive some of her fellow “freaks” and control them until their bodies started to smell too much.

For years she took it without a fight, and often nurtured those who were new, comforting them to the best of her ability. She even found herself a lover there, a girl with the ability to turn into a fiery bird of legend, a Phoenix. However, she died after having water thrown on her in her fire form, her body turning to nothing but smoke and steam. Rin carried on for 5 more years after her death, constantly having to smile at an audience that laughed and awed at her torture, and she dare not frown or try and fight, for the ring master had a gun pointed at her in the dark under the stands, and he would smile and point until Rin was done performing her revival act.

After 7 years, she decided it was enough. After being thrown into her cell and whipped on the back for the last time, she used a dead mouse to retrieve the keys and break her free. The rest of the staff and the ringmaster were putting on the other part of the show while she grabbed a gallon of gasoline and a match, walking around behind the dark stands where the audience sat and pouring the flammable liquid around it, she stepped outside the circle, lit the match, and dropped it. 

 She watched the tent burst into flames, creating an inescapable ring of Fire. It killed everyone in the audience. The rest of the staff and the “freaks” were able to escape the tent. She then used her power to bring to life all the freshly burned carcasses in the audience, having them attack the staff. They killed everyone and released the rest of the captives there, who ran free from their slavery. Rin found the ringmaster attempting to run with a charred leg, and ordered two of the undead audience members to seize him and bring him to her. He tried to shoot the zombies, but they couldn’t feel the pain, they were dead after all. She looked down at him, his fear filled eyes meeting hers. She grabbed his gun from the holster, and he watched helplessly as she cocked it, aiming it right between his eyes. He was shot dead on the spot, and Rin dropped her army of corpses, she herself dropping to the ground momentarily from exhaustion. She quickly stood up, remembering she was free. She made her way towards the city with quick strides.

The very first thing she did as she escaped was try and find her parents, she wasn’t super young so she remembered where her house was and how to get there. However, when she arrived at her house, it was abandoned. Boarded off and overgrown with the flower vines in the front yard. She went inside and her heart shattered with every glance, nothing had been taken, it was untouched. All the pictures were still up, there were still some dishes in the sink, and some of her toys were still on the floor. She went back into her room and nothing had changed, she stifled her tears as she looked around, her parents didn’t move a single thing after she disappeared. She quickly left, unable to control herself, and took a walk. She was walking along and ended up in the graveyard that her mom would take her to as a child, where her grandparents were buried. She kept contemplating what she should do, would and old neighbor recognize her? And would they tell her where her parents went? Would they even care? She stopped, walking up to her grandparents graves, seeing.. more stones. She look at the stones and started to shake. 

Akane Himura

Kyo Himura

She dropped to her knees, whimpers escaping her lips, shaking violently and tears streaming down her face. She let out the loudest, most painful scream, and gripped the stone of her mother, all the blood in her face gone. They were dead, they were gone. Her mom and dad were gone.. forever. She’s sobbed and gripped the other stone, memories flashing through her head and her heart shattering. Between hiccups and coughs, she glanced at the third grave, her sobs abruptly stopping. With tears still streaming down her face, she read the final stone.

R I N  H I M U R A

Her name was on that stone. She was assumed dead.. she couldn’t have died, she knew her parents would keep searching for her no matter what. She looked at the dates, her sadness slowly turning into a blood red rage. She had been confirmed dead not but a month after her parents had passed. Connecting the dots, she knew the heroes had stopped searching. Her parents had died 2 years before that day, and she knew they would have kept looking. Her parents had pestered the heroes to keep searching, but they weren’t interested, it wasn’t flashy or cool to look for someone’s missing child. Rin bolted up, tears still clouding her eyes and rage clouding her judgement. She grazed the tops of each family tombstone, and stopped at hers. She kicked, and kicked, and kicked. That stone came loose with her force, and she used a hefty amount of strength to push it down the hill with her foot, her “death” was bullshit.

She stormed back into the house, grabbing her small locket necklace that she had as a child, and her mother’s ruby pendant that she would wear to formal occasions. The heroes would pay for what they did to her parents. They were restless in her graves, and she could feel it, they could never rest peacefully until they knew she was safe. Only now, Rin knew they wouldn’t be at peace until heroes were shown what happens when you leave a child in need.

She found an abandoned hotel and made it her home, she spruced it up with the money she had. And eventually used a small area as a place to meet people in mourning, usually rich families. They had money, and that’s what Rin needed to survive. She told them about her power but lied about it’s specific abilities, telling them they’d have ten minutes to talk to their late friend or family member one last time. She brought them to their burial sight, brought the corpse to life, and had the “zombie” kill them, she proceeded to take their money and have the corpse rebury itself into the ground, which was easy since it was recently buried. She used the money she stole to redecorate her home and get nicer clothing. 

Rin saw the USJ attack on TV and was intrigued by the group who committed the crime, wondering what it would be like to fight in groups rather than on her own. She had always been a bit theatric with her attacks, but this was a level that almost fascinated iher. She decided to take a stab at something such as that. When she found out that the same class would be visiting a history museum, she sprung at the opportunity and attacked. She brought to life the skeletons of dinosaurs and other prehistoric skeletons. This was the first time she was shown publicly, all her cases she was involved with were stated as psychotic attacks by some sort of deranged murderer, never a larger conspiracy behind it nor different undead humans involved. 

Luckily, Rin was smart, and made sure her face was never caught on camera, yet some student saw her face, however, her arm was never revealed. Giran and Rin were at a dinner while Giran was talking with another potential member. Of course that colleague dm didn’t work out, but Rin’s sharp ears overheard the conversation. She approached him and introduced herself. She was proper and shared some casual conversation, she spoke with him about the league in a hushed voice. She told him of her attack on TV and of the attacks on the others she had killed for money. He was intrigued by her, and she was taken to the bar where she was recruited by Shigaraki. 

Her first time killing all of those people in the audience, even though they were all sick and twisted, it haunts her. She feels as if the blood on her hands has never washed off, another reason she almost always wears gloves. If you can tell, she never kills anyone herself, it’s always her undead minions who kill for her. She killed the people in the audience and the ringmaster, she feels little pity for her ringmaster, but it still shook her to her core how many people she killed that day, that blood was on her own hands.

But, something that comforts her is that she saved all the “freaks” at the show and gave them freedom. She doesn’t know where any of them are now, but she took care of them while they were there and set them free when she had the chance.

[jojiship]

Studio Ghibli Films: Thoughts & Rankings

I have been binging Studio Ghibli (and other anime films) since May. I saw a lot of people in Youtube rank them and I decided to do it as well. While I don’t have a camera to record myself, I decided to post my ranking of its films. First of all, I want to say that this is quite a subjective ranking and it’s personal. These are my opinions and of course, everyone can have opinions of their own. Second of all, I think all of these films have their good sides, but there are ones that I enjoyed and there are ones I didn’t enjoy. Either way, I recommend people to watch all of these films. You won’t regret watching most of them.

This post ranks the films from the 5th to 1st. Obviously, there will be spoilers ahead, so you’ve been warned.

5. Princess Mononoke (1997) – I would watch the animation of the nature in this film for hours in loop. It’s so wonderful, beautiful and breathtaking. Whether it’s animating the lake, the forest or even just the trees, I was in awe of it. It truly makes you appreciate it and again, Studio Ghibli shows you how much they love nature themselves. Now, let’s talk about the film. The film was amazing. The best word for it is amazing. The plot was so different and yet so captivating. There wasn’t a moment in this film where I was bored and where I felt it dragged along. Seeing this battle between humans and nature was what I had to see. When I was a kid, I didn’t appreciate this film as much, but now, it’s definitely one of my favourite films and in my top five of Studio Ghibli films. All the characters were incredibly well written, especially Ashitaka, San and Lady Eboshi. I love how there was no villain in this film. Yes, Lady Eboshi and her people were ruining the forest, but they were also trying to live their lives and grow as a community. I loved how everyone played a part in the village, the men, the woman and even the disables, had roles. You don’t see this in many films and I like that Princess Mononoke showed us that. The boars and the wolves were interesting to see as well. The bond that San had with her family and how she hated humans because of how she was raised. The ending was great. I liked that Ashitaka decided to stay and help with Irontown rather than go with San like some people expected him to. The only thing that truly bothered me was the face of the Forest Spirit. It haunted me for days which prove how much it creeped me out. If someone told me that the face of the Forest Spirit was their sleep paralysis demon, I would believe them in the spot.

4. My Neighbor Totoro (1988) - The first Studio Ghibli film that I’ve seen is My Neighbor Totoro. It’s the kind of film that reminds me of my childhood and it’s the one that gives me a nostalgic feeling. I love it so much that it’s definitely the film of Studio Ghibli that I’ve seen the most. It has this charm that should be more prevalent in other animated films, especially films for kids. Every scene is truly like magic. Whether it’s the umbrella scene at the bus stop, or the scene where the tree grows, or even the scene with the cat bus and the girls. Satsuki and Mei are enjoyable, vibrant and interesting characters. The bond between them reminds me a lot of my bond with my older sister. You can definitely say that I was a lot like Mei as a little kid (Yes, I did get lost one time and made my whole family, especially my sister lose their mind). Again, this film embraces the beauty of being a child. It shows the curiosity, the innocence, the energy and the imagination that most kids possess at that age. Totoro is such an interesting character design and it’s no surprise that it’s the logo of Studio Ghibli. My Neighbor Totoro speaks to my inner child and reminds me of the good old days. It’s a film that I’ll recommend to everyone, but especially young kids. Also, it’s the Studio Ghibli film that makes me smile through the whole of it. If I’m feeling sad or if I’m not in a good mood, I watch My Neighbor Totoro and it never fails to make me feel better.

3. Spirited Away (2001) – Objectively, I think Spirited Away is the best film that Studio Ghibli has ever produced. Personally, it’s the third, but that doesn’t mean it’s worse than the second and first. It’s a matter of preference that I have. Again, I watched this film as a kid and I did enjoy it a lot. I always called it one of the best animated films. I rewatched it in May after years of not watching it and I loved it just as much as I did when I was a kid if not more. Miyazaki created an unforgettable film with an astounding plot, amazing characters and an exciting world building. Chihiro is your typical kid. She can be whiny and scared just as every kid is her age. The growth that she goes through the film was amazing. Watching her work hard and her progress was such a good watch. You could see her struggle with cleaning at first, but soon enough, she got the hang of it. Also, as much as I love the film, I couldn’t help but think that her parents were a bit dumb. Like my parents wouldn’t have done any of the things her parents did. My dad wouldn’t have sped like that in such a dangerous road and they definitely would have turned around after coming close to the temple. Either way, I’m glad that they screwed up though because it gave me this film. The other characters like Haku, Yubaba, Zeniba, Lin and many others were brilliant. Out of all this, I enjoyed Haku the most. The way he helped Chihiro was so nice and their whole bond was fascinating to see on screen. The guests in the bathhouse were designed so well and were just so good. I don’t have any words to describe the scenes with No Face or the spirit of the polluted river because they are out of this world. No wonder this film won an Oscar for best animated film. The details, the story, the animation, the characters, the soundtrack and the world building all deserve an Oscar of their own. 

2. Grave of the Fireflies (1988) - I don’t think I’ve ever cried with any film, book or series as much as I cried with this. Even when it ended and I had turned my TV off, I was crying. It’s one of the saddest films I’ve ever watched and truly, the saddest film Studio Ghibli has ever made. It touched my heart immediately when it started and it ended up ripping it at the end. I knew that it wasn’t going to have a happy ending, the beginning tells you that it’s going to end quite sadly. Yet I was taken back by the scenes, especially the last scenes. The story of Seita and Setsuko is a story that many kids have experienced in war. In most war films, we are shown battles, we are shown armies, soldiers etc., but not in this film. In this film, we saw the personal history of siblings trying to survive war and bombings. Seeing Setsuko hallucinating was heartbreaking and it was in that moment when I started to cry. When Seita said that she never woke up after that, I couldn’t control myself. Funeral scenes have been hard for me to watch lately, but not a single funeral scene has broken my heart like the one in this film. The scene where Home Sweet Home played in the background left me speechless and I still don’t know how to explain how I feel with that scene. Grave of the Fireflies is a film that is all too real and it made my whole body hurt at the end. Although it's ranked second in my list, it’s the one who I’ll probably rewatch the least out of all Studio Ghibli. Takahata is truly an incredible director and this film proves that better than any other film of his.

1. Whisper of the Heart (1995) – Talented. Inspiring. Brilliant. Relatable. Amazing. Show-stopping. Spectacular. Never the same. Totally unique. Whisper of the Heart is undoubtedly the best Studio Ghibli film I’ve watched. I enjoyed everything about it to the last details. I didn’t even stop the film to get water even though I was thirsty as hell. That’s how much I loved the film. I never related to characters as much as I related to Shizuku and Seiji. I write and I used to play the violin when I was younger. While I stopped, I still enjoy every story that has something to do with violins. Shizuku was such a normal character that spoke so much to me and to everyone I recommended this film to. Many of us have been in her position where we didn’t know what we’re going to do in the future. While Shizuku had many interests, you could see that she was stuck. I liked that she was inspired by Seiji to see if she could be good at something and she learned that she did have some sort of talent for writing. But just like Seiji’s grandfather, Shiro said about polishing her talent. I think many people, especially people who paint, draw, sing, compose, write and build, should listen to his words. They shouldn’t expect perfection at their first try and that they should give it time and hard work for their skills to become amazing. When I first started to write, I needed to hear Shiro’s words. This film is such a beautiful coming of age story that I think everyone should see no matter the age. Now, let’s go to the romance of the film. Hands down, Shizuku and Seiji are the best romance in Studio Ghibli films. While I love Howl and Sophie and Jiro and Naoko, it’s Shizuku and Seiji that won my heart. They had such a good romantic journey. Their scenes were just astoundingly beautiful, especially the one in the end. When I saw him by the tree, I started to giggle and I always screamed. It was just incredible to watch. Every interaction they had made me love them more. I repeat, the best Studio Ghibli couple. When I finished the film, I wanted to find a guy like Seiji. Too bad we were in lockdown and I was unable to find him. The use of Country Roads was amazing. I always loved the song and now, it’s one of my favourite. What upsets me about this film is the death of its director. If Kondo hadn’t tragically passed away in 1998, I think he would have given us other amazing films like Whisper of the Heart. I can say that this movie whispered in my heart and I’ll never forget it.

[ihavethoughtsplural]

Blood and Chocolate: An Adaptation in Name Only

Previously: Section 0 - Introduction

Section 1 – The Book

Preface: The 1997 novel Blood and Chocolate is DENSE.  The paperback only spans 264 pages, but the story follows the coming of age of a dynamic and flawed female protagonist, encompasses ancient werewolf legends and laws, goes in depth into lycanthropic politics, and also features a love triangle, a teenage soap opera, a forbidden romance, and a goddamned murder mystery.

Summary: Vivian Gandillon is a 15-year-old werewolf.  A year after her father was killed in the fire that destroyed their home, Vivian is lost and grieving while her leaderless pack falls apart in the Maryland suburbs that they fled to.  Aiden, a tall, gentle human classmate attracts her attention and presents Vivian an escape from the tangled, animalistic world of werewolves.  Keeping her lycanthropy secret, Vivian begins to date Aiden, defying the laws of her people.   Vivian is pressured to break things off by her mother, her five delinquent age-mates, and the would-be leader, Gabriel. Gabriel, a 24 year-old welder, is attractive, intimidating and the object of intense romantic competition.  He, more than any other, tries to convince Vivian that her dalliance with a human is dangerous, eventually revealing that he speaks from painful personal experience. The story twists and turns, tearing Vivian and Aiden apart while pulling Vivian and Gabriel together.  In the end, through many trials, Vivian discovers that she can’t escape either her human or her animal nature, and must embrace both.  

Themes: Vivian’s central character arc finds her struggling with what she wants as opposed to what she needs.  At the opening of the novel, Vivian wants to escape the violent chaos of her pack, with its painful history and uncertain future. She finds that escape in Aiden, with his Beaver Cleaver family, his lovably quirky friends, and his sweetness and simplicity.   However, when the time comes to reveal the hidden aspects of her identity, Aiden can’t handle it.  Despite his supernatural curiosity, he cannot accept the supernatural when it presents itself to him.  His rejection sends Vivian into a tailspin of self-destruction that only ends when she accepts the love that Gabriel is offering, a love that honors all of what she is.  To ultimately find happiness, Vivian had to give up what she wanted and embrace what she needed. In addition to this, there is also a great deal of time in the novel spent contrasting the human and the animal sides of Vivian’s nature.  Her two suitors Aiden and Gabriel represent, respectively, the human and the animal. Scenes of Vivian socializing with Aiden and his human friends are juxtaposed with scenes of Vivian’s werewolf pack brutally vying for dominance.  The very title of the book is a reference to this dichotomy, Blood – representing Vivian’s animal desires, and Chocolate – representing Vivian’s human longings.   Throughout the novel, Vivian swings between these two extremes, at one point drinking herself into a heartbroken stupor over Aiden, then blacking out and waking up in her bed next to a severed hand. She tries, in her romance with Aiden, to balance her human and animal sides, but she only achieves that balance with Gabriel, a partner who also exists in the grey area between man and beast.

Highs: These are the aspects of the novel have captivated my imagination and kept this book in my collection for so long.

o   Werewolf Society:  It’s a damn shame that Klause hasn’t written more stories within this framework, because it is absolutely ripe for exploration and development.  The enormous potential here is one of the primary reasons why this book has held my fascination for so long and why I have written so much (published and unpublished) fanfiction for it.

o   Flawed Characters: No one who’s read the book will tell you that Vivian is perfect or even likeable 100% of the time, but it fits with her characterization as a grieving, lost teenager and serves to make her all the more like an actual person.  Most of the characters are like that, with their good qualities balanced or sometimes overwhelmed by their less savory sides.  It makes the fictional world feel richer and more realistic, despite the supernatural elements.

o   Consequences: The characters in this novel make real, awful mistakes, and they face lasting consequences for them.  One of Vivian’s mistakes – maiming Astrid while defending her mother, directly leads to Vivian’s ex, Rafe, getting sucked into Astrid’s revenge plot, leading to Vivian being framed for murder and the eventual executions of both Rafe and Astrid, during which Vivian is accidentally shot by Aiden.  

CONSEQUENCES!   They make the story more believable, more suspenseful, and this novel, with its cast of flawed characters, would not have worked without them.

o   Assertive Female Protagonist: Vivian is refreshingly frank about her desires, which is very noticeable in her courtship with Aiden.  Aiden assumes that he has to advance their physical relationship slowly so as to not frighten or offend Vivian, while Vivian urges him on.  She doesn’t hesitate when going after what she wants, and she’s not ashamed of her sexuality.  It’s a welcome change from the restrictions that western society places on female desire, and I’d like to see more characters like her.

Lows:  Blood and Chocolate is far from perfect, but, in my opinion, there are three glaring flaws in this book, and I would be remiss if I didn’t address them.

o   The Esme Question: The first point is one that, once seen, cannot be unseen. Vivian’s mother, Esme, is one of the women competing for Gabriel’s affections at the beginning of the novel.  It is established that they go on dates (“Saw your mother go into Tooley’s bar with Gabriel last night.” p. 18), but Klause is not explicit about how far their relationship has gone.  This ambiguity leaves open a potentially disturbing possibility:  

It is canonically possible that Gabriel had a sexual relationship with Esme and then moved on to sexually pursue her daughter, Vivian.

Personally, I can reasonably believe that Gabriel and Esme never progressed beyond idle flirting because:

a.       Vivian strikes me as the type of person who would mark her mother’s sexual partners as “off limits”.

b.       Up until just past the Ordeal scene, both Esme and Astrid are still fighting over Gabriel, implying that neither of them had really “won” him.  

c.       The possibility outlined above seems like it would be a bridge too far to be included in a YA novel, especially in the 90′s.  

Your mileage may vary.  I’ve seen reviews of the book whose negative ratings hinge on the fact that Gabriel dated Esme at all, irrespective of whether their relationship was sexual or not.  Honestly?  I can’t blame them.  If the mere existence of this possibility squicks you out, then it’s likely going to sour the ending and ruin the rest of the book for you.

o   The Age Differences: The second point is the least defensible. At the end of the novel, Vivian is 16 and Gabriel is 24.  That minor/adult 8 year age gap constitutes a “yikes” in my part of the world.  Klause skirts this by establishing that werewolf society has some stark differences with human society, namely that a 16 year old female is considered an adult by werewolf law.  This is still a rather uncomfortable detail to be included in an American YA novel, and the older I get, the more uncomfortable it becomes.

In addition to the Vivian/Gabriel age gap, there is the even wider Astrid/Rafe age gap. Rafe is Vivian’s ex and age mate, although there are reasons to assume that he is slightly older than her.  This places him somewhere in a probable 16-18 age range. He is canonically younger than 21, which makes him, according to werewolf law, not yet an adult.  Astrid has a son who is also Vivian’s age, which places Astrid somewhere in her late 30’s to mid 40’s.  In the book, Astrid and Rafe have a sexual relationship.

To be fair to Klause, this is framed in the novel as being toxic and ultimately destructive to both Astrid and Rafe.  Near the end of the story, Rafe finally realizes that Astrid has been taking advantage of him, turning Rafe, in my opinion, into a tragic victim of manipulation.  

Let me leave this segment with a PSA:

If you’re reading this and you’re underage, please don’t enter into a “relationship” with an adult.  The adults in these scenarios in the real world are predators, and they’re preying on your inexperience and naïveté.  They know that you probably won’t recognize relationship red flags and they think they can pressure you into doing unsafe and unhealthy things in the name of “love”. Stay safe, kids!

o   Sexual Harassment:   My third and final low point is one that I have very mixed feelings about.  As a result, this is the longest segment of this post, so strap in. In the novel, many of the interactions between Vivian and male characters are inappropriately sexual.  The most egregious offenders are the Five, Gabriel, and Aiden’s father. The Five, Vivian’s male werewolf peers, are crass, rude and arrogant.  Led by Rafe, they display a lot of entitlement for Vivian’s affections.  The most pointed (and gross) of these displays happens on p.41:

“You’re not Princess Wolf now,” Rafe growled behind her.  “Wait too long and we’ll take what we want.” 

That?  Yeah, that’s a direct rape threat!  Rafe also goes on to grope Vivian at her birthday party.  He’s a peach!   Gabriel’s harassment mostly takes the form of unwanted advances.  It peaks after the Ordeal, the battle royale where Vivian accidentally wins the right to be Gabriel’s mate.  In the aftermath, Gabriel corners Vivian in her kitchen, forces a non-consensual kiss on her and declares his intentions to court her.   Aiden’s father is notable in the contrast he provides.  Vivian only interacts with him once, when Aiden invites her to a family cookout. During this scene, he repeatedly leers at her, makes suggestive comments and on p. 79:

Vivian could hear the innuendo in Mr. Teague’s voice.  It made her skin crawl.

However, if you compare Mr. Teague’s harassment to Gabriel, the Five and others, you’ll find that there is a significant difference in Vivian’s reaction.  Vivian isn’t afraid to bite back at the Five’s harassment – scoring vivid revenge for Rafe’s groping when she injures his genitals.  She tries to do the same to Gabriel when he forces a kiss on her, but he relents on his own.   We see a similar dynamic when Esme snaps at Bucky, another male werewolf, who catcalls her in a bar.  This forms a pattern which suggests that forceful sexuality is a feature of werewolf culture.  Vivian confirms this the first time that she and Aiden kiss on p. 51:

“He was gentle.  She hadn’t expected that.  Kisses to her were a tight clutch, teeth, and tongue.”

And this is where my mixed feelings come in. I don’t condone the harassment that Vivian experiences, but I understand why Klause wrote it.  Any author writing inhuman characters can’t simply tell us that they are inhuman, they have to show it.  The forceful sexuality of the werewolf characters in this book is one way that Klause clearly shows that they are NOT human and serves as a contrast to the human characters.   But where does Aiden’s dad fit into this?  His harassment is milder than the Five’s or Gabriel’s, but it disgusts Vivian in a way that the other harassment didn’t.  Why?  Sexual harassment seems to be a constant feature of her pack life.  This isn’t even the only time that an older man leers at her – on p. 115, in the same scene where Esme gets catcalled:

Some of those male eyes strayed to Vivian, too, and she preened at the thought of being a threat.

That’s a far cry from the skin-crawling disgust she felt with Mr. Teague, but it’s basically the same offense.  What’s different?  We find it in a conversation with him on p. 74:

“I would think a girl like you would go out with someone older.” He winked at Vivian. Like someone your age?  Vivian thought, repelled by the man’s lack of loyalty to his son.

Vivian’s disgust stems from the fact that the man flirting with her is her boyfriend’s father.  She’s shown to welcome sexual attention from other older men, and she has no problems handling more overt harassment, but the paternal disloyalty sickens her. The overt sexual harassment is there, and if it makes it impossible for you to enjoy the book, I don’t blame you.  Your feelings are valid, and I’m not going to tell you that you’re wrong.  Personally, I understand the authorial reasoning behind its inclusion, and its utility as a characterization tool, so it doesn’t prevent me from enjoying the story. Your mileage may vary.

Verdict: The 1997 novel Blood and Chocolate is flawed, but fascinating.  It sets multifaceted characters into a tantalizing world of men and monsters, where the line between good and evil is blurred into nonexistence.  It is, despite its problematic elements, my favorite book.

Next: Section 2 - Adaptation Challenges

[honestgrins]

Pretty Good Bad Idea || Klaroline

As the CEO of admitted hellcorp Original, Klaus was used to professional criticism. Caroline, however, was really, really good at it.

.

The ballroom was full of people, animated and cheery with the holiday spirit. Original's annual corporate celebration grew more lavish by the year, thanks to Rebekah taking full advantage of the expanded budget she'd sweet talked out of the board. Well, she'd sweet talked Mikael, who strong-armed the rest of the members into compliance as a boon to employee morale.

Never mind the numerous proposals Klaus tried to implement in order to actually improve salaries and benefits, he thought bitterly to himself. Heaven forbid the board approve any of his initiatives, he was just the CEO. He should have known Mikael wouldn't allow him to wield any real power within the company; if anything, he was more constrained than ever under his step-father's thumb. Still, he was good at his job and they were all billionaires for it. 

He ran the highest valued company in the world, yet he was miserable at his own party. Somewhere, a very small violin was surely playing for him. Groaning at his own self-pity, he made his way to the bar. Whatever specialty cocktail Rebekah had the waiters passing around wasn't nearly strong enough for him.

Ordering a scotch, he leaned back to survey the room. His sister was coaxing her date onto the dance floor; his own date was chatting with his mother. He rolled his eyes at the sight. Clearly, Genevieve was getting too comfortable with imagining herself his girlfriend. If she thought ingratiating herself with Esther would improve her chances, she deserved whatever his mother threw her way. Intimidating the significant others of her children was a point of pride for her, until those that made it all the way to the altar met her complete approval.

Honestly, it was easier to avoid serious attachments altogether than face that kind of scrutiny. He sighed, wondering when Genevieve lost sight of their casual status.

Before he could text his assistant to send a breakup bouquet sometime during the next week, however, his gaze caught on Mikael and a woman hanging on his every word. She was dressed more simply than most of the guests, but her jumpsuit was sleek and well-fitted. Blonde curls gently fell down her back, red lips tilted up in a curious grin.

She was beautiful, and Klaus couldn't take his eyes off her.

But nothing could make him willingly approach Mikael, let alone in public with witnesses to what would surely be a hostile conversation at best. They mostly traded barbs via intermediaries, and their familial relationship had never been better. Her, though, he would have to maneuver an introduction to her. 

His moment came when Esther interrupted them to claim a dance with her husband, the younger woman demurring with a nod. No handshake - they must have known each other already. Interesting.

Left alone, she slipped toward the bar, and Klaus couldn't help a sly smirk that he hadn't needed to intercept her at all. Instead, she was walking straight toward him. He threw back the last remnants of his glass, turning to order a refill just before she stepped up next to him. "Can I get a ginger ale, please?"

The bartender quickly went about his business, but Klaus seized the chance of a briefly captive audience. "I don't believe we've met. Klaus Mikaelson," he greeted, offering his hand.

She seemed to be biting back a smile, shaking his hand like she was laughing at him. Eager to be let in on the joke, he was content to bide his time. "Caroline," she responded. "Caroline Forbes. I'm surprised. I was under the impression you don't enjoy company parties."

His eyes narrowed, wondering what tales Mikael had been telling. He had no desire to talk about him, however. "They have their upsides," he hedged. "You're here, for example."

"Charming," she laughed. The bartender finally slid over her drink, but to Klaus's triumph, she didn't move to rejoin the crowd. She watched him shrewdly while she sipped. "Do you flirt with all your employees?"

"You're not one of my employees."

Her expression turned skeptical. "You have hundreds of thousands of employees all over the world," she shot back. "I doubt you have them all memorized."

Klaus smirked from behind his glass, thoroughly enjoying the taste of victory. "It would take some studying and better context, but I'm better at knowing my team than most expect. That said, I do recognize your name, and not from the Original directory."

With a dejected sigh, she gave a rueful smile. "Damn that byline exposure."

"For good reason," he noted. "Your writing is particularly memorable, love. I think I have one of your articles hanging on my wall. 'Nepotism is Alive and Well: Another Mikaelson Assumes Role as Original CEO' was one of yours, wasn't it? I had a few headlines to choose from when I moved into the new office, but I liked the bite of that one." Honestly, he kept that one to remind himself that he ascended to the position despite Mikael's wishes; that others assumed Mikael tacitly endorsed his leadership was just a fringe benefit. "I wasn't aware Rebekah invited press to the party."

"She didn't," Caroline admitted. "My roommate is on your security team, though, and he brought me as his plus-one."

"Josh?"

"Enzo. San Francisco is an expensive city, and you have a habit of not paying your staff an adequate wage to live here."

He shrugged, feigning a lack of concern when he'd been arguing for exactly that to improve retention. It was more a ploy to keep employees loyal to him rather than Mikael, but he was still making the effort. "Yes, I'm sure you're the breadwinner, what, with your esteemed work at the local paper."

Her cold smile burned right through him, and he'd never been so delighted. "At least my pittance of a salary comes with integrity and a firm grasp of ethics. You should stop by our union meeting sometime, see what it looks like when workers actually have a say in their standards."

"My employees are free to petition their managers for a negotiation," he answered easily, enjoying her little, indignant huff.

"And your managers are trained to pass the petition up the ranks until it's nothing more than a bullet point on your morning memo, which you pass off to one of your directors without taking the terms into consideration."

Smirking, Klaus tipped his glass to her. "I assure you, my morning memo isn't listed in bullet points."

"That's not an answer," she insisted, her voice stern.

It only made his smirk deepen. "No, you'd have to talk to my media director for that. She's right over there, doing a poor rendition of the Macarena, I believe. Care to dance, love?"

Caroline rolled her eyes with a scoff. "You know, I also talked to Genevieve tonight. She actually introduced herself as your date, which is so sad that I can't even laugh about it. You should ask her to dance. You're not even worth the calories I burn talking to you."

Oh, how he wanted to change her mind about that. "Yet here you are, crashing my party. What's the story this time?"

Her jaw tightened as she seemed to consider her best course of action. He was pleased when she favored bluntness, a trait he ascribed to her natural personality. "Rumor has it you're trying to force your father out of the business. Any truth to that?"

The room might have frozen with him, not that he was paying it any attention. "For a journalist with integrity, you're putting an awful lot of trust in Mikael Mikaelson as a source," he bit out.

"I am a journalist with integrity," she replied in kind. "That's why I'm verifying the firsthand account of a very high profile source within the company. I can see he's paranoid and holding onto his chairmanship with a white-knuckled grip, and he has a history of twisting media attention to his favor. But then," she paused, watching him carefully. "So do you."

How else was I supposed to wrest the chief executive from him? he wanted to ask, but it would do no good to confirm her suspicion - not while Mikael was clearly making moves against him. Best the board as a whole didn't find a reason to remove him as CEO, and proving how well he manipulated them would surely create a motive to do so. "As I said, feel free to seek comment from my media director. Preferably during business hours, of course."

Her smile returned in full force, leaving him wary and completely taken. "Of course, sorry to disturb you, Mr. Mikaelson."

"Miss Forbes," he nodded. She brazenly held his stare for a long moment before she turned and strode away, the path she cut through the party holding his attention for far longer. That wouldn't be the last time they went head to head. 

He'd make sure of it.

[dogbearinggifts]

“He Made Me What I Am Today”: Thoughts on Pogo and Complicity

It’s taken me a while to understand this fandom’s hatred of Pogo. 

He’s never been a favorite character of mine, but I’ve always liked him. In the show and in the comics, he serves as a sort of surrogate father figure, providing the siblings with much-needed level-headed advice and guidance free from abuse. In the show especially, he’s stern yet kind, intelligent and understanding of the children’s limitations. This is precisely the sort of parent the Hargreeves siblings needed. 

So you can imagine my surprise when I found fans expressing disgust toward his character—some going so far as to cheer his gruesome death at Vanya’s hand. 

Vanya, it seems, is at the center of fandom’s disdain for Pogo. Many arguments as to why he allegedly deserved what he got center on his actions the day Reginald had Allison Rumor her into forgetting her powers, and on the fact he never told her the truth. These arguments tend to treat Pogo as the only truly rational adult in that house since he lacked Grace’s manipulative programming and Reginald’s sadism. Because he was the only one who saw Reginald for what he was, he had a responsibility to stand up to him and put an end to the abuse. According to this view, Pogo chose to be complicit in Vanya’s abuse. He chose not to stop it, he chose not to undo it, and it is this choice that makes him irredeemable. 

What it fails to account for, though, is that Pogo isn’t the only clear-headed adult in that house. To say he chose to go along with Reginald’s orders is a drastic oversimplification. Because, like Grace, Pogo too was programmed to never disagree with Reginald. Like the children he cared for, he was abused into compliance; and like Vanya, he was made to forget the power he possessed. 

Pogo Is a Product of Abuse

In the comics we get a moment where Five, having donned Reginald’s monocle, sees Pogo as an apparently ordinary chimp suffering in a lab*. The show implies Pogo’s origin with a single line: “In all respects, Sir Reginald Hargreeves made me what I am today.” 

I want you to ponder that for a moment. Pogo wasn’t born with human intelligence or a human personality. He was born as an ordinary chimp with no more intellect or insight into the universe than other chimps possess. Then, one day, he’s taken captive. His captor torments him. He hurts him. He leaves at night and returns in the morning to hurt him again, and again, for hours and hours and he doesn’t understand, doesn’t know what’s happening, he only knows it hurts and he hurts and he wants it to be over but it’s not over—

And then one day it is. 

It’s over. The pain ends. The ongoing fear and despair comes to a halt as Pogo understands more than he ever thought possible. 

Reginald could have explained every step of the process to Pogo, once he had the intellect to comprehend it. Or he could have kept the details somewhat vague, but made the link between Pogo’s newfound sapience and the horrors he endured clear. Whatever the case, it stuck with Pogo for the rest of his life. 

Everything Pogo has—every word he speaks, every thought in his head—is the result of those experiments. Every aspect of his life exists because he was held in that lab for perhaps months on end, dragged from cage to table and back again, pricked with needles and cut with scalpels. Without the horror Reginald inflicted on him, Pogo would still be an average chimp living in a jungle somewhere, unable to comprehend things we humans take for granted. 

No one is more aware of this than Pogo. 

His Attitude Toward Abuse is Fundamentally Broken 

Reginald didn’t need to abuse his kids. This fact is so apparent it almost need not be said, and I only say it because by the end of the first season, all seven of those kids either know this or are in the process of learning it. Exclusion from the family dynamic, exile to the Moon, being locked in a tomb with the dead—none of these things were necessary, and the people who suffered them are aware of this. 

But in these cases, it’s obvious that the methods used did boundless harm and negligible good. Vanya’s exclusion left her depressed and bitter, with few social skills and no friends to speak of. Luther’s exile sent him spiraling deep into suicidal depression, led him to self-harm, and robbed him of whatever ease with social graces he might have possessed. Klaus’ stints in the mausoleum left him with untreated PTSD and a crippling fear of the dead, leading him to cope through drugs and alcohol. Each of those kids can tell a similar story: Reginald put them through hell to try and make them stronger, and instead they were broken almost beyond repair. 

Pogo’s abuse, on the other hand, worked as intended. Reginald planned for it to give him sapience and high intelligence (in the comics he’s referred to as Dr. Pogo) and that is what it did. 

I’m certain that, given a little time and a conscience, Reginald could have devised a way to grant Pogo his intelligence without the need for experiments or persistent cruelty. A man who can grant humanlike intelligence to an ordinary chimp is a man who can refine his methods to make them as painless and noninvasive as possible, but for whatever reason Reginald chose the most sadistic method. The abuse was not necessary, but it’s a part of Pogo’s origin story and a part of his past. 

The horrific abuse Pogo suffered resulted in a clear, tangible benefit for him. If that sounds twisted, it’s because it is. Pogo’s abuse is twisted, and his story is twisted. Rather than backfiring as it did in the cases of the Hargreeves siblings—and in real cases where parents resort to abuse to make their children stronger—it did precisely what it was meant to. It made Pogo stronger. It improved his mind. It gave him everything he never knew he wanted. 

So when he sees Vanya being locked in a soundproofed room or watches Luther depart for the Moon on a pointless mission, his thoughts are almost certainly not on what sort of awful man would visit those horrors upon his own children. Chances are, they’re on how some good must come of this. While he suffered in that lab, he couldn’t have known he would wake from those horrific, invasive, degrading experiments stronger than he ever thought possible. Surely Luther and Vanya and all the other children will emerge from their own suffering stronger than before. 

He Doesn’t See Reginald the Same Way the Siblings Do

It’s rarely addressed in fandom, but Pogo and the Hargreeves siblings come into Reginald’s care in markedly different ways, and they are intended for markedly different roles. The children are adopted as infants, presented to the world as Reginald’s children, and brought to the dining room table each meal. They’re given rooms in the upper stories of the Academy and, while not treated in any way resembling decent or humane, are at least granted the status that comes with being the child of a reclusive billionaire. 

Pogo, on the other hand, began as a science experiment. When the torture he endures attains its goal, he is never treated as anything more than a butler. His room is sparse and in what appears to be the servants’ quarters, and he is never shown seated at the table with the rest of the family. When speaking to the very children who seem to regard him as a secondary father figure, he calls them Master and Miss—deferential even as he exerts authority. 

To the siblings, Reginald Hargreeves is Dad. He’s cruel and unreasonable, sadistic and uncaring even when it would behoove him to show a modicum of kindness. Under his roof, his authority is absolute—but that authority extends only to the outer walls of the Academy. If Reginald had never adopted them, Klaus would still be Klaus and Vanya would still be Vanya—hopefully with more confidence and less trauma, but they would still be the same people. Their personalities and intelligence would have remained constant regardless of who raised them. 

Without Reginald, Pogo as we know him would not exist. Philosophy and physics, morality and mathematics would have remained foreign to him. Even if he had lived and died as content as a chimp can be, he would have gone to his grave without enjoying a good book or understanding why people seek out music that makes them cry. Reginald might be Dad to the siblings; but to Pogo, he’s God—reaching down from on high, plucking Pogo out of the dust and demanding his will be done. 

It’s an understatement to say that Pogo knows Reginald is smarter than he is. His intelligence and personality exist because Reginald possesses the capacity to grant intelligence and personality to animals like him; and if he has the power to bring animals up to a human level, then his intelligence must far outstrip even the smartest human. He’s brought Pogo to a level on par with the children he cares for, but he hasn’t brought Pogo up to his level, because that level is so far beyond that of an ordinary human that it’s impossible to conceive. As far as Pogo knows, Reginald Hargreeves can see in nine dimensions and remembers every point in human history. 

The programming instilled through religious abuse can be overcome. Those raised to see their deity as an all-powerful version of Reginald Hargreeves—harsh and demanding, quick to find fault and quicker to mete out punishment—can and have conquered this view and managed to either renounce faith entirely or define it on their own terms. It can be done. But it’s also extremely difficult. The abusive deity survivors are raised to worship is all too often made out to be a deity with humanity’s best interests at heart, whose abuse will eventually bring about humanity’s good. 

From all the evidence we’re presented with, it appears something very similar has happened with Pogo. It’s doubtful Pogo worships the man, but it is clear he not only reveres him, but trusts him—and trusts that the crimes he perpetuates against his own children will ultimately benefit them. 

He Tries to Mitigate the Abuse 

He doesn’t step in and try to stop it. We see him assisting Reginald at several points—pointing Allison toward the security footage, withholding the truth of his Moon mission and Reginald’s suicide from Luther, holding the door as Reginald ushers Vanya into that soundproofed chamber. He’s never enthusiastic about this support—in Vanya’s case, he is clearly pained by what he’s enabling—but he doesn’t put his foot down and refuse to do as he’s told, either. But he doesn’t treat the children as Reginald does. If anything, he strives to be Reginald’s opposite in as many ways as he feels he is able. 

If later seasons reveal that Reginald rose each morning and made a list of ways to make Vanya feel unwelcome in her own home, I would not be surprised. He places her at the end of the table; he makes her stay upstairs while her siblings get tattoos; he refuses to let her be in the family photo. All of his actions toward her, large and small, made it clear that she was inadequate and that he barely considered her part of the family. Yet when she returns to the Academy for Reginald’s memorial service, Pogo greets her warmly, addresses her with the same honorific he uses for Allison, and tells her “This is your home, and it always will be.” Reginald may have treated Vanya as unworthy of his approval, but Pogo treats her as her siblings’ equal. 

From the quick temper he displays at Five’s insistence he be allowed to time travel and the obvious fear the other siblings have of him, it seems clear Reginald’s punishments were anything but fair. Discipline, it seems, was a chance for Reginald to vent his anger on whichever child displeased him, rather than a means to correct bad behavior. But when Klaus steals the box and throws the journal away, Pogo doesn’t fly into a rage and toss Klaus out on the street—or do something even more twisted—as Reginald might have. Instead, he confronts Klaus, informs him of the error and why it matters, and gives him a chance to correct his mistake. Reginald’s discipline was likely capricious and disproportionate; but if this example is anything to go by, Pogo’s approach is stern, yet consistent and restrained. 

Pogo does deliberately withhold information from Luther and, to a lesser extent, Allison. He places Allison in a room where she’s sure to find the relevant tape, effectively sending her and Luther off on a wild goose chase. When Luther discovers his Moon mission was a sham, Pogo’s attempt at comfort can sound an awful lot like damage control. However, these deceptions are undercut with a subtle layer of kindness. He lures Allison to the relevant tape with footage of herself and her siblings as children—footage that includes her deceased brother, which is comforting and cheering to her. He is quick to refute Luther’s assumption that he was sent to the Moon for his own personal failures; while his reasoning that “After your accident, he wanted to give you purpose” has the ring of an excuse (and a flimsy one at that) it’s offered when Luther is clearly spiraling and in desperate need of something to hold onto. It’s clear in this scene that Pogo isn’t simply trying to cover his own ass; he cares for Luther and wants to ease his pain. 

Pogo Probably Doesn’t Realize He Could Have Done More 

When I was a kid, I watched a show called Recess. (Late 90s and early 2000s kids probably all just cracked a grin.) If you haven’t seen it, it followed a group of fourth grade students and their adventures at school, outside of school and—mostly—at recess. There were a lot of colorful characters on that playground, and one of them was Ms. Finster, an assistant teacher who monitored the kids at recess and served as a recurring villain, relishing each and every chance she got to foil lovable troublemaker TJ’s plans. 

In one episode, Ms. Finster hits on a plan that she calls The Box. She draws a box and, when TJ misbehaves, makes him stand inside. It’s just four chalk lines on asphalt, but it triggers something in TJ’s brain. When he stands in The Box, he sees the asphalt rising up to hem him in, pulling him further and further underground as his panic rises. He isn’t imprisoned. He can leave at any time, and to an outsider this much is painfully—even comically—obvious. But to TJ, he’s trapped. 

Pogo could have stood up to Reginald. He could have done it when Vanya’s powers were taken away, or he could have done it on a random Thursday. He could have taken Luther aside and told him the truth of Reginald’s death or he could have sat everyone down and explained Vanya’s powers before shit hit the fan. I’ve said elsewhere that the characters in this show are responsible for their actions, but Pogo is responsible for his inaction.

Yet this inaction is not the result of a moral failing on Pogo’s part. He didn’t sit back and choose not to tell Luther or Vanya the truth or remain complicit in their abuse because he wanted to see them suffer. “I had no choice” is what he tells Luther. To us, it’s obvious that Luther’s response—“There’s always choice”—is correct. 

But it isn’t obvious to Pogo, because Pogo is trapped in a Box of his own. It’s a Box made of abuse both physical and mental, of a twisted gratitude toward the man who tormented him, of a lack of faith in his own conscience. Pogo is complicit in the siblings’ abuse, make no mistake. Of all the people living in the Academy, Pogo probably stood the greatest chance of overthrowing Reginald and getting those kids into a more positive environment. He wielded the most power in that situation, and Reginald knew this. And so, as with Vanya, Reginald made Pogo forget his power. It took longer. It involved more pain, more mental manipulation than direct mind control. But in the end, what Reginald did to Pogo was far more effective—and arguably more sinister—than what he did to Vanya. 

Her powers, after all, could be reinstated simply by removing her medication. Removing barriers around your own mind meant to keep you dependent and doubtful, with no physical evidence to prove those barriers are gone? That can take a lifetime. 

*********

*It’s been a while since I’ve read the comics, but I do remember that chimps with human intelligence are just kind of a Thing in that world. I don’t remember if Pogo’s sapience is made out to be a product of experimentation or if the experiments he endured are separate from that. However, since Pogo is apparently the only superintelligent primate butler in the show’s ‘verse, it seems the implication is that he gained his intelligence from Reginald’s experiments. 

[philocake]

Yep, you guessed it, more HTTYD Homecoming salt

I am feeling extra salty today after rewatching the thing and reading the comment sections of the clips shown on Youtube. Today, I’m going to complain about worldbuilding. And some other stuff, cause every second of this short is wrong.

Alright, let me remind myself how rushed this thing is before I get into tearing it apart. It’s not even funny. All the dialogue feels forced and out of character like half of the time, and the pacing is just really strange. Yes, yes, it’s a short, it has lower budget, blah, blah, blah... Not a valid excuse. One, they made the same mistake they made in HTTYD3: too much plot for too little screentime. Two, Gift of the Night Fury had several things to say and yet the pacing was not awkward at all. It really felt like part of the first movie instead of something with less budget thrown into it.

Gift of the Night Fury was nice and heartwarming, and every single character and all they said and did stayed true to the film’s canon. They actually show us how the characters have been doing and give us a little bit of development, and every funny and cute moment is perfectly balanced. Homecoming has none of that. It tries to be charming and its attempts come across as desperate and weird, and man, don’t get me started on how much they clung to comedy - yet again, same mistake with HTTYD3. The jokes and funny comments are just so out of character, so unnecessary, so sudden, so repetitive and so half-hearted that I can’t even force a smile and give the writers any pity for trying.

I’m sorry, but the “and then it hit me” joke was only funny the first time. When a 20 minute short starts milking jokes, you know they have no idea what they’re doing and just want to make you laugh so you can ignore their fatal flaws.

Anyway, let me talk about character development and worldbuilding, because man Homecoming completely smashed these two very important concepts that Gift of the Night Fury treated with impeccable respect.

The characters have been destroyed. The whole play thing was a mess and no one should’ve acted they way they did. Why is Hiccup okay with that disaster? He’s the chief, he should have a little more saying in what they do and don’t do. Yes, he’s Hiccup, he’s gonna be goofy and all... but being goofy does not equal to being a helpless idiot. Actually, HTTYD3 and Homecoming both seem to have deemed it a good idea to turn perfectly good, stable characters into idiots for the sake of comedy. Take Tuffnut, for example. Yes, we all know the twins. We all know how they are. We also know that Tuffnut is not that big of a moron. And omfg, don’t even get me started on Gobber. I’ve always liked his character, but in Homecoming... I don’t even have the words. He’s awful. He’s annoying. He’s stupid. He’s not Gobber. I didn’t think you could destroy a character this badly after HTTYD3, but here we are. I don’t even want to talk more about what he does in detail because it pisses me off so much. That person is just not Gobber. Nothing else to say.

Speaking of characters... Where the absolute hell is Valka. They destroyed her enough in HTTYD3 (physically, too) and now they just throw her out of the picture and offer no explanations? Not a single mention? The yak-nog got a cameo and she didn’t? Fantastic! I want to think she did the most sensible thing and ran off to live with the dragons, somehow. Would be better than the freakshow Berk is. I would do the same if I lived surrounded by 1-dimensional morons, Val.

More problems on Berk, let’s see... Why don’t the kids know about Stoick and are allowed to trash his statue without being called out? Shouldn’t he be talked about like he’s the stuff of legends (which he is) to every kid? Hiccup was told countless stories about him when he was little. Yes, he’s his son, but that shouldn’t give only him the privilege of listening to stories. And speaking of telling kids things, why have Hiccup and Astrid not told their kids about the dragons sooner? You’d think these two, of all people, would be so excited to educate their little ones about the marvels of those creatures. They look like they’re at least 6+ both, they should have already known about Berk’s history with dragons. But of course, Homecoming couldn’t afford that. Gotta have some sort of plot going on!

Now, to the Hidden World... I’ll be honest with you, I found that scene with Toothless drawing Hiccup to be absolutely depressing. Not because he’s longing his best friend (which he shouldn’t, because the damn director stated he forgot about him), but because he should feel miserable trapped in that place. He and his kids should feel miserable. For one, the Light Fury is literally a controlling ass. Did you see how offended she looked when Toothless dared to remember his past life with the human that changed his life? Oh, how dare he! His life must only be centered around her and her numb skull! After all, she’s this random dragon he fell in love with in 3 seconds! Gotta love how she acted all bitchy until he was forced to comfort her. My headcanon is that she’s literally controlling him with pheromones. The real Toothless is too smart to stay with such a plain, useless, unaccepting dragon for the rest of his life.

As for his kids, yes I did say they should be unhappy. The only thing they can do is wrestle each other and play with whatever those floating orb thingies are supposed to be. Wow, how fun... They’re little baby dragons, trying to enjoy their early years of life! In the outside world, they would have been able to see the sky, interact with the environment, discover all the animals that surround them, travel back and forth with their parents... but they’re stuck on that pretty cage, bored out of their lives. The Hidden World is literally captivity.

Look at it, this poor thing is so miserable... No wonder it was so desperate to look for adventures, so much that even a drawing of a creature it has never seen gave it the magical abilities to find New Berk.

Which brings me to another point, how did the Night Lights find New Berk? How did they know they were supposeed to find something outside the Hidden World only via a drawing? And how were they able to fly for so long? And how did Toothless and the Light Fury know exactly where to find them? Also, earlier on, why did the Light Fury even light up that glowing rock thingie when they were in the Hidden World? She’s that awful, controlling of a dragon that she can’t even let her kids sleep in peace. And she huffed out green fire? What is happening?

The plot of Homecoming is just forced, and it’s really stinkin’ obvious this thing was done for money and nothing more. You’ve got cute little Toothless babies (I find the Night Lights to be rather hideous, but that’s just me) and you’ve got cute little Hiccstrid kids. Obviously you want to make money off of that, because more than half the fandom won’t give a shit if they make sense or not.

These people just went right ahead and trashed the third movie’s canon to make this cashgrab. Let’s ignore the fact that the director explicitly stated that Toothless had forgotten about Hiccup for a second and focus on what happens on the short. Toothless immediately recognizes Hiccup while he’s in a suit just by his scent and voice, but in the third movie he just has to wait till the hand trick comes up to recgonize him. Toothless was also totally cool with people, and that smug look he gave his family after letting Gobber touch him just proves he was there to make them see how great humans are. And yet he acts like he will murder a few unarmed humans that came slightly close to his home, with no way in? Suuuure.

Actually, let me vent a little here about what I said earlier - HTTYD3 and Homecoming both just destroyed the hand touch thing and I will never forgive them for that. It was supposed to be a unique moment, a special and unforgettable action that started it all, but now they’ve gotta milk it for the feels. The reverse hand touch in HTTYD3 was so forced I actually sighed, and then they just kept forcing it throughout. Shame on y’all.

I could go on for days tearing this thing apart... but I don’t want to give this thing more of my time than it deserves.

[ladyloveandjustice]

Fall 2018 Anime Overview: Continuing Series- Golden Kamuy Season 2 and Banana Fish

Golden Kamuy Season 2

If you enjoyed the first season, this is pretty much more of the same, so check out my review of season one to know what to expect.

Though I guess you could say this portion of the season DOES lean even harder into weirdness than the first one did. There’s not many anime where you’ll see two dudes having the time of their lives modeling fashionable outfits made out of human skin, which include...crotch appendages...only in Golden Kamuy y’all.

Interestingly bizarreness tends to overlap with queerness a lot in this season and its hard to know how to feel about it. For instance, it’s definitely an unexpected revelation that dudes are attracted to Lieutenant Tsurumi like whoa. 

IDK apparently he’s a catch. Half of his subordinates are in love with him. It’s handled as comical and of course the dudes are mentally unbalanced weirdos (as is everyone in Golden Kamuy except Asirpa and Sugimoto only sometimes) and one of them dies, but the show is never overtly mean to them either. Nobody acts disgusted about it and when one character observes the attraction, he basically shrugs about it.

 Satoru Noda apparently also REALLY loose with his fixation with dudes muscles with this part of the story, to the point we got the beef-cakiest hotsprings episode I’ve ever seen, which includes an extended fight scene where the male characters were naked throughout. There’s also an entire scene where apparently otter meat is an aphrodisiac that causes the dudes to be really into each other, so they engage in nearly naked sumo wrestling.

This is all clearly supposed to be wacky and funny, but at the same time it’s pretty clear the mangaka must REALLY LIKE drawing these scenes of muscular, naked men, and I support him following his dreams. Also I won’t deny it’s refreshing to see a hot springs episode where not a single woman got objectified, but there was dude oglin’ a plenty. It healed me a little.

I guess while we’re talking about this show and its weird relationship with queerness I should reporting that my prediction was right and the trans woman I mentioned in the previous review did become an ally. Her transness hasn’t been bought up again (though for some reason the subs decided to switch to “he” despite sticking with “she” before) and her role is pretty minor, she does reveal she’s skilled in both cooking and surgery (because she likes dismembering people) and talks about how great it would be to see people murdered every so often, so pretty much more of the same.

And that’s really all there is to say. Golden Kamuy has only gotten weirder and the plot only more convoluted (I’m starting to have a hard time keeping track of the characters tbh), but it’s an entertaining story and there’s still characters with resonance and heart underneath it all (the scene where Sugimoto discusses his trauma from being in the war with Asirpa genuinely tugged a heartstring. These two are still great and have really settled into a kinda of adorable dad-daughter dynamic at this point) and the historical and cultural research that went into this story is still amazing. 

I can tell the anime’s still skipping a lot of the manga (most of volume 7 was completely skipped), but since the English release of the manga is so slow, I’m happy to watch it in the meantime. It helps that the show has a bangin’ soundtrack and and it managed to pull its ginormous cast together for some truly exciting and action packed final episodes that left me eager for more. 

Banana Fish (13-24)

Again, if you read my review for the first half of the show, you can basically expect more of the same, both with the good and especially the bad parts. We do get more downtime with Ash and Eiji’s relationship, and they continued to make me think this show would be so much better if it focused more on these quiet scenes rather than on piling as much trauma on Ash as it possibly can. 

I think this second half did allow me to see what was compelling about Ash and Eiji’s relationship and why it’s stayed with so many people. When Ash explained that he’s finally found someone who will love him without expecting anything in return, so of course he’s willing to do anything for that person, that got me in the heart. Ash is someone who has either been viewed as a threat or someone to exploit- he’s especially used to being treated like he’s nothing more than a body, a receptacle for desires. Eiji isn’t afraid of Ash, or in awe of him, and never asks anything of him other than for him to be okay and by his side. Ash genuinely can just be a dumb teenager with him while he can’t with anyone else. Eiji is an outsider, to Ash’s gang-bangin’ world, to his culture in general, and that allows him to see Ash as he truly is, just a kid who needs to get out of this mess.

The romantic in me really loves that concept, and as an ace person, I especially connect to the underlying implication that Eiji is a romantic partner who isn’t going to demand sex from Ash or try to force him into it. Though Ash’s implied desire to avoid sex almost certainly stems from trauma, I know how he feels in a broad sense. And I think it’s a thing a lot of women can relate to even if they aren’t ace, wanting to find a relationship where they aren’t used or objectified, so it goes back around to how Ash acts as kind of a representation for the anxieties and desires of (likely) the mangaka and many women despite being a male character, and I still find that very interesting. The scene where Ash has a complete breakdown and screams at his rapist while laughing hysterically was really affecting.

So there’s moments of real resonance here, but is it worth the bullshit surrounding it, which includes every single gay man being represented as a rapist, to the point a gay bar is connected to a child porn ring? The nasty implication that gay sex is inherently evil and non-consensual, and Ash and Eiji’s relationship is only okay because they’re not doing it is very strong, and as much as this ace appreciates a romance that doesn’t require sex, I don’t want it THIS way.

There’s also some SERIOUS anti-Semitic bullshit that I can’t believe MAPPA didn’t edit out in a couple episodes. Like it would have been so easy to cut. Also some more pretty rough scenes of black men being murdered (they’re extras this time at least, and the main black dude for this part of the anime miraculously manages to both survive and not be an offensive caricature. Also his name is Cain Blood which is the best name in this story, and possibly ever). 

The second half of the anime also involved some of the more absurd elements worsening. I got REALLY tired of every character commenting on how hot and amazing Ash is like. I GET IT.  Also Ash’s life of being sexually exploited somehow gives him the ability to seduce any man holding him captive, and every bad guy is down for raping a teenage boy, I guess. It’s actually again, a little surreal to see these tropes with a male character. I’m used to seeing hot female characters who’ve been through sexual trauma and have magic seduction powers and are endlessly drooled over...I almost want guys to watch these segments so they can see how uncomfortable it feels when the tables are turned. 

There’s also some really good examples of ACTUAL jarring tone shifts, where the anime really fails to land some of its attempts at a funny, light moment in the midst of really tense and tragic situations. I think it’s possible the manga managed this better, but I can’t imagine the “joke” where Ash has to crossdress and a male doctor gropes him and Ash punches him out cold and his friends chortle and tell him he’s not a gentle woman could ever be done in a non jarring way. Like, I don’t like sexual harassment humor in anime at the best of times, but it’s especially bad when the person who is harassed has been raped more times than he can count.  We’re expected to take that seriously, but not this, because Ash is in a dress? It’s also like, appalling that his friends who are fully aware of his history would laugh about him getting assaulted again. It’s a moment that feels like it comes from a completely different anime. 

So um, yeah. My conclusion is those resonant moments are not worth the bullshit. The ending really cemented this for me. I had an (admittedly overly flippant) reaction that kind of sums my feelings up. Let’s just say I HATE meaningless cruel tragedy for the sake of tragedy, and I especially hate the implication abuse victims can never find happiness. 

I can’t say Banana Fish is an anime I’ll think fondly of or recommend. I do still find the discussion about it interesting, much more interesting than the actual story (as presented in the anime, again, haven’t read the manga), tbh. And I can see the seeds of a good story there, and I can understand why fans would want to see a reboot that truly modernized the story, cutting out the worst stuff and giving it a better ending, while keeping the resonance of the main relationship and the good characters (I really did like Sing, and Yut Lung was interesting. Shorter and Skip both deserved way better. Also Jessica, who at least got to do something besides be victimized at the last minute. One whole female character got a few moments of agency. Hallelujah.) Maybe someday it will happen. 

In the meantime, there’s a bunch of cool articles on Banana Fish that are worth a read. All of the pieces published on animefeminist as well as this post on Otaku, She Wrote are really informative, illuminating, and break down a lot of the issues I found here.

[theinquisitivej]

A Trio of Reviews – Catching up on Bumblebots, Peppy Maries, and the (Oscar) Favourite

I don’t go out to the cinema much in late December. I don’t drive, and I always visit family in a part of the country where a cinema isn’t exactly in walking distance. This hasn’t been much of a problem over the last few years, as there’s usually only one film out that I’m aching to see, and that’s often the one movie we all go out to see together. This most recent December though? It was nuts! All four of the big blockbusters that were playing were films I was interested in and excited to check out. Once the holidays were over, I had a lot of catching up to do. I’ve since seen all but one of the December releases (ironically enough the one I didn’t see was the one that, judging from its box office, everyone else went to go see – Aquaman), plus one other film that was weird, fascinating, and has been well received as a critical darling. So, here’s this week’s trio of reviews for The Favourite, Mary Poppins Returns, and Bumblebee, in the order I saw them in.

The Favourite

Artistically impressive but deliberately unpleasant.

         The Favourite caught my attention when I first saw the trailer because it was a period drama that revelled in the fashion, the art, and the general finery of the early 18th Century, and yet the camera angles were strikingly different from what I’ve seen in other period dramas. The genre can be hit-of-miss for me, but every shot I saw in that trailer was doing something that interested me.

         There’s a lot to chew on when it comes to the visual presentation of the film. Characters are often shot from low angles, and while this can make some characters seem confident and of noble stature, it also creates an uneasy feeling when we see people showing their vulnerability and flaws. Shooting people from this angle frames them as if they’re towering over the camera, and when you combine this with the magnificent attire on display, the visuals should, in theory, present the subject in their best light. But Queen Anne, played by the immeasurably skilled Olivia Colman, is often shown to be feeble and susceptible to manipulation from such angles, and we see many others be vulgar, cruel, and inhuman in ugly ways. The film shows a familiarity with the beautiful elegance of the film’s setting and other examples of the period drama, and it subverts your expectations time and time again by gradually turning your sympathies around on the characters you expect to like and expect to hate. It points the camera directly at the most horrible aspects of this world and its people, and there’s a strangely captivating quality to that. It’s ugly, but it’s magnetic as well.

         The three performances at the heart of the film are what sustain your interest throughout The Favourite, because all three of the actresses are on top form. Emma Stone plays Abigail in a way that has her act very differently depending on who she’s talking with, showing just how hard she’s working to stay afloat in this world of politics where she’s at a disadvantage, giving a performance that keeps you guessing what her true nature is for much of the runtime. Rachel Weisz evokes such commanding authority and confidence as Lady Sarah, wearing each of her impressive outfits better than anyone else in the film because you believe that she deserves the station she’s acquired for herself, even if she is ruthless. Olivia Colman has taken a lot of the focus as Queen Anne, being the one to snag the ‘Best Actress in a Leading Role’ category while Stone and Weisz have been relegated to ‘Supporting Role’ nominations. All three of them equally deserve to be called leads, and to tell the truth, I’m pretty sure Queen Anne has less screen time than either of the other two protagonists. Nevertheless, all three of these actresses deserve praise for their performances in these leading roles, and Colman is no different; she expresses a wide range of emotions with sharp sincerity, always making her scenes uncomfortable to watch because you really feel like you’re in the room with someone having an emotional breakdown and you have no idea how to help them. These actresses are excellent and make The Favourite worth watching even without all the other impressive features the film has to offer on top of this.

         The flipside of The Favourite doing so much to emphasise the rotten nature of this world and its characters is that, while the visuals and all the formal features of the film are praiseworthy, the final shape of the narrative has so little warmth to it that it leaves me feeling a little cold towards it. The film is a hundred percent committed to its vision of unflinchingly showing you the harsh ugliness underneath the elegant surface of this point in history, but because of this I felt disengaged with many of the character’s journeys because they would do awful things to other people for selfish reasons, and they did so with such little humanity that I simply didn’t want to see them succeed, nor were any of them appealing enough to make seeing them succeed feel satisfying. The only character I had any sympathy for by the end was Queen Anne, as she’s a woman in desperate need of help surrounded by people who’re only interested in her as a means of furthering themselves. There is some dramatic meat to that, and the bleakness of it is presented with enough purpose to make me think about the film for a long time after I was finished watching it. After all, history isn’t always satisfying, and it’s filled with people who did terrible things to get ahead, so this film would probably be compromised in its vision if it did try to make this unflinching look at this particular point in history and then deliver a narrative where good people are rewarded and bad people are punished. But there’s only so far that a film with as little compassion in it as this can go before my spirit gets tired of seeing mistreatment and hopelessness. The Favourite’s technical qualities are a treat for the mind, but its general outlook is draining on my soul.

Final Ranking: Silver.

The Favourite is coarse, and the emphasis of selfish people being terrible does wear on me and get in the way of me engaging with the motivations of several characters. But the technical skill on display in the cinematography, the lighting and colour coordination, and the three central performances come together to make an impressive piece that, even with my reservations about the story, results in a fascinating and distinct film.

 Mary Poppins Returns

Mary Poppins Returns is a sequel to a classic film that follows the framework of its predecessor so closely it’s almost beat-for-beat. And yet even with this deliberate mimicking of Mary Poppins, it also somehow tells a different story and doesn’t come across as if it’s resting on its laurels. At the point in the film where the original would be playing ‘A Spoonful of Sugar’, Returns has a song about putting an imaginative and fun spin on everyday activities. When you’re thinking that it’s time for a trip to an idyllic 2D animated landscape, Returns obliges. If you’re realising that we’re scheduled for a ‘Step in Time’ music number, Returns gives you one with lamp-lighters instead of chimney sweeps.

         But if you think that reprises of ‘Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious’ or ‘Feed the Birds’ would be an easy slam-dunk of nostalgic ecstasy that the film would be foolish not to go for, you’d be surprised. Apart from the odd line of music here or there that’s snuck in at just the right moment to make you remember the original film, none of the original songs are to be found, and that works immensely well in Returns favour. The movie is already lifting the structure of the original film wholesale; if it took anything else from it we’d be approaching live-action remake levels of similarity. Instead, the new songs are there to stand on their own, and they mimic the sound of the Sherman Brothers’ music closely enough that you feel elated when the film wants you to be having a good time, and deeply moved when it wants you to sob your eyes out. But they’re also different enough and of unique enough subject matter that the new songs by Scott Wittman and Marc Shaiman (whose previous song writing work includes the Hairspray musical) feel totally distinct, even if they do have a familiar sound to them. Some of my favourites include Emily Blunt’s playful performance of ‘Can You Imagine That’, the amazing choreography of ‘Trip a Little Light Fantastic’, and of course the tender bittersweetness of ‘The Place Where Lost Things Go’.

         The casting also holds up across the board. Pixie Davies, Nathanael Saleh, and Joel Dawson play Annabel, John, and Georgie, the three children of the now adult Michael Banks. They strike the right tone for the central child characters in a Mary Poppins story, demonstrating a decent balance between being impossibly sweet-natured but also strong-headed enough to say what they feel as they feel it and sometimes cause trouble because of that. It’s difficult for me to think of many distinguishing characteristics which mark each of them out, but in all honesty I could say the same about the original Banks children, even after all those viewings. Plus, having three children rather than two does shift the dynamic enough to make the experience feel different. Ben Whishaw plays the adult Michael Banks, who grew up to be an artist who’s struggling to make end’s meet through his work at the bank, so while he did pursue a creative life that marks him out as a different man to his father, he also resembles him in many ways, and clearly risks making the same mistakes that he did. But the thing that resonates the most about his character is the set-up that his wife passed away not too long ago, and the whole family is still coming to terms with the hole this has left in their lives. Whishaw’s performance stabs at your heart, conveying how helpless Michael feels without her, but also how hard he’s trying to not show this to the rest of the family. His resolve to soldier on reminds me of the long walk Mr. Banks takes at the end of the original, knowing he is most likely going to be fired, but moving on anyway. The connection between the two characters is well thought out, and Whishaw impresses immensely. There’s not as much time dedicated to the grown-up Jane Banks played by Emily Mortimer, which is a shame, but it does feel right to see her be inspired by her mother’s activism as a suffragette and campaign for worker’s rights. Lin-Manuel Miranda fills in the Bert role of the lovable guide who’s savvy to Mary’s unknowable nature as Jack, an apprentice that Bert seems to have more-or-less raised himself. Miranda sings his songs with such cheery charm that they instantly transport you back to the world of Mary Poppins, demonstrating his golden touch when it comes to musicals, surprising none of the fans of his previous work, including Hamilton and the songs from Moana. Finally, Emily Blunt is another transcendent Mary Poppins. Yes, we now have two cinematic portrayals of the same character which are different, but both stunning. She accentuates some of the aspects I most enjoy about the character, namely the prim, immaculate composure that oozes authoritative control, but can instantly, effortlessly transform into cheeky playfulness before your eyes. She nails it, and as far as I’m concerned, we now have two Mary Poppins performances that are practically perfect in every way.

         This review is already running long, so I’ll get through this quickly, but… my God, did seeing traditional 2D animation in the style of Disney’s original hand-drawn pictures on the big screen again in 2019 move me beyond words. There’s plenty of quality 2D, non-CGI animation out there in different forms, whether its in television, short films, the labour of love that animators are putting out there on the internet, or anime, but we really do need more of this mode of animation out there. There have been some truly beautiful 2D animated films over the last decade, but I want to see more of this kind of genuine effort from Disney, the company that put this cinematic hand-drawn animation on the map for western audiences. This beautiful artform needs to be preserved and cultivated, and I hope this is a step towards Disney doing more to help with that.

         I will admit that Returns following Mary Poppins’ structure so closely did take me out of the film to a degree, as it makes me more aware that I’m watching a sequel that’s very deliberately aping the film that came before it, which makes it feel less organic than it could have been. To be fair, I’m not sure what else you could have done to make it have as strong a connection as it does to the first film. There’s also an unnecessary sequence here or there which are intended to be thrilling but I never felt like there was much tension to them, such as the race against the clock at the end. It doesn’t reach the heights of the original, but wasn’t that always going to be the case? In every other respect, this film is a delight and a satisfying emotional journey.

Final Ranking: Silver.

You can’t watch Mary Poppins for the first time again. But this film nevertheless gives you a taste of what you felt, whether it’s that joyous exuberance of having a jolly holiday with Mary, or the bittersweet reflection of an adult acknowledging that time keeps pressing on, the seasons change, but you can still find the magic in today.

 Bumblebee

The director of Kubo and the Two Strings directed a Transformers movie.

I’m currently doing academic research into the history of American stop-motion animation. I plan for one of my chapters to be on Laika and their four (five by the time I finish, though I hope there’ll be even more than that) excellently crafted films, including Kubo. Watching Bumblebee, I noted a few similarities between it and Kubo, such as a young main character going on an emotional journey as they struggle to come to terms with the death of one or more of their parents, and a celebration of the emotive powers of music that enable us to express our inner feelings, as well as Travis Knight’s general appreciation for certain specific older songs in general. So yes, watching Bumblebee did make me reflect on the approach to filmmaking of a director I’m deeply invested in for my work at the moment. What I’m saying is that watching a Transformers movie was a productive part of my ongoing academic research, and that is a bizarre place to find myself in.

But what’s even weirder than that is that one of these Transformers movies turned out to be a legitimately great film that I kinda love.

         Everything that muddied the waters of past Transformers films that Michael Bay was involved in has been stripped away, and the simple narrative framework that exists underneath all of that has been strengthened by a script and style of presentation that knows how to make the most with very little. The majority of the film can be summarised as “a girl and her pet car”, and while the sceptical might call that inane, the people involved in making Bumblebee work hard enough with that premise to make it work for a full film.

         Charlie, a teenage girl and the human protagonist of the film, has lost her father and is upset that the rest of her family has moved on (her mother remarried). Her dad was very supportive of her, and now that he’s no longer around, Charlie is deeply dissatisfied with the person she’s become since her father died, and she doesn’t believe she can complete certain tasks that mean a great deal to her without her father being there to help. Charlie feels she hasn’t turned out to be the amazing person her dad believed she could become, and it’s possible that she’s afraid that she’s letting not only herself down, but the memory of her father as well. Meanwhile, Bumblebee is a Transformer that was tasked with going ahead of the rest of the Autobots to safeguard Earth and be ready for when the rest of his comrades arrive on the planet to continue the fight against the Decepticons. But soon after he lands, he gets involved in a fight to the death that he almost loses. Gravely wounded, he uses the last of his strength to disguise himself as a yellow 1967 Volkswagen Beetle. Some time later, Charlie finds him, and what she thinks is a broken-down abandoned car comes into her possession. Charlie fixes him up in the hopes of having a working car that she can use to get away from things, but in the process, Bumblebee instinctively transforms and reveals himself. Bumblebee’s injuries have destroyed his capacity to speak and have left him with no memories of his past. After cementing the connection between these two individuals who each need help in order to heal from the trauma they’ve gone through, the rest of the film takes its time to reinforce this bond, resulting in a touching family sci-fi film with a friendship that I believe will be just as enduring as its various sources of inspiration, from E.T. to The Iron Giant.

         Without being overstuffed, the film’s pacing benefits immeasurably, putting all its energy into making this friendship as sweet and fun to watch as possible. Hailee Steinfeld is fully engaged as Charlie, putting 110% into her interactions with the digital creation of Bumblebee. The emotions she displays at the different points of her relationship with the adorable Autobot are charmingly heartfelt. Whether she’s anxious about Bumblebee being discovered, jubilant at this chance of newfound freedom and a friend to experience it with, or angry and defensive when parts of her past with her father get unearthed, Steinfeld is always putting everything into this, even when her main acting partner isn’t there on the set alongside her. Which brings us to why having a director with a history in animation can do wonders for a film centring on a digital creation, because the Bumblebee in this movie is precious, lovable, and so captivating to watch. The design is streamlined so that every moving part serves a purpose, and that purpose is always to convey the inner thoughts and feelings of this robot. His expressions are dripping with soulful looks of his timidness, compassion, or mischievous side that never veers too far away from his well-meaning nature.  He may be made of metal, but this CGI creature is so full of life. Both the arcs and the performances of these characters are relatively simple, but they’re executed with such consideration that they hit home in a remarkable way for me.

         I could go on about how much I enjoyed the measured action that’s presented through restrained camera movements that clearly frame the subjects of the shot, or how I engaged with the action as much as I did because it consistently featured characters I was invested in or interested by, or how the actions characters took within these sequences offer insight into their general outlook, but I’ll leave it at that barely veiled summary. Bumblebee draws inspiration from several well received family sci-fi films with a lot of heart to them, and some of the positive parts of the action and general aesthetic of this live-action Transformers world are owed to the groundwork provided by Michael Bay’s films. But even if Bumblebee owes some credit to other films that have preceded it, it understands the deeper reasons for why the aspects that worked in these other properties were as successful as they were, and it weaves that informed technical prowess of storytelling and filmmaking with genuine love. Love for the idea of Transformers, love for coming of age classics with a fun twist to them, and a beautiful friendship between two characters who each heal from the love they show each other.

Final Ranking: Gold.

The film is a delight for its simplicity and earnestness, but that doesn’t mean there’s a lot of technical skill on display in the performances, the animation, or its use of colour and camerawork. It warms the soul, and my mind comes back to it more often than I’d ever expected. It’s got the touch.

[bhushita]

Lopamudra’s Wedding

BY BHUSHITA VASISTHA | FICTION

Many years ago, when the earth was still very young and her every toss and turn frightened mortals, propelling them to create a pantheon of omnipresent gods, there was a great learned yogi-alchemist named Agastya. He was convinced that there was a mysterious pattern, which governed the earth, and knowing these patterns would free humans of their enslavement to the Devas, the race of fair-skinned ones, who claimed to possess secret powers to the mystery of nature.

He believed that no man knew any more than the other man to make him any superior. He often argued that humans were enslaved not because of any innate inferiority but simply because they were too lazy to find out for themselves. They didn’t, he thought, put their heart into solving the questions that puzzled them and therefore settled for myths and stories. He was determined to find the way nature truly worked, and spent hours studying the movement of birds, the swiftness of their flight against gravity and tried to create a flying contraption that could emulate this motion.

Naturally, Agastya wasn’t an easy Brahmin to be around. He asked questions difficult to answer, challenged the long-standing traditions and argued that our scriptures perpetuated fear and bigotry. His ways gradually drove him to the fringes of Brahmin community and they dismissed his existence not with vehement censure but simply with sardonic smiles. He was often found toiling in his lab, playing with strange evanescent chemicals. Strange stories abounded around the solitary alchemist. They said he stole and operated on dead carcasses, some claimed to have heard him speak to them. People had slowly forgotten all about him,until much later when he successfully designed the first flying machine. He was already an old man when he launched his first flight.

The Devas, who were always quick to recruit scientists to advance their Goddom, recognized and made Agastya one of their own. It was a strange twist of fate that Agastya, who started his scientific endeavors to debunk the myth of superior race, was granted a place among them as the reward of his discovery. Some of his young disciples, who called themselves Anarchists, accused Agastya of compromising their ideology for the luxury and comfort of the pantheon. They went ahead to accuse Agastya of all kinds of debaucheries, but to be quite honest we don’t know much about that. These are hearsays, the unauthenticated voices of history, which always threaten to malign a great man like Agastya.Any serious scholar will stick to the official pages of history in which Agastya appears as a glorious scientist, who devoted his entire life to the pursuit of truth. So single-minded was Agastya in his pursuit that he would have never married if not for the strange encounter with his dead ancestors one day.

It was a beautiful morning. The cool breeze rolled down the mountains in gentle waves, unfurling the petals of fragrant tuberose and plumeria. The sky was clear. Agastya had just finished his morning ablutions and was wrapping loincloth around his waist. His lithe body glistened under the tender morning sun. After finishing his prayers, Agastya set out towards his abode. There was a kind of playfulness in nature. A bunch of sparrows glided with elegant ease through the crisp air, singing along a chorus of a happy tune. The raspberry shrubs were laden with ripe fruits that gave off a sweet, tangy flavor to the air. Agastya plucked a few berries and ate them. They melted gently, leaving the exquisite flavor of spring in his mouth. Riveted, he walked along the trail humming a hymn, an ode to spring, that he had composed a few days ago. As he reached near the huge banyan tree, which stood on the bank of a small creek, which winded around his ashram, he caught a strange sight – a bunch of elderly people hung upside down by a not so tall bush, the silver tuft of their hair swaying to the whims of the wind.

“Who are you?” asked Agastya with no small wonder. “And why are you hanging upside down on this puny bush?”

“We are your ancestors,” they replied in unison. “We are hanging by in this bush because unless you marry and give birth to a son, we cannot transcend the earthly realm and ascend to the otherworld.”

“That is rather strange,” replied the yogi. “Do we not ascend to heaven because of our own merit?”

“No, it is not enough,” said one his ancestors. “Good deeds are desirable but not enough. Unless your lineage is expanding on earth, you cannot enter heaven, so is written in our scriptures.”

“Alas! I am already an old man now. I am not sure anyone would be willing to marry me, much less beget a child for me.” Agastya tried to reason his way out, but his ancestors assured that the yogis have always been desired by the most beautiful of the women and he would find no trouble finding the bride given his accomplishment.

They might have been right about other yogis but not about Agastya. It turned out that Agastya had accomplished so much as a man that it was difficult to find a woman who could be of his match. For months, Agastya wandered far and wide looking for a bride. There was no shortage of young and beautiful maiden, well-adorned, well-spoken, adept in household work and art of love. However, when it came to Agastya, he found them far too meek and submissive to arouse his passion.

After roaming for months together, Agastya decided what he sought in a woman was nothing less than perfect, so the only way to find such a bride was to mould one. So, he carefully assembled the most beautiful parts of all animals, the most sublime essence of all flowers, the sensitivity of water, the infinite wisdom of the ether, the gentleness of wind and brilliance of fire and created a girl child – Lopamudra.

Lopamudra was, by definition, the essence of everything sublime – from beauty to wisdom to aesthetics. Agastya looked at his brainchild in awe and decided to leave her in care of King of Vidarbha until Lopamudra would come of age. The king was utterly pleased to welcome Lopamudra, as he had been desirous of progeny at the moment. Princess Lopamudra grew up not just to be exceedingly beautiful but equally astute. Her spontaneous wit and relentless curiosity often put the royal scholars in trouble. But her father, the king, revelled in his young and prodigal daughter. When Lopamudra came of marriageable age, the king started looking for suitors. The princes came from far and away in the hope of winning the beautiful bride, but Lopamudra rejected them all for she found them inferior to her.

When Agastya heard of it, he set out to the kingdom of Vidarbha for Lopamudra. He was received amicably by the king, however, when he heard the sage’s proposal, he was heartbroken. He had brought up Lopamudra with great care and in luxury. Imagining her as the wife of an ascetic, and an ascetic who was old enough to be her father, his heart sank. He told Agastya that he would consult with the queen and give his decision the next day. That night the king summoned queen to his quarter and discussed the issue. Agastya was renowned for his esoteric powers. Rejecting his proposal might be provoking his wrath, which would be inauspicious for the kingdom.

Meanwhile, the princess Lopamudra was told by her maids that an old sage had arrived with the marriage proposal for her. That evening the Princess sat before her dressing table for a long time, taking off her ornaments one by one until she shed them all. She took off her silk drapes and wore a modest cotton wrap. Her large kohled eyes shone like pristine lakes on her moon-like face. She kept staring at the image on the mirror searchingly. The sun rolled down the skies, and the moon soared noiselessly through the mango orchard. The harshness of daylight had given away to the quivering, mercurial light that made all inanimate objects stir back to life. The silk drapes on the window danced to the tunes of wind in graceful swings. The slender eucalyptus tree outside her window quivered in some silvery feverishness. The princess felt a strange restlessness assail her being, too. The owl hooted twice. Lopamudra listened carefully to the sound of footfall in the corridor; there were none. She wrapped a shawl around her head and walked into the garden. The black, inky waters of the darkness filled the garden, making the pathways, so well trodden in the daytime, suddenly unknown and mysterious. She walked cautiously, trying not to disturb the calm of the night or to stir wrathful monsters from her womb. She walked as light as the shy parijata buds that landed weightlessly on the garden-floor, leaving behind their heady fragrance on the wind. When Lopamudra opened the gates of the lodge where Agastya had chosen to stay, it was the dense fragrance of parijata blossoms that first hit him. Inhaling the sweet, intoxicating air, Agastya turned around to find the princess, who was lighter than the wind. She almost appeared to be floating on air, just like the parijata fragrance. Agastya examined his unannounced guest with some strain in the dim light of kerosene lamp. She appeared as ferocious as she was calm. Her face had the solemn gravity of the moon, but something of fire blazed from within her skin. Agastya couldn’t say she was beautiful — she was far more than that. He couldn’t phrase how he felt about the princess. Her being was not just an invitation but a challenge.

“You cannot be anyone else but Lopamudra,” said Agastya. The princess thought she could detect a hint of relief in his tone but relief from what she did not know.

“Why couldn’t it be anyone else?” she questioned as she locked the wooden lattice door behind her. Agastya thought it was uncharacteristically bold of her to shut the door.

“Because there has been no woman in this world, who can captivate me. Except one, who goes by the name of Lopamudra. Considering how I, the great sage Agastya, feel utterly helpless in front of you at the moment, I know that you are Lopamudra.”

The princess smiled, thought over the statement for a while and said, “You really are proud of yourself, aren’t you?”

“Well, I could be,” he replied laughing and gesturing her to sit on a wooden chair, next to his bed. “But many would agree that my pride isn’t entirely unfounded.”

The princess, instead, sat on his bed. As she sat cross-legged on the bed, facing the sage directly, she took off her shawl. Yet again, Agastya was at a loss for words. Lopamudra was unlike anything he had seen or imagined. Indeed, in one way, she seemed to mirror himself, in a younger body of a woman. But there was also something decidedly boyish about her. She reminded him of something of himself, but he could not say just what. She sat with no feminine self-consciousness or with any calculated poise to intrigue. She simply sat there with authority, with a strange asexual, transcendental charm about her.

“Of course,” she said, “I was very thrilled when I first read of your alchemic formulas and theories on aviation. But what had really impressed me was how you thought marriage was a futile institution and were determined to pursue your scientific discoveries without submitting to these social formalities. And now suddenly, you are looking for a bride. Agastya, I am curious — what made you change your mind?”

Lopamudra spoke with great passion and conviction. She made him feel that she spoke each word with great earnestness and expected nothing less in return.

“You seem to know a great deal about me already, my dear princess,” the sage replied. “You might as well know that I have agreed to marry only to free the souls of my ancestors from their earthly bondage.”

“We both know that it is only an excuse. Such baseless and superstitious fabrications cannot fool a man of your mind. Tell me Agastya why did you decide to marry?” Lopamudra insisted.

“I do not think they are baseless, princess. It has been written in the Scripture.”

Princess replied rather irritatedly, “You certainly don’t think that everything that is written in the Scripture is true. Not you of all people, Agastya!”

“They have been handed down the generations for a certain reason. Only truth stands against the test of time, Lopamudra,” Agastya replied.

“Don’t be so naïve, Agastya,” the princess quipped. “The scriptures are nothing but documented histories. And we know well enough that history reflects the bias of its authors. So, history is bound to be partial and therefore didactic and oppressive. Anyone who lives as dictated by history is unwilling to use his power of reason, which is not something I expected from you.”

“But what fault do you find with the scripture, give me an example and I will explain it to you, princess,” replied the sage. The moon was now right across the window, throwing the shadow of the tall parijata tree on Lopamudra’s body. Its coolness did nothing to sooth the young princess, consumed by the heat of a passionate discussion. The cool breeze could only sweep past her lithe body, releasing the fragrance sweeter than that of the flower.

“What do you make of the story of Samudra Manthan, the Great Churning of the Ocean, where the Devas claimed everything precious that came out of the churning as theirs, depriving Danavas of their rightful share, for instance?”

“Well, you are probably taking about Amreet, the elixir of life,” Agastya said and paused for a while. A firefly had come and settled on Lopamudra’s hair. He looked at this tiny creature, which pulsated with so much life. Agastya tried to remember the days when he used to question the validity of the rules of Devas like Lopamudra, but it seemed so distant that it might as well have been in a previous life. He reminisced about this phase of his life with some amusement. He thought when we are young we must find some fault with the world that we shall set out to change but on growing old we realize the world had always been perfect.

“Yes!” Lopamudra demanded, nudging him out of his reverie.

“Lord Vishnu did so to prevent the world from destruction,” said Agatsya. “Imagine if the Danavas had attained the power of immortality, they would have destroyed everything.”

“See?” the princess said solemnly. “How could you just make assumptions? When you look into the pages of histories, the Devas have been involved in all sorts of atrocities from stealing the wives of others to deluding the yogis and yet none questions what have the Devas done with their immortality. If you read the ancient scripture, there is no evidence as to why the Devas might be more righteous than the Danavas. It only mentions that Devas were relatively fair complexioned and more proportionately built, whereas Danavas were dark skinned and more heavily built. There is no moral ground to suspect they might be any eviler than the Devas. That is pure racism and nothing else. Imagine, if the Danavas had somehow managed to get exclusive claim over the elixir and write the scriptures, what would be the prices you would be paying to free your ancestors?”

Agastya laughed and replied, “It’s a charming debate, but if you really want to know Lopamudra, we always speak in symbols and lore. The Good and the Evil are two extremes poles on which the rope of life extends. In reality, there is no isolated good or evil.”

“No, but I still find the assumption of the superiority of the Devas questionable. And I find it equally questionable that you are ready to marry against your principle because these scriptures written by the Devas tell you to do so to free your ancestors.” Lopamudra persisted stubbornly. A gust of wind rolled freshly into the room. The firefly flew away from her hair.

“Well, the scriptures are valid not because I can furnish logic to prove it but because they are so by nature” Agastya said.

“Now you are talking like Hitler,” Lopamudra replied quickly. “You repeat a lie for thousand times and it becomes truth”

Agastya looked at her in disbelief. He didn’t know Lopamudra was also adept in time-traveling. “That is an inappropriate comparison. But more importantly, time-traveling is unadvisable to ordinary people, and you shouldn’t be citing examples from the time that hasn’t happened yet.”

“On the contrary, Agastya, I think everyone should do time-traveling at least once in their lifetime.” The princess replied with ease but it was evident that she immediately realized the foolishness of her thoughtless disclosure. Further, she had practised the time-traveling meditation from one of the treatises of Agastya himself. No one knew of her lofty flights across time, except the owl, who lived in a tree outside her window. Lopamudra was twelve years old when she first traveled across time successfully.

“Why would you want to travel across time, Lopamudra?” Agastya asked her after looking out the window for a rather long time. The silence was thick, punctuated only by the distant hoot of an owl.

“I don’t know, Agastya. In the beginning, it was just pure curiosity. I used to be so bored at the palace, as you can imagine. And I started reading books, all sorts of books. I read one of your books on time traveling, and since then I have wanted nothing more than to meet you. So initially, I just time traveled in the future to see if I would ever meet you. I was surprised by how I was fated to marry you. So, I was further intrigued, and I started traveling backwards to know who you were. There were things that I liked and there were things, I couldn’t quite cope with. The present was bland and mundane. It didn’t offer much meaning to my queries. So, I started traveling across time frequently. I came across many interesting people like Jaratkaru, who reminds me of you. I met women like Damyanti and Shakuntala, so devoted to their husbands. But as I started travelling forward, I also met women like Simone De Beauvoir, Joan Moreau and Anais Nin. Looking at all these different kinds of women, so admirable and inspirational in so many different ways, I started to realize no ideal of truth, beauty or justice was fixed; every ideal was in continuous flux. That way Hegel is going to be quite right. This infinite vastness of possibilities both intrigued me and comforted me. I realized without exploring the dimensions of time, we make the mistake of considering our opinions or privileges as right and God-given, not realizing our ideals of truth or justice or beauty are simply manufactured to suit the status-quo of the given time.”

They both kept quiet. Lopamudra was playing with her shawl, braiding the threads listlessly. Agastya was filled with the most tender feelings for Lopamudra. One could not even call it love as such.He could only approximate it to the feeling that King Jadabharat had for the young fawn, for whose love the king relinquished his merits to enter heaven and chose the earthly bondage and suffering. She was playing with the fire and he was worried if Lopamudra was sufficiently armed not to be crushed by so much knowledge. He did not even know what to say to her. He wanted to embrace her but that would be inappropriate.

He sighed and asked Lopamudra, “So, coming back to our point, why do you think I might have decided to marry you?”

“I don’t know, Agastya,” Lopamudra said. “If it was just the matter of a son to free your ancestors as the scriptures say, you, who created me from your mind, could have easily created a son. But that wouldn’t do. You have desired for a woman, Agastya. Not for your ancestors, but for yourself. Freud would have been quicker to decipher your unconscious motive. I can only say that you are rationalizing yourself; perhaps because you consider yourself too sagely to admit to yourself that like everyone else, you crave for human flesh.”

“If it was just a matter of a human body, why it couldn’t be anyone else? Why did I have to create you?” Agastya asked. His cheeks had grown redder under the silver of his beard. He was afraid if Lopamudra could see through them.

“Don’t be foolish, Agastya. You did not create me any more than God created Eve out of Adam’s bone. It is logically incongruent because if God indeed created Eve out of Adam’s rib, there would only be the male chromosomes, and therefore God might have created Evan but not Eve. I am well aware that I am your illegitimate child. You forget that I often do time-traveling.”

Agastya heart drummed a loud tick and it went quiet. Despite the cool breeze, he broke out into a sweat. When his heart resumed pounding, a rush of blood surged and he felt momentarily blinded. Agastya closed his eyes, his face was disfigured by the painful convulsions. “I don’t remember that Lopamudra,” he said finally, his voice thin and shivering.

“It is hardly surprising,” the princess replied. “We often shove the unpleasant memories into our unconscious mind, don’t we? We never know who we are.” She looked at Agastya with prying eyes but he remained impenetrable like a blind marble statue. The princess continued, “We continuously create our image of who we think we are by selecting a few flattering memories and discarding the rest. But I don’t blame you. It is the same with me. Trapped in millions of memories, I struggle to understand who I am but I only manage to catch a few fleeting phantoms and mistake those apparitions to be me. It’s a tiresome business.” Lopamudra sighed and closed her eyes. Her face had grown tired and old somehow. When she noticed that Agastya still didn’t elicit any visible reaction she continued with her soliloquy. “For example, knowing it all too well that I am your illegitimate child, I still find myself attracted to you. In all certainty, I shall agree to marry you. Of course, this truth won’t go into history. The scriptures will say that the great sage Agastya created a beautiful brainchild to release his ancestors from earthly bondage. I have read those future scriptures too. History is not what it says, but often, what it tries to hide, and all scriptures are nothing but histories. I don’t fool myself that you are marrying me to free your ancestors and nor should you.”

The wind shook the parijata flowers and they went twirling in the air. Agastya opened his eyes and saw that a few of them woven themselves into Lopamudra’s hair. Agastya stared blankly at those flowers for a long time. White wasn’t just white, he remembered from the Book of Alchemy; it was a rainbow, trapped cleverly.

Lopamudra’s flesh shone like a lump of soft, kneaded dough under the pale moon. Agastya felt terrified of her. He abruptly shut his both eyes with his palms and began to weep.

“Don’t weep,” Lopamudra said. “Tomorrow morning I shall announce my desire to marry you to my father, the king. And don’t weep over the stories. All stories are lies, including mine. To speak is to lie. What is told is always partial. I love you Agastya, not because we are holy or special or sacred. We are none. We are beings trapped in a human body, craving things that are not always holy. You, despite your wisdom, crave for a woman’s body just like anyone else. And I, knowing all too well that you are my father, desire for you. We are this. We are what defies our conscience. We are what baffles us. We are what we condemn. And we are together not because we are going to do holy things together but because we are going to allow ourselves what it is to be a human. Your ancestors are not suspended because you don’t have a son but because you have misunderstood your own desires. Fame or knowledge doesn’t liberate, Agastya, we are only liberated when we embrace tenderly that which is the darkest and the ugliest in us. I embrace you, I embrace you like thousand fragrant lotus blossoms, I embrace you like the levitating light of heaven, I embrace you like you were my own newborn. Don’t be afraid Agastya, the moon shall not wait for us forever.”

Agastya only remembered that white flower with the delicate orange stalk in her hair. He couldn’t remember when the princess left or when the morning arrived. When he regained himself, the bright orange sun was floating above the white, muslin-like clouds, which reminded him of the parijata flowers again.

http://mithilareview.com/vasistha_06_18/

[abitterlifethroughcinema]

The Wrap, Part II: Return of the Curse of the Creature’s Ghost!

Film Reviews from the 51st Annual Sitges Fantasy/Horror Film Festival

by

Lucas A Cavazos

It would be of utmost denial to oneself to not take part in the occasional puff of marijuana and/or odd glass or two of red wine whilst shuffling about Sitges during this type of festival. I tell you, in this gayest of cities (and yes, I mean that in both senses of the word), nothing says loving like soaking up sun and guts while having the right side of your brain open. To quote Henry Miller…”The aim of life is to live, and to live means to be aware, joyously, drunkenly, serenely, divinely aware.” 

And it is in that vein, I present to you the latest film starring Nicolas Cage, Mandy ###-1/2…Could it be that Nicolas Cage might actually have something interesting to offer now that he’s well past 50 and ready to go beyond simple nut job roles and wannabe-buff, action hits and flops? Last year, this festival premiered the currently in-run and VOD film called Mom and Dad with Selma Blair, and if that was a thing of fun and delight, which is was, this film is much more darkly mirrored and rife with psychedelic imagery, and it must be discussed. To note, it does contain ye olde, ubiquitous screaming-whilst-having-a-psychotic-fit Cage scene, doubt ye not! Set in turn of the decade 80s, Red (Cage) and Mandy (Andrea Riseborough) have removed themselves from the majority of society and live a life of slight isolation, that is until one day, Mandy is abducted by some occult-like sect with grave intentions. Linus Roach (Priest) plays Jeremiah Sands, a man who can call forth demons and demonic creatures, and when psychedelia meets rancour, flames go up and and as they do, someone in them, as well. This is where the film turns into a contemplative narrative tale on revenge and turmoil, highlighted by a tinge of hallucinogens and wasp venom, and I cannot begin to tell you how eerily creepy it is to see Linus Roach after so many years in a role like this that sends chills down your spine in ways that create sheer panic and disgust. Watching Cage take revenge is a joy and wonder, and it should be noted that the film won two of the Sitges 51st Official Selection Awards for Best Director, which went to Panos Cosmatos and Best Actress going to Andrea Riseborough, who also comes up a bit later down below. A piece of rogue psychedelic modern art on celluloid if ever there was one, tinges of Wes Craven, Heavy Metal cartoon imagery and sleep paralysis demons make this Nic Cage vehicle one of the best things he has done in simply years.

Making my way over to The Retiro in the heart of bustling Sitges to screen the noir-like film The Dark ###, I realised that I was late and upon arrival, I was quickly ushered upstairs and had to make do with a single chair propped up next to an upstairs balustrade. The Dark is an eerie piece that preys on the power of the unknown to scare the viewer into wanting to know more about its strange characters…and then the film reveals those secrets in flashback. Despite its title, there is very little in relation to darkness other than the tone of the film and its narrative of teen spirit gone horribly awry. In a former entry, I spoke of how a screened premiere entitled Zoo had encroached upon fresh zombie territory, and until recently as just over a decade ago, zombie cinema was a mostly contained affair, and reserved to a select grouping of films annually. That all changed with the mid-noughties and this latest entry into its subject matter baits us with unexplained tidbits, starting when a one Josef Hofer (Karl Markovics), described as armed and dangerous, makes his way to a rather haunting locale, where death finds him in the form of Mina, perma-resident of this cursed abode in Devil’s Den, a forestal area with a history of hauntings and Mina is that person/monster haunting those very woods. But then she discovers Alex, a blind and also-scarred teen who had been Hofer’s captive, and together the two make off for a disturbing adventure, which borders on heartfelt while also sadistic. If anything, this piece certainly toys with emotions and good cinema ought to do just that.

The Sitges Fantasy/Horror Film Fest is divided into many distinct sections, such as the main Official Selections, Noves Visions,which promotes newer filmmakers and diverse subject matter, Melies Feature and Short Film sections, Asian Focus, Animated Fare, The Orbita promoting mixed big budget and indie fare, Fanastic Discovery Features promoting obscure (and often deeper) cinema, the B and Z-grade fare of the Midnight X-Treme selections, as well as, the Critics Jury Selection. All of that to say that there is nary a specific genre within the fantasy film/horror movie genres that is NOT touched on by this film festival. Winner of the Orbita Award for Best Picture went to the US studio outfit entitled American Animals ###-1/2 and what an astounding effort it provides its audience into a peek at the rather modern mindset of the ageing millennial. Telling a 2004 real-life story by British director Bart Layton, he of the haunting 2012 film The Imposter, this 2018 effort documents how four white youths from good, hardworking families failed to fully realise a masterminded effort to steal one of, if not, the world’s most valuable book. The multi-volume Audubon Society’s Birds of America, not to mention Darwin’s first edition copy of On the Origin of Species were just two of the books to be included in a heist that Transylvania University students Spencer Reinhard and Warren Lipka (played to perfection by Barry Keoghan and Evan Peters) foolishly decided to rob from the special collections library department. To say that the subject matter is mid-level at best might be a tad harsh but only just so; that said, the way Layton maps out the mental state of these middle-to-upper middle class boys should give all of us a hint as to where these boys, and millions like them, are coming from. The plan of a heist is bred with the idea that their spoiled lives have hindered their true creative identities, and so to tell the story, the director secured interviews with the actual perpetrators and spliced that with top grade talent re-enacting the actual events. The film cannot be heralded as a thing of wonder, as it truly details the dumbest snafu of a heist ever on American soil. But what it succeeds in showing is that insecurity, lack of identity, and seeds of doubt are rife amongst today’s young adults, and if we are not fomenting stronger individuals as siblings, educators, parents, et al…we will continue to create these spoiled races of highly non-autonomous individuals. Give them some tough love, for goodness sake. Worthy of a view for any parent or educator.

AND NOW FOR SOMETHING COMPLETELY DIFFERENT…Lars Von Trier, he of the Dogme 95 cinema movement and so many odd, jarring and sometimes good celluloid pieces…see Celebration and this film as examples please…he of the “understanding Hitler, I’m a Nazi” joke he pulled a few years back at Cannes, which then had him banned for half a decade, premiered his latest work last week at Sitges. It a doozy of a film that garnered some decent attention and a European and Spanish distributor, for sure. It’s been a hot minute since we’ve seen Matt Dillon on the big screen, and the brief time with Uma Thurman at the film’s beginning is a dark scene of beauty…and then not. Here’s the thing, as always we are dealing with the tortured mindset of a Scandinavian director who seethes out his demons onto celluloid, but that alone does not make it exceptional art, although I truly believe he thinks it is. In turn, I truly believe that von Trier is quite likely a mitigated sociopath. That said, while there is a bit of reverential awe to his masterful ways of movie manipulation, it is his use of dark comedy that sets this film apart from other recent fare he has brought us. Matt Dillon plays the titular character and while amusing at first, he soon grows languidly repetitive and chauvinistic, and while there are scenes of comedic brilliance, such as an OCD-related clean up job that leads to an incident with a policeman or the bang-down job he does trying to dispose of bodies in a freezer, it is impossible for this student and teacher of history to not associate the fact that we are watching a man, a DANISH man no less (do your research as to why I emphasise that, chirren) play out his darker inner recesses for our viewing interest, but it surely makes me aware that we are also likely dealing with his pathos. That’s what really makes The House That Jack Built ###-1/2 really scary.

Lastly this entry, Nancy ###-1/2 brings up the actress Andrea Riseborough again, and I would like to note that often at awards season and ceremonies, actors get rewarded for an individual work, which often plays testament to all the other work they’ve done in their field that year. As Riseborough won Best Actress at this year’s Sitges Fantasy/Horror Film Fest, I believe this piece was much more deserved than the aforementioned Mandy for that award. I also find it compelling that she as an actress chose to make two, back-to-back films about tortured women with their names as the movie titles. Nancy is a quasi-failed career woman tending to her mum who suffers from some neural disorder and who is unintentionally suffocating her daughter with complaints and stress…but when mum dies suddenly, what is Nancy to do but discover that she was likely abducted years earlier and soon begins to associate herself with a long lost child case never resolved that might fit her theory about herself, however strained it is. What ensues is a emotional tour de force involving the parents of the long missing child, played to award-level precision by J. Cameron Smith as Ellen and Steve Buscemi as her hubby Leo. When Nancy sets up an appointment to meet with them, they take a shining to her at once and while awaiting DNA results, take her in to stay with them, including with her cat to which Leo is allergic. As scenes go by, even though this might be more in order in an indie film fest rather than here at Sitges, you also understand that the fantastical elements lie in the mind of the titular woman, as well as, in director Christina Chloe’s softly brutal touch. A film meant for those who understand healing and suspension of (dis)belief, Nancy gives Andrea Riseborough a chance at becoming a celebrated actress to emulate.

[sunsbled-archive]

unfair . don’t fight your memories unless you are ready to lose this battle.

his breath gets caught in his throat when he finally finds it in him to relax; he’s hesitant, like an animal that barely escape captivity and in a way perhaps that was the perfect way to describe him. he hates that man. one moment henri says he has no intention of helping him, that he’d only been doing what he was paid to do and then the next he gives him a chance to slip out and escape. it’s like the man was playing games and antoine hated that kind of behaviour. that kind of trickery that already had him anticipate the moment he’d lead everyone on his trail again and cause all his hopes to shatter. as if he took some sadistic satisfaction in hurting people. and yet when he finds himself in the run down ruins of a village he shudders. it seems abandoned, the kind of abandoned that lets him know nobody knows of this place or refuses to go here rather than the kind that at least has travelers come through here. some houses seem to have burnt down, others seem to have been destroyed in a fight. but the dried bloodstains on stones and fields, overgrown only by grass as if flowers were afraid to bloom here, tell him there is much more history to tell here. perhaps it’s the bones he finds, lying on the side of trampled little paths as though they’d been brushed aside by someone so they could walk through. the rubble and dirt, too, had been moved as though someone wanted to clear a path.

he shudders again, someone calm enough to move corpses and bones around was someone insane enough to make him dread encountering them. he’s not nearly in a well enough condition to fight. and yet, he makes his way through the overgrown paths, looks into the distance, to the mountains that surround this place. he’d much rather try to scale one of those than be here where nobody will ever find him unless they are hot on his tail. he’s seen many things but recent endeavours and encounters have left him vulnerable enough to have this place shake him to the core. even now, even when their deaths must have been ages ago given that there were only bones left - the stench of decay and rot still lingered, found its way into his senses even when he tries to breathe through his mouth. he wants to throw up; maybe he would have, had he eaten something in the past few days. but he hasn’t and perhaps its a good thing because at least he gets to keep everything inside for now.

his gaze wanders, takes in the sight of a history burnt and forgotten, of bloodshed in the untold stories of all the destroyed homes he stalks past in a hurry; he doesn’t want to remain here for longer than it takes him to rest up at least a little. his sight falls onto a specific house, when less decayed than the others, as if it had been inhabited by someone. his instincts tell him to go there even when experience says only horrible things away him there, and still he makes his way up the little hill. the roof seems to be more intact than the others, it’d shelter him from rain better than any other place here while he rested. that was enough to risk encountering someone, he thinks. plus, if he were to die now it’d have nothing to do with his captors. at least he’d die free.

he calls out quietly when he notes the door is locked and chained up. there’s a hole in the wall, not big enough to fit him through but enough to tell him the wall isn’t steady at all; that a few well aimed kicks would largen up the narrow cracks enough to help him go through. his body aches, every movement of his legs causes him to wince and let out a pained grunt, but he continues until he knows he won’t get stuck. with a little announcement he enters and the first thing he notes is the awful smell. it’s worse than in the village; as though someone had thrown the cadaver of a boar in here next to a bunch of rotting fruits. it’s sickly sweet yet the bitter, putrid underlying scents are what give him a headache. but his body moves on his own even when he doesn’t want it to and when he finds himself staring up at the ceiling, at what is clearly a man - or used to be - he finally throws up; there’s no food, nothing. just a clear, burning acid that leaves his throat hurting. the mans skin has turned blue - grey, his eyes bulged out and his mouth hanging open. but what gets to him the most is the way his hands are open, as though he’d been reaching for something in his last moments - and it seems he was, juding that there’s only two other things in this room. a music box and a letter. he grabs both items, finds a sharp rock to cut the man down so at least he can rest as though he died falling asleep and finds his way out of the hut again. he can’t take the smell, can’t handle it so instead he seeks shelter under a tree.

for a moment he simply sits there, lets it all sink in until he realizes his situation enough to push it out of his mind. at least for now denial will be his friend, he decides. he shifts, just a little, but his hand brushes against the neatly folded letter in his hand and morbid curiousity beats him to it. if only he’d known then that he’d be better off not reading it.

dear traveler,

i have never loved this village. it is laid in the middle of nowhere, we barely see any new people and i am certain that once bandits discover us our time of peace will be over. my grandfather told me it was born of a power struggle from the shards of a once-great archon, but i do not care for it nor the name of a long since deceased ruler. fighting is senseless and i stay as far away from it as i can, even if i know one day i will have to pick up a weapon to defend this desolate village.

sometimes i wish it was attacks and the disorganized violence of a group of criminals that took the lives of my wife and daughter. but it was illness, instead. mercifully, it happened quickly for the baby. my beloved analyn suffered for longer. i watched in horror knowing i could do nothing for them, that my precious little danilo would follow them if i didn’t find a way to stop it. my only solace is that i was there for them every step on the way. i stopped going to work one day, the fields did not require my every day attendance to flourish every day. nobody came after me, even if they noticed. i suppose they felt pity for one of the few young men here losing his family. or perhaps they didn’t need me. i was as useless to the world as i was to my family.

i tried to find herbs to help analyn heal, but the journey was too long and taxing. i returned too late, when i brewed her that tea she was too weak to drink it. she died that night.

after analyn and the baby were gone … well, i don’t remember much. i didn’t leave my home much, barely at and slept, only ever went out to try and find a remedy to save danil. i thought many times of taking my own life. tempting though it was, i felt paralyzed by my own helplessness and the fear of what would happen to my son, who had already lost his mother and sister, once i came to pass.

i finally left the house when i heard a commotion outside. a strange man and his group had asked for shelter, he looked far too fancy and meaningful to have come here by accident but back then i brushed it off - in fact, for the first time in a long while i harbored something like hope in my heart. he looked rich, influential. perhaps he could save my beloved danil and protect him from the world that gave him a useless father. 

i talked to him and he actually offered to help my son in return for something of equal value. he did not specify what he wanted but i remember being so eager to save my last child that i agreed - whatever he wanted, i would pay. anything to save my danil.

he let me travel with him, then, back to his home. it wasn’t a long trip, perhaps two days, and the entire time he let me use some of his supplies and medicine to keep danil living until we arrived. i was elated, and for the first time i felt as though maybe life could finally be good. if only i hadn’t been a fool back then, if only i had paid attention.

i don’t know what they did but when i woke up the day after our arrival my lovely danil was walking, jumping up and down and telling me that the nice man who saved his life offered to train him. i hated violence but he seemed so happy, so eager that i just smiled and nodded. i should have taken him right then and there and made a run for it. we could not have returned to the village, of course, but perhaps we would have found shelter elsewhere. i heard liyue was a lovely place, as was inazuma. or perhaps mondstadt, the city of freedom, could have liberated us from this. instead i decided to stay one more day to find out what i owed the man before we left the day after.

i was a fool, dear traveler, and if you find my letter please know to never underestimate the kindness of others. they will always demand something in return. for me, that price was the son i had so desperately wanted to save. he offered me a drink, that man, and then when i explained i had never drank much back home and that i had enough he kept me drinking until i was blacked out. i can’t remember what happened that night but i vaguely recall hearing my son cry out for me.

oh danil, my lovely, lovely danil. your father was a fool, a worthless idiot who ruined your life. it should have been me to die, not you. not analyn. not your baby sister. i’m so sorry danil, and i pray that one day you will forgive your foolish father for the suffering you probably endured.

i never left my house after that, just like when my wife and daughter died i felt too paralyzed by everything to do more than live in the last supplies i had stocked up. the only thing to keep me sane was the music box - i had retrieved it from danils toybox; he had wanted to gift it to his little sister once she was older. now it was the only thing connecting me to the family i had lost. for a while i heard nothing but the tunes of that box, i didn’t know what the commotion outside was about and if i am honest i do not care. i didn’t care for anything after my family died.

i don’t know how long passed before i saw the light of day again. i was dizzy from hunger after running through what i had stocked up, so finding food was my priority. i went hunting, and the music box came with me, of course. since i first holed myself up, it has gone everywhere with me. it lulls me to sleep and it wakes me. i don’t know the song it place, but i know i would die without it.

it was hard, hunting game with the music box playing, let me tell you. but i managed and once i cooked up some meat in the wild i went to the river near our village. once i was done and felt full, it occured to me that the only thing left to do was to return to work. so i did. the following morning, i simply returned to the field and got back to work.

the village had been attacked and many of the fields had been destroyed, but help was needed so nobody made a big deal out of my return. like i said, analyn had been sick for a long time and those in the village had known about it. i appreciate that no one had pestered me to return or leave my house during the hardest days of my life. and that nobody questioned the absence of danil. the elders never said much to me, but we smiled at each other whenever i walked past their porches toward the fields and that mutual respect was perhaps the reason i decided to leave the house at all.

the village had gone to the dogs, so once i was done with work on the fields i simply grabbed a broom and a bucket of water and set to cleaning. the village is grateful to have me back, i know. and perhaps that is why none of them mind the music box. i bring it with me everywhere and nobody has ever complained. in fact, i suspect they like it.

the village is not very big, but it requires more maintenance than expected. the pathways made of rock are always sticky and stained, so if i do not work on the fields i spend most of my time using the bucket and brook to try and clean it as best as i can. the handful of kids here make messes - i guess it’s why i never run out of work even when the fields can’t be tended to. sometimes i have to move things around to make sure i get every spot on the way, but the pathways are always beautiful and clean, and i take pride in that.

 but the repairs! i tell you, the elders can’t work a lot when it comes to physical labors so their houses need tune-ups here and there, and i am happy to help. some days i am reconstructing a chair that broke while i whistle along to the music box, other times i handle more serious, structural issues on the houses. days when i have work like this, i feel truly instrumental. like i am essential in keeping this tiny village running. i feel more at home here than i used to, even when i miss my family dearly. it took me a long time, but i once again feel that i have purpose.

when i am besieged with memories of my wife and children, i simply wind up the music box to drown out such thoughts. it works every time.

except this morning.

because this morning, it wouldn’t be wound up. it was dead silent.

i frantically examined it to see what had happened. i took it apart and fixed it. i cannot tell you honestly how many days in a row i have been using it. perhaps it has simple lived out its life and died natural? even toys can break, i know that. i spent the entire day trying to fix it, i’m sure the elders in the village must be worried since i have not left the house. most of this time, i have been crying. without this music box i am losing my mind.

a part of me had always hoped that perhaps danil had escaped those men, that he would hear the tune of his favorite toy and find his way home. that and the sound drowning out my thoughts have kept me going until today.

i have given myself until sundown. if i cannot fix it by then, i am going to take my life. i am writing this because the sunlight is starting to die and i know what my fate shall be.

i have thought about taking one last walk through the village, saying goodybe to the kids and elders. i know i will be missed. but i cannot bring myself to leave this house. i cannot go anywhere knowing that danils music box is dead in here.

there are no more tears in me. it feels like i can’t catch my breath now. i vomited what little food i had in my stomach and i am growing dizzy again, like i did after analyn died. i am no longer for this world.

but before i take my life, i have closed the door to this house and barricaded myself in this room. if anyone is kind enough to come looking for me, they should not be met with this gruesome sight. perhaps they will see the door is blocked, smell my rotting body, and simply forget i ever existed.

but if you find this, dear traveler, if you are reading this… i have but one humble request: please find him. save my danil. he did not deserve to be taken like this and i am ashamed that i could not save him.

now i am ready to join analyn and my little robyn in the afterlife. i hope danil has escaped and can find another family who loves him as much as i do.

the hour is now. do not forget my son.

abel

there’s pity, pooling in his heart. the man had clearly not been dead long so judging by the looks of it he’d moved corpses and rubble around for years while living in the illusion that the dead bodies of his fellow people had smiled at him. and his son ... antoine can’t imagine being a child narrowly escaping death only to be captured and used for who knows what. it must have been terrifying, and if that kid survived then he’s sure the boy must be traumatized now. if he could ever even survive whatever horrors had laid in front of him for so long. his gaze turns towards the house he’d left behind, towards the cage that contained the pitiful misery of a man who had lost everything. who had grown so manic after the death of his family he thought he was living a relatively normal life within a village filled with death and misery. the roof had a few holes in it, and if he saw correctly earlier he must have slept underneath a hole every night.

he must have been soaking wet whenever it rained but he was so lost in his illusions that he never seemed to notice. it hurts antoine, even when he wants to be angry at the man for not fighting harder to save his son. but he understands, he thinks. whoever had taken the boy must have been influential enough to lay ruin to a village with little to no repercussions, if one was to assume that he was responsible for unleashing bloodshed on this place. if he were his son, perhaps he wouldn’t be able to forgive him. perhaps he would have felt abandoned and sold out all his life, betrayed by his father. but it is not his place to judge like that; not when he didn’t even have a family to feel betrayed by in the first place.

but curiousity gets to him, even in all this misery. he can’t find the mans son, not when he is narrowly escaping getting caught himself. but he can try to fix the music box so it can play for him one last time. but he needs to hear what causes the damn thing to not play in the first place, so he winds it up, ready for the telltale sound of something being stuck.

he’s horrified when it plays, even more so when a violent flash of images comes to mind. this ... this isn’t just any music box. he knows this song, by heart. it’s his. he had kept humming it when he was forced to slaughter people or amuse customers at night. he had clung to this melody when he thought it would perhaps lead his father to him so he could save him. it had been the only thing keeping him sane through torture after torture until one day he escaped. he drops the box as if it has burnt his hand, as if it just seared through his flesh to the bone and he moves backwards, until his back is pressed into the tree and he finds his vision blurred with tears he doesn’t even feel. it’s his, this fucking thing was his. that was his music box and his home and his village and his father. he was danil.

[pamphletstoinspire]

Understanding The Bible - A Practical Guide To Each Book In The Bible - Part 21

Written by: PETER KREEFT

TWENTY-ONE

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Two Supernatural Visionaries: Ezekiel and Daniel

The name Ezekiel means “God strengthens”. Ezekiel’s style lives up to his name: it is both strong and supernatural. It reminds me of a Norse epic: high, remote, awesome, and wonderful. It is the Old Testament’s closest equivalent to the dazzling otherworldly imagery of the Apocalypse.

Ezekiel was both a priest and a prophet. Yet he transcended the frequent conflict between these two groups of leaders in Israel. For he seems to write from a point of view higher than both. It is neither the priestly and liturgical nor the prophetic and moral, but his writings seem to echo from Heaven itself, to which both liturgy and morality point.

He lived during the dark days of the Babylonian captivity and prophesied in Babylon to his fellow Jewish exiles. When he spoke his first prophecies of the destruction of Jerusalem and of Solomon’s temple, Jerusalem had not yet been destroyed, though the Jews had already been taken captive to Babylon. When the Jews in Babylon heard the news of this destruction, they began to take Ezekiel seriously. He must have seemed like a madman to them before.

It was during this second stage of his prophetic career that Ezekiel spoke to the people expressly of hope, of a future return to the promised land, and of reconciliation with God. Like every true prophet of God, Ezekiel said two things, the bad news and the good news, sin and salvation. Whenever you hear either half of this message without the other, you know the messenger is not a true prophet.

Ezekiel: God’s Power and Glory Displayed

The “sin” part of his message is both aweful and awful. Like all the prophets, he knows God as more than a comfortable chum. God is holy and unchangeably just. He cannot endure sin or compromise with it. Sin and God are like darkness and light; they cannot coexist. Therefore Ezekiel describes the visible cloud of God’s glory, the Shekinah, leaving the temple, where it had been present since Solomon built it, and disappearing into the east, because the people’s sins had driven it away. The name Ichabod comes from this event; it means “the glory has departed.”

The Shekinah may have been present in Eden, permeating the bodies of Adam and Eve in visible divine light, until they sinned. That may be why they covered their now-naked, unlit bodies with clothes in shame. Ever since then, every sin is a little Ichabod, a darkening of our divine glory, our sending away the light of God.

Ezekiel’s imagery is arresting, bizarre, terrifying, and supernatural. For instance, chapter one contains two visions of angels. Neither comes from Hallmark; their hallmark is their heavenly origin. One is a vision of flying, four-faced, four-winged creatures in a storm of fire and lightning. The other vision is of wheels within wheels covered with eyes! Chapter 32 contains a vision of the world of the dead. And chapter 37 is a vision of a valley full of skeletons standing up and coming to life. Any Bible illustrator, cartoonist, or moviemaker who wants to fascinate small children should not ignore Ezekiel. The images burn themselves into our memory and touch something indefinable in our unconscious. They certainly banish boredom, one of the devil’s most effective inventions.

Ezekiel’s actions are as bizarre as his words, for both come from a supernatural source. God commands him to eat a scroll and to lie on the ground tied tightly with ropes, unable to talk (chap. 3); to lie on his left side in public for three hundred ninety days (chap. 4); and to burn his hair (chap. 5).

Ezekiel knew (or rather the God who inspired him knew) that “a picture is worth a thousand words”—that vivid symbols are unforgettable. Ezekiel’s vision of the glory of God at the beginning (chaps. 1-3) must have awed and overwhelmed him so deeply that this awe stuck to all that he said. It has an otherworldly but not imaginary feel, because it has an otherworldly but not imaginary origin. When I read Ezekiel I always think of Byzantine or Coptic liturgies, certainly not our modern Western warm fuzzies. Ezekiel would never use terminology like “building community” or “affirming values”. He has seen something greater: the glory of God Himself.

Though the power of Ezekiel is “primitive”, the content of his message is quite “advanced” and sophisticated. He announces more clearly than any prophet before him the principle that each individual is responsible for and is justly punished for his own sins, not those of parents, ancestors, or the community (chap. 18). One wonders whether we are regressing to a pre-Ezekiel stage of moral wisdom in emphasizing the sinfulness of social structures more than the “little” sins of individuals today.

Ezekiel lived in a century (the sixth century B.C.) that has been called “the axial period in human history”, because during this century God seems to have been sending a similar message to humanity throughout the world. Dramatists, philosophers, and poets like Aeschylus in Greece, mystics like Buddha in India, sages like Confucius and Lao-tzu in China, and prophets like Zoroaster in Persia were all turning their hearers inward to a new sense of self-consciousness. The external and social was becoming interiorized and individualized. One wonders whether the next century will be the next “axial period in human history” when the turn reverses itself.

Like that of all the prophets, Ezekiel’s “bottom line” is not doom but hope: hope for salvation, for new life, for a resurrection. The basis of this hope is not the human mind and wishful thinking, but the mind of God and divine revelation. The most memorable of the prophetic promises in Ezekiel is chapter 37, the famous vision of the dry bones coming to life.

This prophecy was fulfilled at Pentecost. It continues to be fulfilled as Pentecost occurs in the lives of individuals, in the life of the Church, and potentially even in the whole world. Our world’s slide down toward darkness can be reversed; the dead can live; the wind of the Spirit still blows from the four corners of the earth.

For this is the Spirit that brings to life dead Israel, dead churches, dead legalism, dead liturgy, dead Christians, and a dead world: the same Spirit who raised the dead body of Christ (Rom 8:11). It is Christ who fulfilled Ezekiel 37: see Luke 4:18 and John 7:37-39.

Other messianic prophecies in Ezekiel include the righteous king (21:26-27), the good shepherd (34:11-31), and the branch who grows into a tree (17:22-24; compare Is 11:1; Jer 23:5 and 33:15; and Zech 3:8 and 6:12). All prophecies are fingers pointing ultimately to Christ. All the words of all the prophets come down to a single Word, “the Word of God”. In prophets like Ezekiel this Word was made into images, but in Christ the Word was made into flesh.

Daniel: The Sweep of History from God’s Perspective

The name Daniel means “God is my judge”. He prophesied in Babylon to both Jews and Gentiles during the Babylonian captivity.

Some of the most famous and arresting stories in the Bible are found in this book, including the three young men in Nebuchadnezzar’s fiery furnace (chap. 3), the “handwriting on the wall” written by a disembodied hand, prophesying the sudden doom at King Belshazzar’s feast (chap. 5), and, of course, Daniel in the lions’ den (chap. 6).

Most of the book is made up of visions of the future. These visions have a greater historical sweep than any others in the Old Testament and predict four great world empires: the Babylonian, the Medo-Persian, the Greek, and the Roman.

There is a philosophy of history implied in Daniel’s visions. It is that history is “His story” (God’s). God is the Lord of history, planning and directing it as He plans and directs each life (even, we are told later, the fall of each sparrow and the numbering of each hair).

King Nebuchadnezzar had to go mad and live like an animal to learn this truth: “You shall be driven from among men, and your dwelling shall be with the beasts of the field; you shall be made to eat grass like an ox, and you shall be wet with the dew of heaven, and seven times shall pass over you, till you know that the Most High rules the kingdom of men, and gives it to whom he will” (4:25). “He changes times and seasons; he removes kings and sets up kings” (2:21).

The Messiah is prophesied in Daniel as a great stone who will crush all the kingdoms of the world, become a great mountain, and fill the whole earth (2:34-35). “And in the days of those kings [the Romans] the God of heaven will set up a kingdom [the Church] which shall never be destroyed, nor shall its sovereignty be left to another people. It shall break in pieces all these kingdoms and bring them to an end, and it shall stand for ever” (2:44).

The four kingdoms recur in chapter 7, and so does the Messiah. Here, He is the “Son of Man” who receives from “the Ancient of Days” the Kingdom “which shall not pass away” (7:13-14). Even the death of the “Anointed One” is prophesied in Daniel 9:26, and perhaps even the exact time of this Messiah’s coming, in the vision of “seventy weeks” —symbolically, 490 years — in Daniel 9:25 (though the state of the text is problematic here and shows signs of later revisions).