#and the way Jekyll is never sure whether he should be considered a monster

[celestetcetera]

One of my favorite thing the more supernatural adaptations of Jekyll & Hyde do is debate whether Jekyll/Hyde should be considered a monster. Like, he doesn’t have that immediate classic monster recognition that others like frankenstein’s creature has, but obviously Hyde is quite monstrous. But Hyde is also an inherent part of every human. And he looks human, usually, so not everyone who meets him really clocks him as a monster. I mean, is a man who can turn into another man a monster? What if they don’t even look any different? What exactly puts them in the monster category?

[mst3kproject]

The Manster

Who has two thumbs and is back on terra firma with working wifi?  This MSTie!

As for my chosen subject this week… I don’t think I have to justify this one.  It’s called The Manster, as in a portmanteau of man and monster.  It was directed by a guy who mostly made cheap-ass jungle movies, and stars a bunch of embarrassed actors who don’t know how they ended up here.  It’s old and it’s dumb and it’s often pretty funny though never on purpose, and the perfect stinger moment comes very early in the film… you’ll know it when you see it.

So we have Dr. Robert Suzuki, who lives on top of a volcano.  When people have ‘Dr’ in front of their names and live in isolation with a bunch of blinky light machines, that’s usually a pretty good clue that they’re mad scientists. Tragically our hero, Larry Stanford, is not that observant (Larry’s obliviousness would have been a constant target for Mike and the bots and he would have deserved all of it).  He’s a reporter who wants an interview about Suzuki’s theories on the causes of mutations, but too bad for him, he arrives just as the mad doctor has run out of family members to experiment on.  Under the influence of Suzuki’s injections he’s soon devolving into an animalistic frat-boy, drinking, carousing, and murdering… oh, and he’s growing a second head. Will that be a problem?

So basically this is a werewolf movie with a fake mustache on… or perhaps a Jekyll and Hyde movie of sorts, as discussed in the denouement.  It wants to explore the dichotomy of good and evil in every one of us, using the very silly device of a two-headed man.  I have to say, I understand the metaphor, but it wasn’t put to nearly good enough use.  The movie would have been ten times more fun if we’d gotten to see Larry and his second head arguing over whether or not they’re going to kill somebody.  Not better, mind you, just more fun.

As far as just being a movie goes, The Manster is better than a lot of things I’ve watched for this blog.  The characters have names and look different enough that you can tell them apart, the story makes sense on its own terms and everything that happens is relevant to the plot.  Photography is honestly pretty good and the actors are competent.  All this happens to be in the service of a really silly story with awful special effects (I love Larry’s rubbery second head bouncing as he runs) but it’s engaging enough that you want to keep watching.

What I really like about The Manster, however, is that it offers a lot to analyze.  I’m not sure much of it is intentional.  The Jekyll and Hyde side of the story is elucidated in an ending speech, as Larry’s friend Ian tries to reassure Mrs. Stanford.  He says there was good and evil in Larry, and they’ll just have to wait and see which side wins.  This is not a very satisfying ending, really.  We’ve just seen Larry’s evil side plummet to its death into a volcanic crater… and the surviving good side is under arrest as a serial killer.  Dr. Suzuki and his assistant, the only people who could testify that Larry was not responsible for his actions, are both dead.  This guy’s going to jail.

The really interesting thing in the movie, though, is one that comes up by accident.  Dr. Suzuki’s work is on evolution – his theory is that cosmic rays can induce mutations, producing new species more or less overnight (this is called ‘macromutation’ or ‘the hopeful monster theory’, and lurked on the edges of the mainstream in the 40’s and 50’s) and he hopes to induce the same effect chemically.  When he tries, however, his efforts invariably produce monsters.  Emiko, his wife and former research partner, turns into something resembling the closet monster from The Brain that Wouldn’t Die.  Kenji, his brother, turns into a yeti, and a similar fate awaits Larry.  These mutants cannot understand human speech, and their behaviour is irrational and violent.

This implies a couple of things.  We hear vague mentions of Dr. Suzuki experimenting on fungi, but his heart is mostly in his human experiments.  That tells us that his goal is to speed up the evolution of humanity, and one presumes that this is intended to improve us somehow. Of course, this is not how evolution works.  Evolution does not make things better – this is why biologists have mostly dropped the descriptions primitive and advanced in favour of the more neutral basal and derived.  Dr. Suzuki’s quest is therefore quite misguided, as illustrated by his monsters. In no way could they be considered ‘better’ than humans – in fact, they’re significantly worse at surviving and reproducing (the thing natural selection selects for) than ordinary people are.

There’s another layer here, though.  ‘Evolution makes things better’ is a misconception that’s been around since Darwin, and dates back to even earlier ways of organizing the natural world.  When Linnaeus created the classification system for living things that we’re still saddled with today, he did it under the believe in the Great Chain of Being – the idea that you can order everything that exists into a hierarchy with mold at the bottom and god at the top, and that after god and the angels humans are the best thing that exists (as proved by our being the only creatures able to create classification systems).  It’s an idea that appeals to human vanity and to our need to impose order on the natural world, and it isn’t likely to go away anytime soon.

With that in mind, perhaps there’s another reason Suzuki’s experiments fail.  If you believe that humans are the best living thing around, particularly if you believe we are the image of god on earth, then maybe it’s not possible to improve on us.  Any change you make to people that takes them away from humanity will automatically make them worse.  This idea does appear to be manifest in the fates of Emiko, Kenji, and Larry, all of whom become more apelike, less ‘advanced’, as they change.

In that case, what does The Manster think makes for a good human?  We see a little of Larry before he starts to mutate, so we can compare that with what he becomes.  Rather surprisingly for a movie of this vintage, the fact that Larry is white seems to be pretty incidental.  He is a foreigner in a faraway place, but this serves mostly to drive a wedge between him and his wife Linda.  Except for a couple of rather troubling moments, the film does not present Japan in an exotifying light.  We do see things like a bathhouse and a geisha bar, but these represent Larry’s personal slide into debauchery, rather than the country as a whole.  We also meet normal working people among both the Japanese and the American expat community – reporters, police officers, and even priests.

There’s a very nice bit, actually, where Larry comes upon a Buddhist priest praying, and when he realizes this man doesn’t speak English, Larry takes the opportunity to unburden himself.  It makes him feel better to talk about his moral quandaries aloud, and the fact that the priest doesn’t understand him means he cannot judge him.  This is a very relatable and human moment, one of the best in the movie.

Unfortunately, it also segues into a couple of the most distasteful things in the film.  As I’m sure you’ve guessed, Larry does murder the priest, but before he does, he stares at a particular statue in the shrine – a representation of a three-eyed, fanged being that I am in no position to identify, although it looks a bit like Vajrapani.  Before Larry grows a full second head he sprouts an extra eye in his shoulder, and the implication is that the three-eyed statue draws his attention to the monster within himself. I don’t know much about Buddhism but I do not like the idea of casting another culture’s religious figures as symbols of monstrosity.  The west has done plenty enough of that.

But back to the question of acceptable humanity. We watch Larry get drunk, violent, antisocial, lazy, and promiscuous, which tells us that the ‘good’ man is the opposite of these things: sober, peaceful, friendly, hardworking, and chaste. The film pays particular attention to how Larry relates to women.  The fact that he’s been faithful to his distant wife is established early on, and one of the first symptoms of his devolution is his willingness to discard her.  First he makes out with a couple of girls at the geisha bar, and later he takes Dr. Suzuki’s assistant Terra (who has a tragic backstory but we frustratingly never find out what it entails) as his mistress. On the phone with his wife Linda at the beginning of the film, Larry tells her he loves her and promises to be home soon.  Later, when she comes to Japan searching for him, he shouts at her and makes a show of preferring Terra.

One conversation he has with Linda is particularly revealing.  He tells her he has no desire to settle down in one place and wile away his time drinking coffee and playing bridge when there’s a big wide world out there.  She asks him what about her plans, and he declares he will ‘put her in her place’ and ‘slap her down’.  Since this is when Larry is the opposite of what a good man should be, we can take from it that a good man respects his wife and takes her opinions and needs into account.  For the late fifties, this is actually kind of surprising – I’ve seen films from a decade or two later that were far more backward about this.  So hey, points for that.

All things considered, The Manster is a pretty well-made movie.  It’s dumb and full of clichés, such as the man scientist destroyed by his own creation, the femme fatale who sacrifices herself for the hero because she’s fallen in love with him, theremin music to represent the monster’s appearance, etc etc etc… but it’s competently put together and whether intentionally or no, contains a lot of interesting material. It’s the sort of movie I can watch repeatedly and always find something new in.  Definitely recommended viewing for the 50’s Monster Flick fan, although with the caveat that there is a scene in which one character urges another to commit suicide.

[melodiouswhite]

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde rewritten, Ch. 01

(A/N: I didn’t think it was necessary to include warnings for this one, except for the fact that I shamelessly rewrote the 2nd chapter from the book)

1. Searching for Mr. Hyde Gabriel John Utterson was, as a lawyer, not someone who could easily be startled. But the incident his cousin Richard Enfield had told him about was nagging at him. No, nagging at him was an understatement. Ever since he had heard the story, he had been plagued for nightmares. They were always the same. His dear friend, Henry Jekyll, being haunted by dark shadows, usually in the shape of a man. Or a replay of the occurrence Enfield had told him about. The man was always faceless, which in itself was uncanny enough. And every time he awoke from his nightmares in cold sweat, he was compelled to go to his safe and read the will of his friend Dr. Jekyll over and over. The good doctor had declared a certain Mr. Edward Hyde to be the sole heir to his fortune. And that very man had trampled over a little girl without even a shred of sympathy, cold as ice. What was compelling Jekyll to leave his fortune to such a creature? Did he even know? In what kind of relation did Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde stand with each other? Who on earth was this Mr. Hyde? A visit to Jekyll's former friend, Dr. Hastie Lanyon, didn't bring any answers. Utterson couldn't stop pondering about it, no matter how hard he tried. So often he tried to calm himself down, that he was just being unhealthily obsessed with the matter and that this was nothing a good night's sleep couldn't solve. But he never got one. After several nights without sleep and an incident that involved him dozing off in his own office (luckily with no one around), he decided that this state of perpetual unrest was unsustainable.

He was convinced that the only way to end this was to face the source of his nightmares. He wanted to look this Mr. Hyde in the eye, if only to either confirm or shatter his suspicions. He wanted to see the man in person, hoping that just one look at this peculiar face would answer his questions. What was so repulsive about it, that his calm and collected younger cousin felt such an irrational loathing just at the very sight of it? So it came that every evening from then on, Mr. Utterson went to the street where the scene had happened, stood in his chosen post and waited. He was aware of how creepy this seemed to be, but for the sake of his own rest and the well-being of his friend, this had to be done. If he be Mr. Hyde, I shall be Mr. Seek. After what seemed endless nights of waiting, his patience was finally rewarded. One frosty, clear winter night, when he had just assumed his usual – uhm, watching duty, as he would have loved to shamefully call it, but couldn't bring himself to – well, his spot, he was alerted by hasty, oddly light steps coming down the lonely road. They were coming closer and for some reason, Utterson felt an inexplicable sense of triumph and quietly hid in the shadows of the court entry. When the footsteps came around the corner, their owner came into view. The lawyer sneaked a glance to see what kind of man he would be dealing with. He was small and plainly dressed, but that alone wouldn't have been too noteworthy. However, there was something about him, a dark aura, that made the beholder uncomfortable even from a distance. The man hurried down the street, crossed the road and purposefully made his way across the courtyard. The lawyer could faintly see him take out a key, as if approaching his own home. Then Utterson decided to step forward and tapped the smaller man on the shoulder. “Mr. Hyde, I think?” The other started rather violently, with a hissing intake of breath. But he collected himself quickly. Despite avoiding to look Utterson in the eye, he finally answered coolly: “That is my name. What do you want?” To know why my best friend would leave his fortune to a man like you, Utterson thought, but what he said instead was: “I see you're going in. I'm an old friend of Dr. Jekyll's – Mr. Utterson of Gaunt Street – you must have heard my name; and meeting you so conveniently, I thought you might admit me.” “You won't find Dr. Jekyll; he is from home”, Mr. Hyde replied, blowing the key. He's using every excuse to avoid eye contact with me, isn't he? How would he know that the doctor is from home anyway, when he himself has been out until now? Suddenly the smaller man startled him by asking suspiciously (but still without looking up): “How did you know me?” “On your side, will you do me a favour?”, the lawyer countered. This seemed to surprise Hyde in return, before he recovered and guardedly replied: “With pleasure. What shall it be?” This is my chance! “Will you let me see your face?” For a moment, Mr. Hyde seemed to hesitate, like he was considering whether he should do it or not. Then, as if making up his mind, he turned around with an air of defiance, lifting his top hat far enough to show his eyes. A few agonizingly long seconds of silence followed, as the two men fixedly stared at each other. Then the lawyer nodded politely and said: “Now I will know you again. It may be useful in the future.” “Yes”, returned Mr. Hyde and the way he smiled back sent shivers down the older man's spine. “It is fortunate that we have met; and apropos, you should have my address.” And he gave him the number of a street in Soho. Good God! Could he be thinking of the will? But Utterson didn't voice what he was thinking and simply grunted to show his acknowledgement of the given address. “And now”, Hyde continued, obviously getting agitated, “How. Did. You. Know. Me?” I must be careful with what I'm saying. “By description.” “Whose description?”, the smaller man inquired suspiciously. “We have common friends”, the lawyer said vaguely. For the sake of his cousin's safety, he chose not to give any names. “'Common friends'?”, the other echoed incredulously and rather hoarsely, “Who would that be?” “Jekyll, for instance”, Utterson offered. “He never told you!”, Hyde blew up, red with anger, “I didn't expect you to lie to me!” “Come!”, Utterson cried with a frown, “That is not fitting language.” To that Hyde reacted by bursting into a savage laughter that was even more disturbing than his smile. Then, before the older man knew what was happening, the younger one had unlocked the door and disappeared into the house without so much as a goodbye, slamming the door shut. For a few minutes Utterson stood there, shaken to the bone from the meeting. Then he left the street and went home. Every few steps, he stopped to take a deep breath. Come on!, he scolded himself, Pull yourself together! You're being hysterical! But it didn't help. What is wrong with me? He had a feeling that this question would never be answered. Mr. Hyde sure wasn't like any man Utterson had ever seen. He was ghostly pale and dwarfish, definitely a lot smaller and younger than Dr. Jekyll. There was no sign of malformation about him and yet, he gave off an inexplicable air of deformity. He had dark hair, in the darkness of the street Utterson hadn't been able to tell if it was black or dark brown. But determining the colour of his eyes was just the easier: they were of such a startling green that they almost seemed to glow in the dark. He had a displeasing smile – no, displeasing didn't describe it. No smile had ever been this cold. The man had borne himself with a murderous mixture of timidity and boldness and spoke with a husky, whispering and somewhat broken voice that didn't sound remotely pleasant. All this in its own made him repulsive enough, but even all these traits combined couldn't explain the deep aversion Utterson was feeling towards the young man. There is something else – there must be more! If only I could name it. God help me, this man seems hardly human! Maybe it was that strange, dark aura that had made him uncomfortable even from a distance earlier. Perhaps the evil of that man's soul was leaking through and that was what … yes, that had to be it. Oh god … for such a man to be acquainted with Jekyll … if I have ever seen a monster, it's him! Now he felt even more uneasy. He had to see Jekyll right now and confront him about – wait, Hyde had said that Jekyll wasn't home. But how would that demon spawn know, if he himself had just been returning from god knew where? The lawyer gritted his teeth and made his way around a few corner into a nearby street full of formerly grand houses. Most of them were now in decay and inhabited by all kinds of people, but there was one house that was splendid and beautiful and still inhabited, although now the lights were off. But still he knew that someone was awake. So he knocked. The door was opened by a well-dressed, elderly servant. Utterson asked immediately: “Is Doctor Jekyll at home, Poole?” “I will see, Mr. Utterson”, the old butler replied, letting him in. He guided the lawyer into a large, low-roofed, comfortable hall paved with flagstone, warmed by a large, open fire and furnished with expensive oak cabinets. It was the doctor's pride and Utterson was quite sure that this room was the most pleasant one in London. But not even this place, where he usually felt at peace and at home, could calm him down tonight. As he waited, he tried to get rid of his inner unrest, but the shadows that the light of the fire threw onto the wall seemed to make it only worse. The demonic, ghostly visage of Hyde was branded into his mind like a burn scar and it made him feel horrible. Why do I suddenly feel so sick … so averse to life … what is wrong with me! He was ashamed of the relief he felt when the butler came back and announced that Jekyll wasn't home. When Utterson inquired about Mr. Hyde entering the house from the back door just like that, Poole informed him (to his horror) that, not only did Hyde have a key, but that also Jekyll trusted him enough to order his servants to obey him in everything. And when Utterson asked why he had never met Hyde before, the butler explained that the young man was rarely seen in this part of the house. This put the middle-aged lawyer even more on edge and he politely wished the butler a good night, before going home. He couldn't recall when or even if he had ever been as depressed as he was feeling right now. Memories flooded through his head, of when Henry Jekyll and he had been young. Digging in his own memories, he couldn't find anything that could be put against him. And still he felt tainted, like he had committed an unforgivable crime. Jekyll on the other hand … he hadn't exactly been a paragon of virtue in his youth either. In fact, he had been a rather wild youth. Only Utterson and Lanyon still knew about the adventures he had been up to. Oh my god … what if Hyde knows and is blackmailing him! What does he have that he could put against my friend? What is he doing to him?! How do they know each other? When did they even meet? What does Henry see in him! He is … he is … Utterson shook his head. Sure, it was perfectly normal to be concerned for your friend, but this was just ridiculous! He was thinking like a jealous wife, when there wasn't even– The black-haired man groaned and gripped his head. So much for there being nothing that could be put against me. I thought I was over that! And the thought, that he might have something in common with someone like Hyde, made it even more nauseating. Knowing that he would get no rest for the night and desperate to confide in someone who wouldn't judge him, he opened one of the drawers of his desk, got out a visiting card and crept into the next room to the telephone. There, as quietly as possible, he dialled a number on the telephone and listened intently. Finally, someone picked up and Utterson was relieved to hear the sleepy voice of the person he was wishing to talk to right now. “…Hello?” “Good evening, this is Utterson speaking-” “Ah, Mr. Utterson! You mean good morning, it's almost one o'clock. I hope you have a good reason for calling me at this hour. It's not exactly becoming for a gentleman like you”, the voice remarked with a light German accent. Utterson sighed. Of course, what had he been thinking? Of course she would have been sleeping. He really had to be out of his mind, calling someone in the middle of the night, tearing them out of their slumber. Some fine gentleman he was! Luckily the voice spoke up again, tearing him out of his self-loathing thoughts. “Mr. Utterson? Are you still there?” He blinked. “A-ah! Y-yes, I'm still here. I'm truly sorry, Madam. What am I thinking, waking you up at almost one in the morning.” “Don't mention it. But tell me why you're calling me in the first place. It must be something really disturbing, if you're desperate enough to call me at this ungodly time.” “It is. It truly is”, Utterson admitted. The voice at the other end of the line sounded concerned. “You sound like you're crying, Mr. Utterson. What happened?” “I …” He wanted to tell her, he really did. But now was not the time. He would just … wait, had she said that he sounded like crying? It was only now that he noticed that his sight was blurred with tears and that his voice was hoarse and choking. No wonder the other person was concerned. “… Never mind. I owe you a million apologies for disturbing your rest, Madam. I will consult you later at five in the afternoon.” “Are you sure? Are you sure you don't want to get it off your chest now? You dialled my number, after all.” He swallowed the lump in his throat. How could a person as open-hearted and empathetic as the woman he was talking to possibly be German? That was incomprehensible! “No, it's fine. But thank you. It's good to have someone who's willing to listen no matter what time it is.” He could practically hear the smile in her voice, as she answered: “Please, that's what I'm there for. And God knows, you really need someone to confide into. Just one thing: I already have a visitor at five in the afternoon. But I am free at eleven o'clock. And you would even have more time, since the client I had at noon cancelled her appointment. So come then and feel free to pour your heart out. You know that I will listen to you.” That answer made him smile as well. “Yes, of course. Thank you. Good night, Madam.” “Good night, Mr. Utterson.” Utterson hung up the telephone. He might not have been able to tell what was ailing him just yet, but knowing that someone was willing to listen to his problems even at this hour, had made him feel so much better. 

(A/N: Yup, I rewrote the second chapter from the book here. Utterson is a bit OOC, I apologise. And we also get a glimpse at my first OC in the story. And just in case you're wondering why I'm talking so negatively of my own country - this story is supposed to be written from the POV of Victorian people in the 1880s and at that time the British and German empire had a ... complicated relationship (that is, it was starting to get complicated). So I'm going to employ some of the stereotypes about Germans (and Prussians in particular), as tough as it is for me. Btw, if you're wondering about the telephone - yes, telephones and cameras were already a thing in the 1880s, even though they were more primitive of course. Just like phonographs (the predecessors of recorders). Hope you like this chapter anyways.

[angelimortisrp-blog]

lG L O R Y (&&) GORE — meet CHRISTIAN ROMANO; the PRODIGAL SON.

“who has not asked himself at some time or another: am i a monster or is this what it means to be a man?”

{ ♚  AT A GLANCE }

name: Christian Romano.

age: 37.

gender & pronouns: UTP.

occupation: Boss of the Romano crime family.

loyalty: Romano.

availability: Open.

faceclaim: Jon Bernthal. ( negotiable to Tom Ellis or Brett Dalton. )

{ ♚ A DEEPER LOOK }

Uncertainty. It was a word and a feeling that Christian Romano hated, but was all he seemed to think about these days. In any other circumstances, having been appointed boss of the Romano crime family would have been an honour. He’d never expected those terms to be upon his father’s murder. He’d immediately blamed the Venturi’s for that - and, on the same hand, they’d blamed his family for Juliet’s murder. It would have made sense, an eye for an eye - had it been true. Now, without the support and control of the Angeli Mortis, everything about the future of the Romano family was uncertain. He drummed his fingers absently on the desk in front of him - fidgeting had always been a nervous habit - as his mind focused on ways to mask his emotions, to pretend that he had control over this entire situation and knew what he was doing. A harsh breath slipped through his lips, an utterance of “Fuck,” echoing from his throat. He didn’t have a clue what he was doing - and he wasn’t entirely certain how to proceed from here.

{ ♚ A HISTORY LESSON }

Christian Romano. The first born, only son -- the golden child. Heir to an empire that a small boy with dark hair and bright eyes would never be able to fully comprehend. The Mafia world has swarmed Christian ever since he was born; all he has ever known is his father holding meetings in the family home, men coming to their home at all hours of the night, always referring to his father as boss: passing over briefcases of money, weapons, and God only knew what else. For Christian, it was a novelty. Something that he was party to, but never a part of. Until he started to grow up. The eldest Romano was nine when his father brought him into one of their meetings, sat him at the head of the table, and promised that these same men would refer to him as boss someday. The words caused a stir in the boy, prompting him to sit with his shoulders straighter, to emulate his father at every turn. He wanted nothing more than to stand with the same power as his father, and as he grew up and began to understand the world around him, he couldn’t think about anything other than having a criminal empire at his feet. 

From that moment on, Christian was in training. Although unaware of it, he was being prepared to follow in his father’s footsteps, whether he wanted to or not. Taught how to use weapons, how to defend himself and most importantly, taught how to kill. The knowledge of the business was scattered in between self defence lessons and weapons training, but he managed to take it all in stride. Everyone around him was constantly informing him that he was born for this and he would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the power. As he got older, more and more power was handed out to him. Whether it was the cool metal of a gun between his fingers, the feeling of paper being shoved into his hands or simply the adrenaline rush of tagging along on hits - there was something enticing about the lifestyle his family led, and Christian was just as quickly addicted as anyone else.

1997 brought around the creation of The Latin Alliance. It was a very quick shift from training as the sole heir of his own family to being thrown into training to work in a partnership. Christian, forever a cynic, tended to live on the side of caution. Caution had always been clear in everything that he did; especially when he became involved with Ekaterina Volkov. There was something about the woman that whispered dangerous, but after a while, Christian couldn’t get enough. She was a frequent visitor to Delirium, and shortly after Christian’s initiation on his eighteenth birthday in 1998, they became an item. Ekaterina was smarter than Christian had first given her credit for; she’d began to piece together that he was involved in criminal affairs long before he revealed the truth to her - and she refused to be protected from it. They were married within two years, and Christian has never looked back.

Throughout the following two decades, Christian continued to climb the ladder within the Angeli Mortis, with his wife by his side. He grew from a bartender in Delirium, to a manager, to overseeing all operations within Delirium’s basements, to finally being appointed CEO of the entire club - all the while climbing the ladder set up within the criminal empire that was Angeli Mortis. He fit right into the crime syndicate, with his sharp wit, smirk and buckets of charm, Christian Romano considered himself unstoppable. And for the most part, he was. He was the eldest son of one of the most influential men in Manhattan, and Christian would be damned if he didn’t let that go to his head every now and again. 

Eventually, he was appointed as his father’s underboss - an honour that he’d waited his entire life for - and it felt like it hadn’t come soon enough. But with everyone singing his praises, it was easy to let slip the attitudes of those who were less than thrilled for him; namely his sister. He continued to grow with the Angeli Mortis, continued to open further clubs under the Romano name - none quite as successful as Delirium, but worth his time all the same; and his marriage to Ekaterina only grew from strength to strength, too. The two were a perfect partnership, and with Kat always willing to get her hands dirty and get involved in his work, there was no need to hide the criminal aspect of his life from her.

Despite his reservations about the Angeli Mortis at the original signing of The Latin Alliance, as the years went on, the organisation created a stable working environment. The two families seemed to work together in perfect harmony, and as far as they were concerned, their allegiance was untouchable, their organisation held a monopoly over New York City’s criminal activities, and that was exactly how they planned to keep it. However, their tunnel vision was causing more problems than it was solving, even if the entirety of the organisation seemed to be completely unaware of it. 

There was a change in the air as 2017 rolled in. First, the preparations for him to take over as head of the Romano family had begun, for him to work in direct conjunction with Gregory Venturi as the bosses of the Angeli Mortis - Michael Romano had been diagnosed terminally ill, and instead of asking for assistance, had decided to promote his son instead. Christian was ready for that change, and would have accepted the position with great honour - until everything changed.

{ ♚ NO TIME LIKE THE PRESENT }

The Angeli Mortis were always holding society balls, using their charity gala’s as a way to dispose of some of their illegally gotten money. On the surface, everything they were involved in was legal - so it always worked out just fine. However, on this particular occasion, something seemed wrong. Christian couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something felt off. He should have known something had happened when Juliet Venturi left the party early - but had thought nothing of it at the time. Upon leaving the gala, his father was shot dead on the front steps of the venue by an unknown assailant - instantly throwing the family into an uproar. The whispers began almost instantaneously, accusations flying towards the Venturi family - if Juliet left early, surely she had something to do with it? Christian began to distance himself from the other half of the partnership that evening - but when Juliet’s body was discovered three days later, it was all over. The Latin Alliance was destroyed overnight; both families are pointing fingers at each other - and things are only going to get worse...

{ ♚ ABOUT THE PERSONALITY }

+: adaptable, intelligent, responsible, protective -:  abrasive, demanding, sadistic, cynical

Smooth talking. Charismatic. Calm. With a quick wink and a slow smirk, Christian can get anything that he’s ever wanted - and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t use that to his advantage. Christian has always been a little bit Jekyll and Hyde, able to switch from white picket fence husband and father to dangerous mob boss in a matter of minutes if he has to. He has long since outgrown the days of being a whiskey drinking, cocaine snorting bartender in Delirium, having worked his way up to something of a respectable businessman in the city. Christian’s reputation has always preceded him and now, he’s had to take on a further responsibility: as the boss of the Romano family. The divide in his personal and business life has never been stronger, the two clashing halves of his personality struggling to co-exist in the one body. Over the years, he’s grown into a far more admirable man - commanding almost the same level of respect that his father received simply upon entering a room, but he has never been as egotistical as his father. Arrogant? Of course, but not to a point of recklessness. Christian Romano is viciously protective of the people he loves, and will put his own life on the line to keep them safe without even fully considering the consequences. The only flaw that Christian wishes he could completely eradicate from his personality is his ability to doubt himself, especially in situations where he is the person others look to for an answer - but he’s very good at hiding it.

{ ♚ FRIENDS & FOES }

♠ Ekaterina Romano ( WIFE ) - “be brave, my darling. you have faced dark times before and you’re still here now.” ; Ekaterina, in short, is Christian’s entire world. There is nobody more important in his world than Kat - and he’d lay his life down in a moment to protect her. Ekaterina, as his underboss, is one of his main roots in the family. She’s his rationale, his go to - she’s the one who assists in advising him on any business decisions, along with Carlos. After Michael Romano’s murder and the fall of the Angeli Mortis, Christian has found Ekaterina to be one of the few that he is comfortable relying upon. If he’s completely honest, Ekaterina has always had more of a heart for the darker side of the business than he has, and she’s far more inclined to play dirty than he is. Aside from being the love and light of his life, Kat is his biggest weapon and he’s not afraid to use her.

♠  The Romano Family ( ASSOCIATES ) - “is it too soon to say there’s a new sheriff in town?” ; Christian has been being primed for years to take over his father’s position in the Romano crime family. However, ever since stepping into those shoes, Christian has had a large amount of new names and faces to learn. He has spent plenty of time familiarising himself with those that work for him and has, on occasion, tried to befriend most of them. Christian’s reputation tends to precede him and his appearance has been met with fear, but he’s working to change that. His level of leadership is a little more than his father’s - but the uncertainty that lingers in his heart is leading him to be harsher than his father ever was. Christian needs to learn who he can and cannot trust within his family - and trying to do so is proving more difficult than he had first assumed. Within the family, he’s certain that he can trust his blood relatives ( Maria, Isabella, Eloise ), but outwith that, he’s slowly piecing people together. 

♠  Kai Carter ( BEST FRIEND ) - “pinky promise? get the fuck out of here.” ; Kai has been Christian’s best friend ever since they were children - as far as being referred to as an honorary Romano by Michael and his wife. The two were joint at the hip as children and only developed into stable, fast friends as they grew up. Their friendship only strengthened when Kai married Maria and when they had their daughter, Freya. After the death of Michael Romano and Juliet Venturi, Kai has remained as one of the steadfast family members Christian can trust. Kai, however, is doing his own investigating into both deaths and through Caleb Bianchi, is beginning to log information to feed back to Christian.

{ ♚ EXTRAS }

character teaser.

inspiration tag.

gif hunts.

CHRISTIAN IS CURRENTLY AVAILABLE FOR AUDITIONS.

[rose-of-pollux]

The Jack o’ the Lantern Affair (MFU fic), part 4/5

Title: The Jack o’ the Lantern Affair Rating: PG13 (for action/danger) Chapter summary: Napoleon and Illya form a new plan, but Jack attempts to get the upper hand, resulting in Illya making a last-ditch effort to save Napoleon. Notes: This version of the fic (cross-posted to AO3) is slash-implied; if you prefer reading gen, there is a gen version on ff.net, but I can’t link to it with tumblr’s linking restrictions.

                                   Act IV: A Twist and a Bit of a Spin

Napoleon soon figured out what Illya had meant by “covering their bases.”  As the channel was left open, he heard Illya conversing with two U.N.C.L.E. agents visiting from India they’d worked with before, and they gladly gave Illya some holy water from the Ganges River that one of them had been planning to give to family in New York, agreeing that Illya’s need for it was greater.

Illya’s next stop was to meet a local Imam and obtained some holy water from him, as well, and then met with a Rabbi, who gave him a small amulet with a hamsa on the front and a Hebrew prayer on the back.

Satisfied, Illya met with Napoleon at the church, where Napoleon had already received some holy water from the vicar.

“Did you see anyone out there?” he asked.

“If you mean Zero, no,” Illya said.

“Well, er…  He can change his form.”

“Of course,” Illya sighed.  “Well, I do not think I was followed by Zero—I would hope not, carrying all of these.”  He held up the two vials of holy water and the hamsa amulet.  Napoleon handed over his vial of holy water, and Illya tied the amulet around the three vials, and Napoleon looked satisfied.

“This should be what we need to douse that lantern,” he said.  “A unified front—I can’t think of anything better.  Illya, you’re a genius.”

Illya gave him a wan smile, but then he sighed.

“Now we need to find Jack before we run out of time,” he said.  “I hope he doesn’t think to hide until the deadline.”

“No, I don’t think he will,” Napoleon said.  “He wants to cause trouble, and he wants to lure me out.  He’s going to be out and about again—we just need to keep an ear out and listen for where he might be.”

Illya nodded.

“Then let’s get in the car and start searching for him again,” he said.  “We can do our research in the car just to make sure.”

“Right,” Napoleon said.  “…Is Baba Yaga in the car?”

“No, I left her in the office; she and her little Sergei are with George,” Illya said.  “She was not pleased to be left behind, but I agree with you—I do not want her anywhere near here if that dog is going to come back.”

Napoleon nodded in agreement, and, after checking outside to make sure that Zero was nowhere near, headed to the car with Illya. As the two of them began to drive around the city, looking for any signs of Jack, Illya was paging through the book.

“The illustrations in the book align with what Marton’s cousin said,” Illya noted, as Napoleon drove.  “If we extinguish his lantern, we have bested him.”

“Well, we’ve got the means to do it,” Napoleon said. “The only thing is that we only have one shot at it.  We’re going to have to make it count.”

“Right,” Illya said.  He then paused.  “Napoleon?”

“Hmm?”

“What did Zero want to talk to you about that he couldn’t say in front of me?”

Napoleon gripped the steering wheel a bit tightly as he considered how to reply to his partner.

“He said he was willing to send Jack and his army of monsters and ghosts back to the world they’d been trapped in.”

“…I presume he would have claimed your soul had you agreed.”

“You’d be right,” Napoleon said.  “I turned him down, but if this plan of ours doesn’t work, I may have to reconsider--”

“Don’t you even finish that thought!” Illya ordered.

Napoleon blinked.

“But I thought you didn’t believe--”

“As I said before, so much as happened that I don’t believe in already, but that isn’t the point,” Illya said.  “The point is that you believe in it.  And if you believe that the Devil wants your soul, then you cannot give it to him!”

Napoleon swallowed a lump in his throat as they continued to drive for hours past the streets; it was times like these that he hated how some of their coworkers had branded Illya as an emotionless ice prince. Illya had more compassion in his heart than most people Napoleon knew.

He was prevented from voicing these thoughts aloud, however, as their communicators went off again.

“Kuryakin here,” Illya said.  “I am glad to report that we’ve found a means of dealing with the source of the problem; we just need to find him.  Unfortunately, our search seems to be going nowhere.”

“Try Brooklyn, Mr. Kuryakin,” Waverly intoned. “We’ve been receiving reports of Jack being spotted off of the pier on Coney Island.”

“What is he doing?” Illya asked.

“Nothing, at the moment—he is, apparently, just floating in midair, leering at everyone.  It’s quite disconcerting, according to the reports.  I suggest you go there right away and enact whatever plan you have—you’ve only got until sunrise.”

“So we should ignore the party of gargoyles on the roof of the Marriott?” Napoleon intoned, taking note of them in his rearview mirror.  The winged creatures had somehow gotten into one of the minibars and were drinking the spoils of their raid as they pranced around the roof.

“…I would ask if you were joking, Mr. Solo, but I fear that you aren’t,” Waverly sighed, sounding exasperated.

“He isn’t,” Illya assured him, flatly.

“That’s what I was afraid of,” Waverly said. “Never mind the gargoyle party; Jack is the cause of this trouble—with these reports only just coming in, it stands to reason he wants you to find him.”

“We’re on our way, Sir,” Napoleon said, trying very hard to ignore the gargoyle hanging from a telephone line by its tail as it drank a small bottle of bourbon.  He waited until Illya signed off before commenting on their situation. “You know, 40 years from now, we’ll look back on this…”

“And laugh?”

“No—we’ll wonder if we suffered a mass hallucination.”

“At this point, I would take that explanation,” Illya said.  He stared as a hot dog vendor shook his fist at a pair of gargoyles that were flying off with his cart and heading towards the party on the hotel roof.  “…Gladly. Though I know now it is too much to hope for such a thing…”

“Hang in there, Tovarisch,” Napoleon said. “We’ve got the means to stop this; let’s just do our best.”

They did their best to ignore the strange sights of creepy creatures causing trouble, as well as the other odd sights brought about by people’s reaction to the crisis (including two fully-dressed Wall Street businessmen, on their knees, using tuna and sardines to try to tempt a stray cat to come home with them for protection—no doubt after having seen it chase off a gargoyle) and headed for Brooklyn.  It was as they were crossing the Brooklyn Bridge that the sun set. With the sunlight gone, the ghosts and zombies that had been forced to hide were now coming out of hiding and continuing their nefarious acts (though one skeleton proceeded to attempt to engage a fake skeleton from the façade of the Jekyll & Hyde Club in some sort of conversation that quickly got nowhere).

“Maybe you were right, and he was stalling after all,” Napoleon sighed.  “He wanted his entire army out before he was willing to deal with us—why else would he suddenly show himself just before dark?”

“If it means he is afraid of us, then I am pleased with that; hopefully it means our plan is worth something,” Illya said, and he began to use a flashlight to page through the book; after a few minutes of reading, he froze in the seat.

“Napoleon…”

“What?”

“You know how we were told that we had until ‘sunrise after Halloween’ to stop Jack?  There’s more, and it’s worse than we first thought.”

“Great, this is just what we needed,” Napoleon muttered, sarcastically.  “How much worse can it get?”

“A blanket of shadows will block the sunlight; that will allow all of these ghosts and undead that Jack summoned to have the run of the place for an entire year,” Illya said.  “Even if we could instruct all of the five boroughs to have a cat in each building, there is nothing to stop Jack and his army from moving on to other places.”

Napoleon was reminded about Zero’s taunt about whether or not he wanted to be able to save the entire world.

“We’ve got to chance it,” he said.  He paused.  “Illya, you know… since Baba Yaga isn’t with us and you don’t have a way of protection--”

“No, I will not stay in the car,” Illya said, cutting him off.  “If anything, my carrying the book around will, hopefully, be the diversion you need…” He trailed off.  “Napoleon, there he is!”

Jack giggled at them and floated off, his lantern clearly indicating his location.  Napoleon struggled to keep up with him as they headed further from Coney Island.

“He’s probably heading for the Adelo House again,” Napoleon said.  “He really is using that as his base.”

“We can’t go from the front; that well is there, teeming with undead and ghosts,” Illya said.  “What is there in the back way, behind the house?”

“A family cemetery, also a hotbed for undead and ghosts,” Napoleon reminded him, prompting Illya to facepalm.

“Now we know why he wished to use the house,” he said.  “I still say our chances are best if we come from behind, through the cemetery.  They will likely not be expecting it, and we can use the stones as a way to hide.”

“Back way it is,” Napoleon said, nodding.  He parked on the dirt path, several yards from the cemetery, looked around, and then got out, beckoning Illya to follow him.

Illya did so, taking the book with him.

As Napoleon had predicted, there were zombies and skeletons roaming the cemetery; the two of them darted from stone to stone. The house was in sight, and they were nearly through the graveyard when, suddenly, they heard a piercing cackle from Jack.

“Down there, you fools, down there!” he sneered, shining his lantern light on the two of them.

Within moments, the zombies and skeletons were approaching them, and Jack cackled madly.

“Where is that daughter of Bastet?” he taunted them. “Chased off by Old Scratch’s dog. Now it’s just the two of you—with no way to stop me!”

“What do we do?” Illya asked, gripping his partner’s arm

“We’ve only got one shot…” Napoleon said, realizing that there was no way out with the monsters drawing in closer.  He handed Illya the three vials of holy water and the hamsa amulet.  “Take these and stop Jack; I’ll draw them off long enough.”

To Illya’s horror, Napoleon pulled free from his grip and ran off, hollering at the creatures to draw their attention. The zombies and skeletons, repelled by the holy objects that Illya was holding, were gladly ignoring him to focus on Napoleon.

“Napoleon!” he yelled.  “Napoleon, come back!  Stay with me; you’ll be safer…”

But the way back to Illya’s side was already blocked off by the creatures, and soon, Napoleon had no way of escape on any side.

“Nyet!” he cried.

He tried to push past them crowd of creatures closing in on Napoleon, but though the crowd parted near Illya on account of the holy items he carried, the creatures had already seized Napoleon, who was cringing under their touch.

“You put up a good fight,” Jack taunted Napoleon. “You came very close!  Ah, but you mustn’t be too hard on yourself for losing in the end—you never would have beaten me!  I said that I would give you until sunrise to defeat me, but, in all honesty, I tire of this now; without the cat, you are nothing.  It’s clear to me that is the case, so I see no point in drawing this out any further…”

Napoleon let out a frightened cry that was quickly cut off as one of the zombies grabbed his throat in an iron grip.  With the other zombies and skeletons holding his arms and legs, he couldn’t so much as struggle against it.

“Kill him,” Jack sneered.

The zombie’s grasp on Napoleon’s neck tightened further, and, realizing in horror that Illya would never reach him in time, he quickly paged through the book for some sort of protection spell.

“‘If Death doth creep towards a player as he engages in this fight, let the way of the vampires now protect him and carry him on the wings of the night!’” Illya read.  A cry now left his throat now as a purple light shone from the book, arched through the air, and struck Napoleon, illuminating him in the unnatural light as an odd, unreadable expression formed upon his face.

It dawned on Illya a moment later that this might not have been the protection spell he’d had in mind—and his worries were confirmed as Napoleon’s upper canine teeth suddenly extended.  But Napoleon no longer seemed to be in any pain, and Jack suddenly looked very concerned as with just a twist of his body, Napoleon successfully knocked all of the zombies and skeletons away from him.  Napoleon then sought his partner’s gaze, but Illya could only sink to his knees.

“Oh, Napoleon, moy Dorogoy…” he whispered.  “What have I done to you!?”

[shontaviajesq]

A Tale of Two Chicagos: What I Learned From Becoming and Surviving R. Kelly

America’s major cities each have their own vibe. The hustle and bustle that weaves between New York’s skyscrapers is legendary. Los Angeles is well-known for its sunny weather, beautiful people, and Hollywood sign towering over America’s most historic film industry. The Las Vegas Strip beckons tourists with its bright lights, drive-thru weddings officiated by Elvis, and empty promises of winning it big on a slot machine. Even if you have never visited these places, you know the city’s personality.

Chicago also has a vibe. As a former Midwesterner, Chicago is a place that I became familiar with over nearly a decade (especially #SummertimeChi). The people, food, festival season, sports teams and music scene (among many other things) make it a great city. Unfortunately, recent years have focused on they city’s perceived propensity for violence.

For me, what has always stood out—more than Michael Jordan or the former Sears Tower or that silver bean-looking thing—is how much people from Chicago LOVE Chicago. And I mean…LOVE Chicago. I don’t care who a person is, if they are from Chicago they will let you know within the first 3-5 seconds of your interaction with them. I don’t believe I’ve ever heard an interview with Common or Chance the Rapper where they don’t mention their city. The Chi is always on their minds.

Chicago Bears GIF from Chicago GIFs

The city has also been on my mind a lot lately. I, like more than 3 million other people on the planet, bought Michelle Obama’s book, Becoming, when it came out. Almost immediately after the book’s release in November 2018, I began getting texts from others in my circle who literally could. not. put. the. book. down.

Despite the rave reviews, Becoming sat on my floor in its Amazon.com box for several months. I did not begin reading it until around the New Year. True to Chicago form, Mrs. Obama shouted out her city (and especially her neighborhood on the South side of Chicago) literally on page 1 and continued throughout the book to reference her beloved hometown.

via GIPHY

Around this same time, the Lifetime network was preparing to set a huge, raging dumpster fire in the internet’s front yard. On January 3, 2019, Lifetime released part one of Surviving R. Kelly, a SIX-PART documentary about the girls and women who survived harrowing, horrible, disgusting [I need like a million more words here] pedophilia, predatory behavior and abuse at the hands of R. Kelly, an R&B artist that many folks muted long before the documentary aired. The six part series is jarring, shocking and incomprehensible (the decisions made by people, not the documentary itself) at times.

R. Kelly is also from the South Side of Chicago, and the city serves almost as a featured character throughout the documentary. The documentary describes his childhood and high school days in Chicago, his common presence at a McDonald’s near the high school, and his local studio and home. Chicago is front and center from the first few minutes of part one, and it plays a major role throughout the full documentary, which aired in parts over the span of several days.

Interestingly, I was finishing the last few pages of Becoming at the same time that Surviving R. Kelly was being aired. I went back and forth about whether I should watch it, because I knew it would be tough to hear the stories—when I was in law school, Criminal Law was the class I hate most…I could barely stand to read the details of the cases describing various types of homicides and assaults. I knew the Surviving R. Kelly documentary was going to make my stomach churn. I ultimately tuned in several days after it originally aired, perhaps out of some feeling of shared solidarity with the many black women talking about its themes across my social media platforms.

As I read about Mrs. Obama’s life and experiences in Chicago, I was struck by the reverence with which she talked about Chicago and the South Side. It nurtured and supported her, and later, her soon-to-be famous husband. When I watched the Lifetime documentary, Chicago seemed literally to be a different place. It was a place that had knowingly protected and revered R. Kelly despite being well-informed of his dangerous and evil predilections. It was the evil and depraved Mr. Hyde to Mrs. Obama’s Dr. Jekyll.

I was fascinated by this contrast and have a couple of observations to share.

Now, look—before we get into this. I know people from Chicago LOVE Chicago. I also appreciate that, as much as people from Chicago LOVE Chicago, they HATE equally as much (if not more) when people who ain’t from Chicago have something to say about Chicago. If that is you…bear with me. And take your finger off the holster of your Twitter fingers. I come in peace.

I should say at the outset that it feels weird comparing Becoming with Surviving R. Kelly.

If the forever first lady is on one end of the spectrum as it relates to protecting and championing the cause of young girls, Robert Kelly is so far on the other end of the spectrum that he ain’t even on a spectrum. Even his own daughter has called him a monster.

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#RKelly’s daughter #Buku aka #JoannKelly speaks on #SurvivingRKelly (SWIPE)

A post shared by The Shade Room (@theshaderoom) on Jan 10, 2019 at 12:06pm PST

Michelle Obama, as an accomplished, 55 year old professional woman from the South Side of Chicago, is the physical embodiment of an American success story, no matter whether you agree with her political or ideological views. She grew up in a working class family, worked her butt off in public and magnet schools, went to college, and worked her way through several upwardly-mobile job opportunities. Her accomplishments are impressive and plentiful and she has positively impacted the lives of countless girls of all backgrounds.

On the other hand….

Robert Kelly, a 52 year old man also from the South Side of Chicago, grew up in a home where he was sexually abused from age 7 to age 14 or 15, barely made it through grade school, and is functionally illiterate. In some ways his story could have also been a success story (and probably is to his ride-or-die fans). There was a time when he was the golden goose of the music industry, despite his upbringing. He is, by the numbers, one of the best selling music artists in the United States. Rolling Stone has said that he is "arguably the most important R&B figure of the 1990s and 2000s.” But, as we have learned at varying points in history, he is, quite literally, a monster. Surviving R. Kelly, for many people, was the exclamation point on decades—quite literally generations—of stories about his predatory, pedophilic, abusive behaviors again (primarily black) women.

Despite the fact that these two people have nothing in common other than being members of the human race (and I’m not even sure he deserves to be considered human), two things stuck with me as I compared and contrasted Becoming and Surviving R. Kelly.

Because similar paths can starkly diverge, we must carefully sow principles of love & survival into our children.

Obama starts Becoming with a description of her formative years in her South Shore neighborhood at the end of the 1960s. Because she was a good student who worked very hard, Obama had the opportunity to attend the Whitney M. Young Magnet High School. Because the school was across town, she had a roughly 90 commute by bus to get there. She describes the experience in the video below. The part I’m talking about goes from about the 1:30 minute mark until the 3:00 minute mark.

This magnet high school exposed her to all kinds of new things—she met black kids from wealthy, professional families, which she had never seen before. As Obama articulates in the video, the school helped her "find a place where [she] could be smart and feel good about it.” Because every student there was striving for success, Obama was able to cultivate her own dreams of success. Because she was in this environment, she would spend each day of her 90 minute bus commute doing homework and preparing for the next day of school.

In part 1 of Surviving R. Kelly, the documentary recounts an eerily similar commute for Jerhonda Pace (then Jerhonda Johnson). In 2008, Pace also had a long city bus commute to her Chicago high school, where she was a 15-year old freshman. Pace was also an R. Kelly superfan. When Kelly was criminally prosecuted on child pornography charges, his trial was held in a downtown Chicago courtroom. When Pace found out, she skipped school and instead traveled 40 miles by train and bus to attend his trial—it wasn’t hard for her to do because she had to take the bus to school anyway, and her single-mom was working several jobs and oftentimes not at home.

Pace was a visible attendee at the trial—She was photographed alongside Kelly and was a mainstay during the entire trial.

The photo below is of her in 2008, at 15 years old, waiting outside the court house.

At 15 years old, Pace was even quoted by MTV after Kelly was acquitted, saying:

"They can't call him a pedophile anymore," Johnson said. "They can't say he likes little girls. They don't have proof of that. Because he's innocent now. He's free."

This is one place the Surviving R. Kelly documentary began to throw me for a loop. Pace describes how, after the trial, Kelly called her (he was 41/42 at the time and she was probably 15/16). He invited her to his home and took her virginity that same day. This led to a multi-year spiral of abuse.

Listening to Pace’s story and thinking about Obama’s experience starkly illustrated for me how similar paths can diverge.

Obama’s long commute led her to a supportive place where the people around her had a vested interest in her success. Because she felt this all around her, she was propelled in the direction of her dreams. Pace’s commute, on the other hand, led her to a place where the one person she believed in ravaged both her mind and body for two years. She has said the last straws for her were when he slapped, choked, and spit on her.

These two things lay bare how carefully we must sow love and survival principles into our children. They can and will find themselves having to make any number of decisions. How we guide them could lead to either heaven or hell. There are good and bad people in the world waiting to exert their influence, and we owe it to the children in our lives to expose them to the ways that their paths can diverge.

By saying this, I do not intend in anyway to blame Pace or her mother for the situation she found herself in. Her victimization is solely the fault of her abuser—her naïveté was exploited. <<Who among us has never found themselves in a place where they knew they had no business being?>> My point is merely that we can and should offer kids the tools and opportunities that help them both identify and avoid unsafe situations.

2. We must eradicate cultures of silence.

The second big thing that I couldn’t shake was the difference between the sibling and other familial relationships of Michelle Obama and her brother, Craig Robinson, and Robert Kelly and his younger brother, Carey Kelly.

Obama speaks with love about her big brother and how she always wanted to be like him and do the things he did. She talks about them being “tight, in part thanks to an unwavering and somewhat inexplicable allegiance he seemed to feel for his baby sister right from the start.”

Obama idolized her brother and, once she was old enough, she followed him places and learned how to navigate her adolescence by watching him. And Craig understood this. He was, to quote Obama, “the portrait of brotherly vigilance and responsibility.”

The Robinson kids were also taught to avoid being dishonest and dishonorable. There’s a story in the book that I’ll leave to page 47 of Becoming to articulate:

I can’t say that I had the moral compass or mental fortitude of 8th grade Craig. As I read this story and Obama’s other characterizations of her brother, I thought about the power of having this kind of role model as a kid and how positively these images must have been for her.

Carey Kelly speaks similarly about looking up to his older brothers, including Robert, and wanting to do everything they did. As the youngest of four, Carey followed his brothers around and emulated them. In a particularly jarring scene in Surviving R. Kelly, Carey talks about being sexually abused by his oldest sister at age 6 and going to Robert to tell him about the abuse:

Carey recounted going to his older brother, Robert (aka R. Kelly), about the abuse when he was a child. “Robert, him being my big brother, I brought that to him and told him what happened to me,” he said. “And when I told him, he didn’t really respond to it like I felt he should. When I told him, he said, ‘No, that didn’t happen.’ And I said, ‘Yes it did.’ And Robert said, ‘No it didn’t.’ And I left it alone. I really didn’t want to take it to my mom, because my brother was the test. And if he believed me, maybe I could’ve taken it to an adult.”

Whew. I was in tears through several parts of the documentary, and this was one of them. It is just sad all around. R. Kelly has also spoken in the past about being sexually abused by an older female family member, though he has never confirmed (at least publicly, who that was). Carey has said he doesn’t know if he and his brother were abused by the same person because they have never discussed it. And he did not believe any of the adults in his life would believe him.

In digesting these two experiences at the same time, I saw the striking impact that secrets can—or cannot have—on families. Fostering a culture of communication in our households can protect children from a lifetime of damage (or, in the case of 8th grade Craig, from being prematurely confronted with situations that they are not prepared for).

Keeping dark secrets is deeply rooted in African-American communities—firmly established in a history of slavery, discrimination and oppression. Themes like passing as white, rapes by slave masters of women and the resulting mixed-race offspring, and sexual abuse of enslaved men and boys helped foster this culture of secrecy. These patterns of silence have been passed down through the generations.

Of course, cultures of silence are not specific only to African-American culture, but history has certainly provided us with some unique circumstances and challenges. While it will be difficult and messy work, we can and should break free from the vestiges surrounding our arrival to this land. This includes rejecting family secrets that place children, relationships and mental health at risk.

Ultimately, both Becoming and Surviving R. Kelly illustrated for me that no place can be defined as just one thing. Chicago, like every city, is multifaceted and shaped by its people and experiences. Places can be simultaneously nurturing and dangerous. Good and evil. Accessible and inaccessible.

It is not enough to believe that good things happen in some places and bad things happen in others, or that one side of the tracks leads to success while the other leads to despair. Paths can diverge. Cultural strongholds can throw a person’s trajectory into a tailspin. If society is to improve and progress, we cannot view it as a monolith.

It makes all the sense in the world that people from Chicago LOVE Chicago. If you’re still reading at this point, you must feel some kind of way about Chicago yourself. From Becoming to Surviving R. Kelly, Chicago is a mirror for many points on the cultural spectrum in every city. I suppose we all play a role in what we ultimately see when we look into that mirror.

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If you read Becoming and watched the documentary, what are your thoughts? Were there other common themes? Leave a comment below so that we can discuss those too.

via GIPHY