#biblical percy is black hair

[euryvices]

the one thing i find so cool abt all the new pjo artwork is how different the two percys are. book, black hair? goofy lil goober. hawaiin t-shirt, devious smirk, sword in hand. tv show, golden hair? haunted eyes. hand of god. less snark, more boy-hero than we can interpret in the books.

[thejudgingtrash]

Dodecahedron for the fanfic asks!!! (Jk, jk, not really. Actual word is, um, strawberries!! Cause why not!)

Oooh! Good one!

The Chosen One

“Where am I?” murmured Percy. The drugs, the calmative… whatever it was it slowly wore off. Percy felt that he wasn’t standing, neither was he laying. There was no hard matter underneath his Converse shoes. He was… floating? It felt like swimming in his father’s domain only that there was no water, no sea, no ocean and certainly not anything that tied itself to his father.

What Percy saw in front of him was the vast openness of space. Millions and millions of dots sparkled in the pitch-black darkness surrounding him, giving him some source of light. Dozens of orbs were floating in the background, circling around a larger yellow one at an unseen speed. Our galaxy? Percy thought sluggishly. Whatever he had in his drink; it still wore an effect.

Percy felt how an invisible force turned him around as if he were a grumpy toddler. His head was held high by a power that wasn’t he. Contours and shapes formed themselves in front of the student, but only barely. A shoulder or was it the chin? Was it a cheek or was it a knee?

“Perseus Jackson,” said the being. No skin color, no hair color, nothing. Percy’s mind was unable to process the fast information that was brought forward to him. His thoughts were the ones of a mere mortal, not that any immortal being would have been in a better position.

A large pair of eyes formed and opened themselves in front of him in the nothingness. Eyes as large as the moon and its craters. They blinked slowly but it felt forced. As if the being was mimicking and acting. Percy had the feeling they didn’t had to pretend to be a human or demigod like, but they did it anyway just for the sake of being polite. They weren’t human. They were as far away from being human as the dead that had withered away millennia ago.

Red, blue, violet and golden swirls functioned as the iris. Eyelashes as large as Jupiter’s ring gave them a more human look. A gaze as warm as Mercury rested in the large orbs. Then another pair of eyes opened themselves above. A fifth larger eye on top opened and blinked synchronized with the other four. Percy froze with fear. All five eyes were on him. They all eyed him from a different angle, one eye was more curious, the other rather bored, another one had a stare as cold as Athena’s, another one was neutral.

A mouth appeared from thin air. The shifting lips were pulled into a grin although it resembled more the frightening smear of a clown. Teeth in all shapes in sizes came forward. They shone as bright as ten yellow suns. The young man squinted.

“Who are you?” asked Percy. A redundant question. He didn’t have a haunch – he knew who the being in front of him was. What the son of Poseidon did not know was what they wanted from him.

The young demigod felt a ground underneath him now. For a brief second Percy looked to his now floor. A golden path was drawn in front of him and behind him. It took a few seconds for him to understand that he was standing on one crease of the large shape of a hand.

Instinctively the demigod reached into his pocket only to find his sword missing. The being in front of him laughed, as if it knew what Percy’s ever thoughts were. The mouth never moved. The grin was still there. A multitude of sounds echoed from the new voice in Percy’s head. Their voice was filled with the grim of a soldier, the love of a mother, the sigh of an elder and the laugh of a child.

A scent crawled into the nose of the college student. The vastness of space smell like rust and burned matter but the endlessness of the being had a different odor. The sweetness of a ripe strawberry, the bitterness of coffee, the sourness of a lemon… It was an obtuse mix that didn’t make sense and didn’t corelate yet was it cohesive in its nature.

Percy’s heart stopped beating for a second. The frown on his mouth froze. Biblically accurate angels had nothing on them.

They were Chaos, the originator. Chaos, the life force. Chaos, mother and father alike. Chaos the first – the being before the Olympians, before the Titans, even before the Primordials.

Am I seriously writing Chaos fics in the year 2020? Well yes 👀

What else can I say? 😅🙆🏾‍♀️ Thanks for asking me!

Fanfiction Work-In-Progress Guessing Game

[justalittlelitnerd]

The Lady’s Guide to Petticoats and Piracy by Mackenzi Lee

You deserve to be here. You deserve to exist. You deserve to take up space in this world of men

Also:  Felicity Montague, you are a cactus.

This book is the feminist anthem you didn’t know you needed. Actually, no, scratch that it’s the human rights (and sometime even animal rights) anthem you didn’t know you needed. It tackles race, religion, sexuality, gender, and probably any other slightly controversial topic under the sun. 

It is unabashed and recognizes flaws within arguments and defenses and it doesn’t try to say one way of life or being is better than another but they all simply deserve to exist.

If that isn’t enough to compel you maybe the fact that it is set in England (actually all over Europe really) back in the olden days (honest to God can’t remember what time period but the aforementioned petticoats probably gives you a clue) with pirates and sea dragons (it’s not as mystical as it sounds but still slightly magical) will be enough to compel you to pick up this book. Because you should. Like right now. 

It’s hard to be raised in a world where you’re taught to always believe what men say without doubting yourself at every step.

So I loved the first book in this series (The Gentleman’s Guide to Vice and Virtue) and was super excited when I heard there would be one focusing on Felicity because I wanted more from her character. However, that doesn’t mean I wasn’t apprehensive because all too often the sequel is not as good as the original.

I’m pleased to report that, in my opinion, is not the case here. The Lady’s Guide is every bit as funny and poignant and socially relevant as The Gentleman’s Guide, in fact, it felt even more relevant to me as a woman who could identify strongly with Felicity’s character. But don’t worry there’s still plenty of Monty and Percy present in the story. 

I have learned that men respond best to nonthreatening women whose presence and space in the world does not somehow imperil their manhood, and so, as much as it pains me, I put on a smile so big it hurts my face and try to think like Monty, which is infuriating.

My favorite part of this novel is that Lee resists the urge to submit Felicity to the standard YA Romance storyline. That may have been what gave me the most apprehensive since the first novel implied that she was asexual, or at the very least more interested in her career than a marriage, and I was worried that having a story strictly about her would make Lee feel pressured to give her a romance. I will admit at times it felt like it was going to fall into that trap, but then it would turn around to show how it was just Felicity feeling the pressures of society.

When stripped of the illegalities and the Biblical condemnation, their [Monty and Percy’s] attraction is no stranger to me than anyone’s attraction to anyone.

The Lady’s Guide picks up about a year after the end of The Gentleman’s Guide with Felicity in Edinburgh working at a bakery trying to appeal to various hospitals and school to allow her entrance to no avail.

A year of men telling me I am incapable of this work only gives my pride a more savage edge, and I feel, for the first time in so many long, cold, discouraging months, that I am as clever and capable and fit for the medical profession as any of the men who have denied me a place in it.

The tipping point is when the man at the bakery who has helped her for the last year decides it is time to propose. This sends Felicity into a sort of tailspin because she’s not willing to give up on her dream yet but everyone around her is telling her she should settle down and be married and she’s starting to wonder if they are right. 

Which gave him the idea that men often get in their heads when a woman pays some kind of attention to them: that it was a sign I want him to smash his mouth -- and possibly other body parts -- against mine. Which I do not.

She makes the impulsive decision to travel to London to see Monty and Percy and appeal to medical boards there to grant her admission. However, once again she is denied and practically laughed out of the room for her ideas of becoming a doctor.

“You’re so determined to become a lady doctor then,” he says. “No, sir,” I reply, “I’m determined to become a doctor. The matter of my sex I would prefer to be incidental rather than an amendment.”

Their exclusionary policies rest entirely on the fragility of their own masculinity, but it doesn’t matter because they’re men and I’m a woman so it’s not even going to be a fight and it was never going to be a fight.

But this time one of the doctors recommends she reach out to Doctor Alexander Platt for mentorship which through a series of events leads her to befriending a Black Muslim Hijabi pirate named Sim and going off on a new adventure. Along the way, she encounters an old friend which brings to the forefront the intricacies of feminism. Because really that is what this book is all about in the end. Three women all fighting for their place in this world of men who try to tell them their only place is in the household.   

He has me apologizing for asking for the minimum that is granted to most men.

It turns out that Platt is set to wed Felicity’s childhood friend, Johanna, which she decides to use to get a meeting with him. However, it’s revealed that Felicity and Johanna had a falling out over their differing views on femininity and what it means to be a strong woman. 

You stopped taking me seriously when I stopped being the kind of woman you thought I had to be to be considered intelligent and strong. All those things you say make men take women less seriously -- I don’t think it’s men; it’s you. You’re not better than any other woman because you like philosophy better than parties and don’t give a fig about the company of gentlemen, or because you wear boots instead of heels and don’t set your hair in curls.

Johanna is still strong and intelligent and independent and she likes wearing dresses and makeup and heels and flirting with boys and those things are not incompatible, but a lot of times it’s a sticking point in feminism. Somewhere along the way there became this belief (which Felicity believes) that to be a feminist, to be strong woman standing up to men, you couldn’t also be traditionally feminine. It takes almost the whole novel for Felicity to realize that Johanna is not any less strong and intelligent because she subscribes to traditional gender roles/beauty standards and it takes her even longer to be willing to admit she is wrong.

I have spent so long building up my fortress and learning to tend it alone, because if I didn’t feel I needed anyone, then I wouldn’t miss them if they weren’t there. I couldn’t be neglected if I  was everything to myself. But now, those fortifications suddenly feel like prison walls, high and barbed and impossible to cross.

To be honest the relationships formed between and the battles waged by Sim, Felicity, and Johanna are more than enough reason to read this novel. But Lee decides to make it even better by throwing in scientific discoveries, men stealing women’s credit, danger, and a fight on the open seas reminiscent of any pirate movie. 

It’s not hopelessness, it’s just pure stubbornness. Not even so much a will to live as a refusal to die. Not yet, not now, not here, not when we have so much left to do. There isn’t a goddamned chance I’m dying on this rig.

It turns out that before she died, Johanna’s mom discovered a new species with Platt that honestly sound like sea monsters, something half dragon half snake like? And that the scales of these sea dragons can be used as drugs (both medicinally and recreationally). Platt wants to exploit the dragons while Sim’s family has sworn to protect them at all costs. The women band together to plot against both Platt’s exploitations and Sim’s father’s stubbornness against progression.

Everyone has heard stories of women like us -- cautionary tales, morality plays, warnings of what will befall you if you are a girl too wild for the world, a girl who asks too many questions or wants too much. If you set off into the world alone. Everyone has heard stories of women like us, and now we will make more of them.

Of course, they succeed in both tasks and along the way decide maybe they should get their own ship and go on their own research voyages including exploring more about the sea dragons. 

I am filled suddenly by that wanting, to know things, to understand the world, to feel myself in it.

In the company of women like this -- sharp-edged as raw diamonds but with soft hands and hearts, not strong in spite of anything but powerful because of everything -- I feel invincible. Every chink and rut and battering wind has made us tough and brave and impossible to strike down. We are mountains -- or perhaps temples, with foundations that could outlast time itself.

I know this was a long review filled with an overabundance of quotes, but I hope that just shows how good this book is. I read it a month ago and am just now writing this and still find myself remembering it vividly despite the fact that I’ve read maybe 5 books since then. So do me, and yourself, a favor and go out to read this book (I’m even okay if you skip the first one though I promise you’ll regret it if you do). 

You are Felicity Montague, I tell myself, and the darkness, and my heartbeat, in an attempt to rein it in. You have climbed through catacombs darker than this, you escaped from a second-story window with only your bedsheets, and you should not be frightened of the darkness, but instead be sure that the most frightening thing in it is you.

Bonus:

- The chairman tosses his cloak over his shoulders and gives me a smile that he likely thinks is kind, but is, in fact the smirk of a man about to explain something to a woman that she already knows.

- Humans have instincts specifically for situations like this. Everything in me is saying there is danger lurking in this forest, eyes bright and hungry through the dark.

-  Below is an unhelpful drop to the street -- no footholds, ledges, or loose bricks promised by every fiction book I have ever read. Not even a convenient hedge to drop into.

-  Charming is not a word I’d use -- or ever want used -- to describe me, but the way she says it prickles me. It’s the sort of thing I feel entitled to say disparagingly about myself, but from someone else, it feels blunt and unkind.

- Zounds, does this fool actually think he’s saving me? Another storybook hero to swoop in and rescue a girl from a dragon or a monster or herself -- they’re all the same. A woman must be protected, must be sheltered, must be kept from the winds that would batter her into the earth.

- I can do more than memorize maps of vessels and arteries and bones; I can solve the puzzle of what to do when those pieces come apart. I can write my own treaties. I am a girl of steady hands, stout heart, and every book I have ever read.

[darcyfirth]

I'm going to play the prize ball dispenser machine 'caude I loved the last one. So... 15 for Hartwin pretty please? ❤

read it on ao3.

Eggsy shifted uncomfortably in his chair, his shoulders rigid and still like a wall, his palms clammy and only a little bit shaky. Around him, people were either mumbling about how they missed their mums or giggling excessively. The heavy head on his right shoulder, though, was hot and would probably be the leading cause for his impending heart-attack. He sighed and checked his watch, careful to not jiggle his arm too much, to see it was only half past eleven.

Boasters, the lot of them, Eggsy thought, and I’ll never let these fools forget about it.  

Usually, in the history book of tragic events, every bad idea was started as a joke. A dare, in their case. One moment it was Merlin’s out-of-the-blue claim that he could withstand at least six glasses before losing consciousness. The next was Percival’s derisive snort and his clearly worded “as if you could” and now all seven - Dagonet was just an unsuspected casualty - of them were moving two tables together at The Black Prince, because what else could a bunch of bored spies do to spend their free time on a Friday night?

However, merely chugging down beer was scarcely regarded of as entertaining. “Therefore,” Roxy had decided, “we should play games, you know, something simple to take the edge off first, and see how it goes.”

Eggsy volunteered to order them the first round of Gin and Tonic and after he had brought all seven glasses to the table, came to a bitter realisation that the only empty seat left was between Dagonet and Roxy. His Harry, no, only Harry, had happily settled himself at the head of the their makeshift table and was idly reading something decidedly less interesting than Eggsy on his mobile.

The edge, it seemed, was actually never taken off.

Because their very first attempt of playing a fun drinking game was Truth or Dare, and regrettably turned into Truth or Drink without a single protest, which prompted Merlin to nearly annihilated everyone else. He was their handler and the only person with unlimited access to personal information after all.

Eggsy angrily sipped after Merlin’s question, “Who here would you most like to see naked?”

Their second and third rounds were sponsored by Harry, whose choices were Martinis - he and Eggsy exchanged secretive smirks at this - and surprisingly enough, Cosmopolitans. “They’re pretty to look at,” he shrugged. Like you, Eggsy’s traitorous mouth almost added. He prevented it by gluing his lips on the rim of his glass, there was a time and place for it, hopefully.  

They played Heads or Tails and a few matches of tippy cup after that. Eventually, Merlin stood up and declared it was long overdue for the actual challenge that sparked the night’s events. He waved the bartender and once he had the man’s attention, announced, “Thirty-five tequila shots! Please!” and sat back under the dubious glances from his colleagues.

The man is insane, Eggsy gasped and darted his eyes to Harry’s direction, a blessed reflex, and saw him give him a wink.

“He’s like that,” Harry mouthed.

Eggsy giggled and that singular action somehow made Harry’s grin grew a fraction wider.

“Never have I ever,” Roxy chirped once everyone had had their shots delivered.

Several assenting grumbles sounded, Percival just glared at Merlin and said, “Sure.”

They went clockwise, starting at Roxy who was sitting on Eggsy’s right, and ending at Merlin, who was playing third wheel in seat next to James and Percival.

Roxy whose sense of self-preservation was virtually non-existent, said with an air of mock solemnity, “Never have I ever carried a dog during my training.”

With a sigh, Eggsy took his first shot, feeling the alcohol making its way down his throat like liquid fire burning every inch of his insides, and made eye contact with Harry, who also downed his glass in one go.

“Never have I ever made out with one of my colleagues,” Eggsy said with abandon and sat back to watch Roxy, Percival, James, and Dagonet begrudgingly drank their first shots.

“Never have I ever dreamt of anyone at this table,” said Dagonet, and mercilessly appended, “in a biblical sense.”

Eggsy, James, Harry, Eggsy noted with interest, and Percival all drank.

“Never have I ever cried while watching Titanic,” mused Harry, earning himself glares from the rest, who raised his eyebrows and chuckled, “Really? All of you? I’d never guess.”

After that, all hell broke loose.

“Never have I ever had a crush on a recruit,” said Percival smugly. This smugness blossomed into a full-fledge evil villain grin when he watched Harry gulp down his drink. Dagonet also followed suit, sensing the questions from the younger agents, he said shyly, “My wife.” They had been married for twenty years.

James chimed almost immediately, “Never have I ever gushed extensively at my friends about my crush on someone at this table.” It was an oddly specific thing to say, even more curious, only Harry and Eggsy were the only two people drinking this time.

As if a pause would be detrimental to their enjoyment, Merlin quickly said, “Never have I ever wished that crush grew into something more serious, say, a relationship.” And he rested his face on his palm to watch Arthur and Galahad drink before signalling the bartender for three more rounds of tequila.

Unbuttoning the buttons of his t-shirt for ease of breathing, Eggsy was beginning to hatch his escape plan. As a side note, he found himself emotionally invested in the new facts he had gathered about Harry tonight. So Harry had had a crush on someone presently sitting here, at this table, and even told his friends about it, he even wanted more. Normally Eggsy’s brilliant brain would be able to connect the dots in no time, but he felt a little sluggish after four? five? drinks now.

He excused himself to the bathroom, no one deemed it worthy of an answer or a grunt, and so he went.

When he got back, the seating order had changed drastically as well as his friends’ sobriety.

James was now snoozing lightly on his husband’s shoulder, drooling a bit on the thousand pounds suit, but Percy paid it no mind. Next to him, Merlin was doing a tremendous job of holding himself together, his glasses forgotten and his sleeves rolled up.

Dagonet had moved to Roxy’s empty chair, chatting pleasantly with Harry who was in Eggsy’s previous seat. He shot Eggsy a bemused look when Eggsy came to sit down on his left.

“Where’s Roxy?” asked Eggsy.

“Ladies’ room,” replied Harry, leaning closer, blatantly trespassing Eggsy’s personal space, to make sure his words were clear and heard in the noisy pub.

They picked up after Roxy returned, face cleaned of makeup and even a little wet, her suit jacket hanging on her arm and tie loosed.

Anti-clockwise this time, and started at Roxy again.

“Never have I ever kissed both boys and girls.”

Except for Merlin and Roxy, all of them drank. Eggsy sneaked a glance at Harry, who was looking straight ahead with a well-practiced poker face.

Harry’s kissed a boy! Boys! A man. Some man! What man? Who? Eggsy’s brain was overworking itself now, his throat felt dry all of a sudden.

In possession of a burst of bravery, Eggsy blurted, “Never have I ever seduced a person of the same sex.” And almost congratulated himself upon witnessing Harry’s calmly drinking his glass until he saw Roxy’s judgemental eyebrow quirk. Their silent exchange went unnoticed as everyone else was busy with their drink, and because the two challengers had waved their metaphorical white flags almost right after it.

This brought Eggsy back to the aforementioned situation, one in which he had to keep his shoulder unmoving despite the fuzzy sensation in his head. He hiccuped, looked down worriedly to check, and sighed in relief when Harry’s head was resting peacefully on him.

The occupied space on his right warmed up like a kindling fire, a surge of affection overwhelming his heart and Eggsy raised a tentative hand to brush back an errant lock of Harry’s curly hair. His fingers stayed longer than strictly needed, but he knew no one would remember, and hoped that he would, against all odds.      

“That felt nice,” mumbled Harry.

Eggsy startled and whispered a soft, “What?” and jerked his hand back reflexively when it was caught by Harry’s larger one.

“Your fingers in my hair. Feels very nice,” the head on his shoulder said.

Swallowing his entire tongue, he asked, “Are you sober?”

“I’m moderately functional.” There was a hint of a smile there. The head nuzzled closer and hot, tempting breaths reached Eggsy’s neck.

Harry continued, knew not of the tiny earthquake he had a hand in the making, “And I know, Eggsy.”

Eggsy near-shivered, hands and heart felt like they had been violently stabbed by the manifestation of his regrets and self-doubt. He could only wish for Harry forgetting everything come tomorrow.

“In fact, I think you do too.”

Eggsy didn’t response, so Harry filled in the silence himself, “That you’re the only one who’s been occupying my head. Constantly. Always. My thoughts always come back to you.”

“Harry,” Eggsy choked back a gasp.

Lifting his his head, a precious thing, a beautiful thing, at last, Harry looked at Eggsy with clear-glass eyes, not a hint of intoxication hiding behind them.

Amidst the buzzing noise and colours which seemed to fade into a black-and-white background, Harry reached out to smooth Eggsy’s collars, said gently, “And I promise to cease doing so if it is not something you want.”  

“Don’t you dare,” Eggsy croaked. He’d not let himself be reduced to begging.

And since he was never good with words, Eggsy grabbed hold of Harry’s befuddled face and brought their lips together because he needed to, because it was never too late, and because they had paid their due.

And Harry pressed back, sighing into the kiss, opening his heart to receive Eggsy’s feelings, and monopolising the entirety of Eggsy’s heart at the same time.

Someone in the background let out a loud whoop and came a ‘yes!’ from a voice which sounded suspiciously like Roxy’s.  

But Eggsy’s sole focus was on Harry and his lips.

Harry asked between kisses, “Is this your confirmation then?”

“It.” Kiss. “Is.” Kiss. “For everything now.” Kiss. “And for everything in the future.”

Harry smiled, eyes twinkling with mirth, “Don’t forget the in-betweens.”

Eggsy’s heart was unbearably full, “How could I ever?”

Kiss. Kiss. Kiss.  

dialogue writing prompts

[sfaioffical]

Underground film legend George Kuchar taught film at SFAI from 1971 to 2011. Here’s a candid interview as published in our 1979–81 catalog.

Why are you making movies? Anybody can make a movie.

Don't ever let a filthy rumor like that get around, or phonies like myself will be out of a teaching job!

Why do you use such a fantastic cast?

I use people because it's less time consuming than animating paper cutouts.

How did your film career really start?

It started by me and my brother being taken to movies by our mom. She's responsible for my career.

My dad gave me and Mike, my brother, a weekly allowance. He was our first producer, as we bought film with that allowance.

The Bronx was our movie lot and, frankly, it is unequaled for its incredible variety of terrain—in that one borough you can recreate jungles, forests, oceans, moun­tains, prairies, cities, arctic wastes, and At­lantean empires. It's full of photogenic yentas and beatific Babas. The guys were all John Travoltas or Arnold Stangs. Sun­sets were very vivid with all the smog and crap like that.

Sewers backed up frequently creating vast pools in which to mirror the landscape.The abundance of potato knishes guaran­teed voluptuous starlets, and pimples caused by atmospheric irritants added splashes of color to every face. The prox­imity to other New York boroughs guaran­teed a vast assortment of new faces, which meant that if you were making a movie about radioactive mutants you'd never be at a loss for actors.

How is your work received? Is there any difference between audience reaction in San Francisco, New York, or Europe?

My work is received okay. I find my audiences, and they find me. I like meeting them in dinky chambers behind store fronts. I enjoy stapling up a sheet of butcher paper in a college lecture hall so that the movies can have some sort of screen to be projected on. I like meeting kind people I never knew existed. I wish the rotten people would drop dead.

In San Francisco, they come out of the fog to see my stuff. In New York, they come out of the woodwork. In Europe...well, what else is new?

The Cinematheque recently screened your new films “Symphony for a Sinner,” “Forever and Always,” and “Mon­greloid.” Tell us something about one or all of them, or one of the others, or how they all relate.

“Symphony for a Sinner” is made in the classroom and can be looked upon as a big lesson. Each sequence is a verbal and visual lecture...filmmaking gib­berish. It is also a sort of college yearbook as it records the people in our class at the time, plus their friends, and anyone else who happened to be passing by.

“Forever and Always” is a baby I gave birth to at home. Most of the people in it were students of mine and so I guess it can be considered a homework assignment.

The “Mongreloid” documents my relation­ship with my dog, and parts of it were shot by an ex-student of mine. So I guess you can look at it as him getting his revenge since I was photographed in my own habitat, which makes me automatically look like an idiot.

What inspires your films?

God is dead and the devil is big box office these days. It was hard to be inspired by the Divine anyway. Especially when, as a youth, you had to sit through such massive biblical movies like “The Story of Esther” and “The Big Fisherman.” In such movies—no matter how horrible it sounds—I used to look for­ward to the crucifixion scene. Back then the special effects people would get to work and turn on the wind machines, clouds would boil, Hollywood lightning would crackle, and pagan temples would split open at the seams disgorging vomiting sin­ners! I guess all these planetary and meteorological pyrotechnics meant God to me, and I welcomed their climactic ar­rival when the bearded actors made their temporary exits. 

All I really remember about “The Story of Esther” was that Peggy Wood was in it...and maybe Yvonne De Carlo, or was it Debra Paget? In any case, Peggy Wood used to be in “I Remember Mama,” a TV show I watched when I was a kid. I remember years later how shocked I was that she should appear at the Academy Awards presentation in a plung­ing neckline. It was a disgrace to mothers everywhere...and to God. But, Divine Wrath did not intercede: the walls of the crowded theatre didn't split asunder sending forth a crushing stampede of painted harlots and effeminate men to trample the sin out of she who flaunts her nakedness in God's very face! The injustice of it all. 

I then realized that these were films not inspired by the Divine, and I looked elsewhere for the truth.

I found it in the films of Mamie Van Doren and John Drew Barrymore, Jr. Pictures such as “High School Confidential” and “Legion of the Zombies.” Sure, she was cheap and bleached her hair, but I knew she was deep inside.

These people and these films became my Divine inspiration in the world of cinema.

These movie goddesses served well the actors who became their screen lovers. Men such as Tom Conway and William Campbell. Men, who no matter how humiliating the script and production val­ues, managed to add dignity and virility to the one-dimensional characters. In an era of stereoscopic cinema and the emergence of elongated rectangular screens, these people persevered in the black and white box format—while color and cinemascope smeared Robert Wagner and Terry Moore wall to wall.

I like a little black and white box because I realize all too well that we all wind up in an elongated box...in the end. One with brass handles and shining white satin. We wind up in that elongated box all painted up, perfumed, and powdered like a Percy Westmore creation.

George Kuchar was a member of the filmmak­ing faculty at SFAI. He has exhibited his works at the Museum of Modern Art, New York, Pacific Film Archive, Berkeley, American Independent Film Exhibition, London, and the Archives of the Austrian Film Museum, Vienna, among others. Kuchar was selected for American representation at the 7th Rotterdam International Film Festi­val, Holland, in 1978. 

Image Credits: (1–7) George Kuchar, circa 1979. (8) George Kuchar, Symphony For A Sinner, 1977. 16mm color, sound film; 60 minutes.