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cazzyf1 · 3 months

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My favourite quotes from Niki Lauda's book: "Reden wir Über Geld'

I expected him to spontaneously give me the finger - p6

I hate it when I go through security at the airport and the coins clatter around again. For this reason alone, the comparison with Scrooge McDuck, who likes to swim in money, is completely nonsense - p9

My mother regularly drove me to a Dentist behind the Vienna city hall, where I was tormented for years with regulations. I was more of a wimp, or as they say in Vienna: a slob - p13

My grandfather lived more like a real millionaire. He was the country's model industrialist and lived in a palace on the Ringstrasse with liveried servants who wore black uniforms and white gloves. Hans Lauda was the general director of the Veitsch Magnesitwerke. The Nazis dismissed him in 1938, but he returned to his post after the war. As president of the Austrian Industrial Association, he was one of the pioneers of social partnership and the economic miracle. He was also president of the Red Cross until 1974 and was therefore personally acquainted with Princess Grace Patricia, who was the president of the Red Cross in Monaco. In 1956 he organized aid for thousands of Hungarian refugees. I was only seven at the time, but I know from stories. - p14

Still in my pajamas, I heated up a toy steam engine. Beforehand, I mixed the water in the boiler with iron filings. Which of course wasn't such a good idea. There was an explosion and the hot steam burned my right thigh. My parents were done. I mostly argued with my brother Florian. To this day, we have no common interests, just the fact that we are brothers. One time I was lying in bed when Florian climbed onto the bedside table and tried to jump on me. I tipped the table over with my foot and my brother hit the floor. Then my father came and gave me a slap. Sometimes we played fire brigade together. To make the whole thing a bit more authentic and challenging, one day I brought a canister over, poured the petrol out lit it and ordered Florian to put out the fire. Although the hoses were ready, the fire briefly got out of control. The garage almost burned down and a few fruit trees were singed. - p15-16

I never dreamed of flying, and I certainly didn't see flying as a worthwhile hobby. I wanted to be faster. I wanted to save time. Because I was already earning a decent amount of money at the time, I had brought a Cessna Golden Eagle, had my own pilot and learned the practical side of things by flying with others. I became a student pilot and my preferred route was Salzburg-Bolgona. That made double sense. That's how I got into flying, got one license after another and four years later I founded an airline as the first Formula 1 driver and professional pilot. - p28

I also wanted to coax a private Ferrari out of the Commendatore, but he only gave me a Fiat - p34

I usually carry around 300 to 400 euros with me, 500 at the most. If there are several notes, I hold them together with a money clip. I've never had a wallet. I avoid coins in everyday life. Not that I don't value small change, but it's too heavy in my pockets and I don't like the clatter - p36

Max and Mia also like to play 'police' they drive wildly through the house on their astic scooters and I have to say: "Stop! You were driving too fast. That will cost you thirty euros." They then count to thirty together, in English. - p37

Brigit once asked me to take the bus because the twins like doing it so much. "Sure!" I said, "I'll do it. How do you pay?" In the end I let it go. - p38

I loved spinach even as a small child, because of popeye the sailor - p39

In Spielberg I once asked him: "Lewis, do you see anything about me that needs to be improved?" He didn't know whether to laugh or cry at that moment. Then he explained to me: "You should throw away that brown sweater immediately! That is the worst color for a man. And you need different pants! Not always the same ones and besides, they just don't fit." I enjoyed listening to that and thinking about it. But then I came to the following conclusion: Why should I change anything if everything is fine for me? "Thanks for the input", I said to Lewis, "but even if my blue jeans are down to my knees hang down, I just feel so comfortable in them." - p39/40

It was also Forghieri who came up with the idea of suggesting a sponsor for my red cap. "Watch out," he said one day, "there is a salami company that now wants to get into milk production, which would be interested in advertising." - p43-4

I crossed the finish line in a first Grand Prix, with Clay Regazzoni behind me, so it was a double victory for Ferrari, a true triumph. That night, they played Blue Danube Waltz in the disco in my honour. - p45

When I sit in the cockpit, for example, I notice every speck of dust. As a farewell gift, employees of LaudaAir gave me a man size brush as a nod to my cleanliness obsession - p52

Willi Dungl wanted to find out whether I had suffered trauma from the inferno. He once lit a fire in the fireplace at my home in Salzburg and said, "look at that Niki!" I looked inside, but nothing was moving. I also couldn't care less about the fire in the accident photo - p57-8

I had waited my whole life for a guy like Attila Dogudan - p91

Is Attila Dogudan my friend? I don't want to say anything wrong now. My perception of friendship around this is that people meet in the evenings and spend their hours talking about their worries. The only person who sometimes notices my worries is Birgit - sometimes she whistles at me! -p95/6

I would describe Atilla as my long-term companion - p96

If he didn't answer I would send him an SMS: "I'll cancel the entire catering if you don't call in five minutes." Of course he calls back immediately - p97

My brother Florian, who is 18 months younger than me, is a Buddhist - p107

But the main issue was a heart operation for a three year old boy called Soumitra. That cost a few thousand euros, which we transferred straight away. We then received photos of the child before and after the operation. Since then, when I meet Claudia, I always ask her; "how is my heart?" I mean the heart of this little Indian boy, who has been able to live a normal life since the operation. P109

Fourfiveseconds by Rihanna is such an incredibly great song. Lewis Hamilton, who now makes music himself, sometimes goes with me to promotional events. He is always amazed at the songs I have saved, like an old idiot. 'Some nights' by fun, or George Ezra'a Budapest. I have hundreds of songs like that saved on my iphone and listen to them over and over again - p114

When Birigt wants something from me and I'm feeling defiant, I play her, 'Hero' by Family of the year - p115

When we have a little tangle I play her 'Blame it on me' - p115

Sometimes Birgit, who loves red wine, jokes; "drink another glass of wine, my kidney needs it!" I then sip the glass because I just don't like red wine - like alchol in general - p117

In 2000 I came up with the idea of flying into space. There are several programs running for such flights. I already tried it out in a simulator in Houston, Texas - p122

Later on I explained to my boys that there are also people with two ears. We laughed together. - p143

When Lukas was 15, I took him to a strip club. Sex education. I was shocked myself at how close women were to him. They danced around and took off one thing after another. Lukas watched it all. When it was over he stood up, took off his shirt, and put it around the dancers shoulders so that she wouldn't freeze. It was a really caring gesture. Then I knew: that guy not only has manners, but also heart. Lukas wanted to invite her out but I advised him against it. - p143/144

Sometimes Marlene went crazy when she found out about one of my escapades but she never said a bad word about me in front of the children - p144

In her boundless generosity, Marlene would have taken Christoph into our family, but his mother didn't want that - p145

#great read about niki's life #from the last book he technically made #classic f1 #f1 #niki lauda #formula one #formula 1

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hephaestn · 6 months

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Ok, I admit I have no idea what "Masters of the Air" is about so... convince me to watch it 👀 How would you describe it to a stranger?

i managed to get several people into it so, uhm let’s see 🤓

masters of the air centers on the 100th bombardier group of the american air force during wwii. i’ve never been too much into neither wwi nor wwii bc i detest war—i mean, who doesn’t? but i’ve always avoided media with it at its core bc it’s very unsettling to me to see the horrors human kind are able to provoke on one another (same thing with true crime shows, podcast etc, i just cannot)

1917 (dir. sam mendes) changed something in me when i watched it—it was probably the first time i watched something war centered that didn’t center so much on the actual war but the people in it, their relationships, their humanity, good humanity. so, it became one of my all time favorite films and opened my curiosity for these type of stories within war. and masters of the air falls right in that category for me—it has kindness, friendship and love as a center core to it in a setting which is nothing but despair and terror, and that speaks to me, so much!

since masters of the air, i’ve watched the other hbo war shows of this spielberg/hanks trilogy, which i hadn’t been able to do before because of what i mentioned earlier, and whilst the other two were much more raw and gore and harder for me to watch, i found that humanity within them too and i’m very glad i’ve watched them now.

and if you weren’t a stranger, but a fellow alexander enthusiast who i’ve known for years (cough, cough) i’d say HELLO WE HAVE AN HEXANDER EQUIVALENT SHIP IN THIS SHOW RUNNNNN

and if you want the short, concise version. pretty boys suffering some terrors.

i hope i’ve convinced you, eos 😌💕

#eosphoroz #inbox #this got LONG #but hey… i gotta bring you to the dark side #mota #masters of the air

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thagomizersshow · 1 year

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I said a few days ago that I’d share my criticisms of Jurassic Park, so here goes. At its core, JP is a movie that has one message in the text and another in the subtext, and this all comes down to why of the park’s failure.

The film’s dialogue famously ascribes the failure of the park to hubris; don’t mess around in god’s play place (aka genetics) because you don’t know what will happen. Ian Malcolm’s "life finds a way” criticisms of the park are portrayed by the characters as correct. Malcolm even says that “he hates being right all the time.” It’s also worth mentioning that Michael Crichton and Steven Spielberg have both been interviewed on the message of Jurassic Park, and they both said it is about the misuse of science, in agreement with Malcolm.

That is the text. This all-too-common sci-fi story about humanity meddling in the domain of the gods. Which, BY THE WAY, did not originate with Frankenstein as I said in one of my earliest videos. I’ll argue now that lumping Frankenstein in with JP and other “man’s hubris” stories is an oversimplification and possibly even a straight up misreading, but that’s a WHOLE ‘nother post.

Now, when we look at the events of the story, rather than the dialogue, a different message is revealed. Looking at the actions that actually lead to the failure of the park, it’s clear scientists failing to account for something has nothing to do with it.

Yes, the dinosaurs turn out to be breeding, but this has zero effect on the events of the film. Maybe if they had included the raptors changing sex, like they do in the novel, this argument would have a leg to stand on, but as the film exists the discovery of breeding dinosaurs makes no difference to the plot. You honestly could cut this scene out and the film wouldn’t miss a beat.

The real reason for the park’s fall is much more mundane: Hammond didn’t pay one of his workers enough.

Dennis Nedry is honestly one of the most disgusting portrayals of a “disgruntled employee” ever put to screen. He’s written to be the least sympathetic character possible; he’s messy, annoying, gluttonous, physically inept, and to top it all off, of course he’s fat, a trait most often given to characters who are either comic relief or villains. So, when he complains about not being paid well enough, the audience is already primed to think of him as unworthy of sympathy.

This in spite of his clearly incredible feat of automating the entire park single handed. Nedry’s decision after being fucked over by a multi-billion dollar company — like anyone with a backbone — is to try and fuck them right back. In this case, it was by stealing their shit, which may not have been the best choice (workplace organizing, man, c’mon), but I honestly can’t fault him for it. He deserved better than to be the audience’s hate sink, and we can put full blame on the writers and director for creating such a vile representation of a worker.

All this to say that the theme park’s failure, and all the deaths it caused, fall on John Hammond’s shoulders. Not because he “didn’t stop to think if he should.” Not because “life finds a way.” But because he treated a worker like shit who knew more about the thing they made than he did.

Now, finally, I want to address the fact that I’m not the first person to make a Marxist analysis of JP. In fact, Idea Channel made a video on this topic forever ago, and there are literal academic papers on this topic well worth reading. The point I want to make is not just that JP says something about capitalism, but that the subtextual message about capitalism is at odds with the textual message about the hubris of scientific advancement, AND this degrades the film’s quality massively in my eyes.

If Nedry was portrayed as sympathetic, if Hammond’s abuse wasn’t glossed over, if someone called Malcolm out on how he isn’t right all the time, then MAYBE this movie could be an actual good commentary on capitalism. But as it stands, it feels like it ignores the questions its own story brings up, and even worse, is really mean spirited towards fat people and workers who’ve been wronged.

As much as I love SO much about Jurassic Park, including acting, cinematography, effects, editing (honestly SUCH good editing), the script itself falls apart so badly at the seams I struggle to enjoy it the way I used to. This, combined with the fact the series has turned into a nostalgia driven sludge machine, and I just can’t bring myself to engage with this franchise in a positive way anymore.

#jurassic park #movies #crit post

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david-talks-sw · 2 years

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Lucas & Coppola: the inspiration for Obi-Wan and Anakin's relationship.

So I was going through this old article of The New Yorker and came across this quote:

"Just as a benevolent father figure (Obi-Wan) helps Luke in his struggle against his dark father, the older Coppola took young George under his wing at film school, and helped him get his first feature film made." - John Seabrook, The New Yorker, 1997

Now, it's known that Francis Ford Coppola and George Lucas were close friends, but after looking further into it, there's some interesting parallels to be made:

Coppola started out as a mentor figure, taking Lucas on as a protégé.

He helped George get THX-1138 and American Graffiti off the ground. Lucas filmed second unit shots for The Godfather and assisted in the editing, developed the script for Apocalypse Now with John Milius.

Overtime, their relationship had blossomed into a more brotherly one, with them becoming "equals".

"[Our relationship is] sort of "mentor-mentee". I mean, he's taught me everything. He's five years older than I am but, you know, when you're 20 and 25 years old, that's a big gap. And so, he's always been my mentor and helped me get through everything. You know, we've know each other for, you know, what? Over 35 years now. And so, the relationship is more brotherly than it probably is mentor-mentee at this point. It's more older brother-younger brother kind of thing. [...] We pretty much are equal in terms of what we know about what we're doing."

Sound familiar?

Wait 'til you hear about the dynamics of their friendship:

"Francis and I, we were very good friends right from the moment we met. Uh, we’re very different."

"Francis is very flamboyant and very Italian and very, sort of, “go out there and do things!”"

"I'm very, sort of, “let's think about this first, let's not just jump into it.” Um, and so he used to call me the “85-year-old man.”"

"But together, we were great. Because, y’know, I would kinda be the weight around his neck that slowed him down a little bit to keep him from getting his head chopped off. "

"And, uh, on— aesthetically and everything, we sort of had very compatible sensibilities in terms of that. I was strong in one area, he was strong in another, and so we could really bounce ideas off of each other. But we were very much the opposite, in the way we operated and the way we did things... and that, I think, allowed us to have a very active relationship."

A mentor-mentee relationship that turned into a brotherly one.

Two men with opposite personalities - one more outgoing, the other more cautious - that complemented each other's beautifully.

Yin and Yang.

Just like Obi-Wan with Anakin (or Obi-Wan with Qui-Gon, if we wanna talk about the mentee needing to slow the mentor down a bit so he doesn't get into trouble).

So I dunno if there's more to it, but when I read all this... I read one more reason (in addition to the others) for why the "Anakin and Obi-Wan weren't compatible enough, Qui-Gon should've been the Master because they had more in common" interpretation doesn't track.

Like, if that's your opinion/theory, cool.

But there is no way you'll convince me that the author - who had almost that exact bond with Coppola - would then go and intentionally write Obi-Wan and Anakin's bond as lacking and "a failing for Anakin".

Edit:

Just found this quote and I figured I'd add 'em :D

"[After the Warner Bros scholarship] I had a choice between going back to graduate school or going off on this little adventure, and I decided to go off on the adventure with Francis."

Edit #2:

Said Stephen Spielberg in the George Lucas 2016 biography "A Life":

“I think Francis always looked at George as sort of his upstart assistant who had an opinion. An assistant with an opinion, nothing more dangerous than that, right?”

A description reminiscent of both the Qui-Gon/Obi-Wan dynamic but also... kinda the Obi-Wan/Anakin one.

#bts tidbits #francis ford coppola #george lucas #obi-wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #star wars #collection of quotes #obi wan and anakin #I'd also argue Lucas and Coppola's relationship was a basis for Han and Luke's relationship too...

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esther-dot · 1 year

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I feel really bad for the originator of the Ashford theory, reading those posts you screencapped. It's not a 'crack theory' (unless they're putting it down because Jonsas took a serious hold of it), since structural foreshadowing is a basic storytelling tool. Hiding poetry in history, which seems a past-time GRRM particularly enjoys--- it's not just there to be there, but to lesson us in reading the past and make us understand the current story more deeply.

We should be confident in our analyses, regardless of whether we share a ship in common (I am do believe in Jonsa, but this goes for everyone), because storytelling can generally be trusted to be intentional. Anybody who wants to act like being incurious is more intellectually justifiable because it's less emotionally fraught is not worth spending time on. It is actually disappointing when stories are not considered and thoughtful (which is not a testament to so-called 'complexity'; The Little Prince is considered and thoughtful)--- fault in reading too much into things usually lay in perspective, less in doubt of substance.

Then again, Originator of Ashord Theory being possessive as claimant probably points more to dismissing it as crack because other people have taken ahold of it in a way they didn't like. If I am perfectly honest, were it not them having noticed it, someone else would have later (and someone else on Reddit did).

It's exactly the sort of thing I look for when I am engaging in a story because it is a tool I see used often. It was what attracted me to Jonsa, not that I was looking for evidence.

(about this ask)

The issue definitely wasn’t a lack of confidence in their own reading, they’re a tumblr BNF! I think Jonsas have written so much about it and so convincingly, it’s become widely viewed as a Jonsa theory and eclipsed the original intent which is their problem with it. Sometime ago someone shared an AltShift video here (a YouTube BNF), and he had included the Ashford Tourney as evidence for Jonsa, so I do think the goal of the blogger now labeling it “crack” is to detract from the Jonsa of it/for shipping reasons, not because they don’t believe in their own work.

As for the broader idea, I certainly agree that pre canon characters and events are written to add depth to the canon events. We can all expect that and look for parallels and contrasts with assurance that they are conversing with each other. It seems to me that every part of the fandom attempts that in some way, we simply come to different conclusions about what those things mean. I can look at something and accept a Jonsa interpretation but also understand, there’s another factor here too. And while I agree that many things are intentional in ASOIAF, I’m also aware that things can subconsciously influence and slip into a work. I recently watched this clip of Spielberg being told, he didn’t recognize this on his own, that he had included his parents love story in a film. Anyone might think, it had to be deliberate, but it wasn’t!

So, not saying anyone should be less confident, I just think it’s good to be aware that after a parallel is recognized, our interpretation of it is where we can all take off in different directions. For example, Jonnel and Sansa is perhaps the most beloved Jonsa foreshadowing (if it isn’t the Ashford Tourney 😅), and I absolutely think it’s groundwork for canon events. The question isn’t if it is, but how. Will it be a parallel, only, the point of the marriage this go around is to right a wrong? Give the girl her home back? (If say, Robb’s Will is recognized). I’ve questioned that simply because it seems like a big task to get everyone on board with Jon being legitimate and becoming their Lord and/or their King only to have them then immediately turn around and all accept he’s actually a Targ and will marry his “sister.” I wouldn’t be mad if that’s what Martin did, but when I think about how much agency he likes to give non POV characters, I’m a little skeptical he’d pull that turnaround off.

So then I think, well, maybe the idea is that unlike Jonnel, Jon will refuse Winterfell again and insist it is Sansa’s again only to ultimately be rewarded in the end by marrying her when she has the power to choose, and she chooses him? People have been very outspoken about how dumb they think the idea of Sansa being QitN is, and maybe that’s too much of a leap for the North because Martin does like his realism, but considering all the female heirs talk going on, Martin is certainly going to say something there, and Jon will have some complicating factors that might make Sansa more favorable to people.

Basically, Jon is a good person, he’ll do right by the Starks, is that the entire point? Look at the way the older generation of men treated women, this generation will be better? Or will Martin use the extraordinary circumstances to benefit Sansa / female heirs? Create an entirely new normal for the North? The story will talk to itself, but what exactly is it saying? That we can endlessly debate!

#dot chat

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odiesdayoff · 1 year

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Parent-Teacher Conference

pair: Burt Fabelman x fem!reader

summary: As Sammy’s teacher, you request a meeting with his parents. Maybe you get a bit too close to his recently-divorced father...

warnings: inappropriate relationship & age gap (all legal no worries); drunk kisses

im sorry steven spielberg for writing about your fictional father. ur fault for casting paul dano.

originally supposed to have smut but then i put off writing this for months.

this is not very proofread, i needed this out of my google doc

You were always glad to hear the final bell of the school day. All the students in your last-period class spilled out of the room and you were left with a silent room for the first time throughout the day. As much as you loved teaching and all of the students you had, there was something special about not having them around.

Just as your bag was packed and you nearly started to put your jacket on, you heard a knock coming from the doorway. A man stood in a brown suit with a white button-up shirt underneath. His hair was neat and only a strand fell in front of his face, right in front of his circular glasses. He looked familiar and you guessed that he was a parent of one of your students, which was highly unusual.

“You’re Miss L/n, right?” You nodded and his confused expression turned into one of satisfaction, “I’m Sam’s father. I believe you sent a note home wanting to talk?”

You waved him inside and gestured for him to pull up one of the student chairs to your desk, “I have to say, it’s unusual that I see a father come in for a meeting like this. Nice to show involvement in your child’s life.” He grinned in response, awkwardly sitting in the chair that was a little bit too small for him.

He folded his hands and rested them on the desk, “Well, my- she’s very busy right now.” You caught his smile falter for a moment before he returned to his cheery disposition.

“I’m glad you’re here. I just wanted to talk about Sam’s performance in class. For the past few weeks, I’ve noticed him becoming a bit distant during class. His performance on assignments hasn’t changed, he’s still quite the exceptional student,” You tried to search your desk for his latest essay, a creative writing piece that you were absolutely blown away with. It seemed to be under the pile of useless announcements and other things the administration had given you during the day.

You finally pulled the essay out and handed it to him, “He's about to start filling out college applications and I think that it would look better if he was in a higher-level class. I only teach A-track classes, but I spoke with the honors English teacher and she would be more than willing to accept him mid-year. It’s up to you to decide if that’s a good idea for him.”

He let out a sigh and a bit of a laugh, “I thought this would be a disciplinary meeting, so this is fantastic to hear.”

“Don’t worry, sir, he’s a wonderful kid. I just think he’d be happier with more stimulation, especially with all of those films he’s making,” You never actually saw one, but you certainly heard all about it from the students and faculty, “I usually let parents discuss this at home before making a decision, unless you’re on the same page as Mrs. Fabelman.”

He scratched the back of his head, “My wife, she’s, well, not really my wife anymore. Sam was the one that discovered everything first, actually. You see, she’s actually in love with my best friend and now my girls are in another state with them, and Sam’s with me.” The silence in the room was a bit deafening. You had no idea how to respond, “That’s primarily why I was so concerned with this meeting. He’s dealing with that whole situation and I just want him to be happy, you know?”

Hesitantly, you nodded.

“Oh dear, what am I doing? You don’t want to hear any of this,” He wiped his face with his hand and stood up from the chair, making a screeching noise against the floor.

You followed his movement, standing as well, “It’s okay! I was gonna leave after this, would you say yes if I offered to buy you a drink?”

It wasn’t California’s nicest bar, but it gave a sort of homey feeling that you--and by association, Mr. Fabelman--needed right now. Not many people were here, given the fact that it was barely five in the afternoon.

Sitting next to each other in a booth, he spoke about his life while you listened and nursed a long island iced tea. Other than a few antics from his wife--or ex-wife?--and children, it seemed highly normal, and if you were being a bit rude, mediocre. You could tell by the more personal he got about his life story, the more the alcohol was in the driver’s seat.

Once he asked about you, it seemed to have snapped you out of your listening mode. You took a sip of your drink, “There’s not much to say about my life, really. I had a pretty normal childhood, went to college, and now I’m working.”

He raised a brow, “What about romances? Surely, you’re married or at least dating someone!”

You could feel the heat rise to your cheeks before you shook your head, “It’s not really a priority for me. The last time I seriously dated someone was in college, but obviously, that didn’t work out.”

“It’s hard to believe someone as beautiful as you is still single,” He stared into your eyes, almost in a daze, or perhaps, he was mesmerized by you. The alcohol was definitely in his system, but there was enough in yours as well to find it a bit endearing. He was a good-looking guy with a few family issues, not too much of a red flag. The age was a concern, though.

He kept his blank stare for a moment, then leaned in and pressed his lips against yours. You weren’t sure how to react, looking back at him with doe eyes once he pulled away. He shuttered, maybe out of embarrassment, and quickly began to stutter through an apology, “I don’t know what came over me, I-”

Without much thinking on your end, you grabbed his tie and pulled him in for a second kiss. You could taste the faded chapstick on his lips even once you separated.

It was a sort of post-kiss clarity that suddenly hit you and the situation you were in finally was realized. Your eyes widened and your hand went to your forehead, pushing some of your hair from your face, “Oh my god. This is so unprofessional”

You quickly grabbed your bag and jacket before rushing out, despite Burt’s protests. You couldn’t believe it, kissing a student’s father deliberately. If anything gets out, your job is gone.

“Once again talking about our short stories, I want to remind you all that there is a twenty-page limit and it is due on Friday. Write about anything you want,” You leaned against your desk while the students rolled their eyes and groaned over the big project of the semester. This was usually the case for anything you assigned, despite how fun you might've thought it was.

Before anyone could complain any more about the assignment, the bell rang. In mere seconds, your full room of students was empty. You sat on your desk and pushed some ungraded tests aside. That was a job for you tomorrow, or maybe tonight if you were bored. It’s not like you had much going on in your life.

A few birds flew past the window and for a moment, you longed to be one of them. Your concentration on them broke with a knock at the doorframe and the familiar Sam Fabelman standing next to the light switch.

You gestured for him to come in and watched as he anxiously walked into the classroom and sat at the frontmost desk, “I’m moving classes on Monday. It’s official.” He had a faint smile, but it didn’t look necessarily happy. He was a boy that had naturally sad eyes, much like his father. They were much more noticeable now.

“You’re an exceptional student. As much as I love having you in class, you’re just too advanced for it. It’ll look great on your resume for schools.” You tried to reason with him. He sighed, fiddling with his fingers in his lap.

He looked down, “Can I still have lunch here?”

With a soft smile, you nodded and checked your watch, “Aren’t you going to miss the bus?”

He flinched for a moment, then realized the time as well. He sprang from his seat and rushed out of the classroom, waving a quick goodbye before disappearing completely.

He was a good kid. You couldn’t help but admit that you were a bit sad not to have such a kind soul in your classroom every day. It certainly beat the cookie-cutter California kids that drowned the population of the school.

You didn’t want to get attached to any students, knowing that they would leave after ten months and be replaced like clockwork. Hopefully, when he eventually gets famous for his little movies, he would remember you. Or thank you, if you wanted to be a bit delusional.

More papers were stacked in front of you, finally meticulously graded. The weekend was upon you. No more students and your clock was going to run out in just a few minutes. No longer contractually obligated to be in the building. Like Cinderella, but instead of midnight, it was 4 pm.

You locked your classroom door behind you and fixed your bag on your shoulder. As you turned, there he was, standing right in front of you. You jumped back and held your chest.

Burt Fabelman in the flesh.

“Oh! Hello, Mr. Fabelman.” You caught your breath and regained your normal stance.

He smiled at the sight of you. “I just wanted to make sure that everything was okay with Sammy and his class transition,” He paused, “And between us.”

This wasn’t exactly what you wanted to deal with at the moment or deal with unprepared, but such is life. You looked at him with a soft smile, “Of course it is. Look, we’re not bound to a parent-teacher relationship now, so we can just call it water under the bridge.”

You nodded and began to continue your walk to your car, hoping that he wouldn’t follow. You weren’t exactly so lucky in that department.

He was hastily following you, now stuttering over his words and making whatever he might be trying to say incomprehensible. You could hear his footsteps over everything else. He caught up, “Would it be unprofessional to ask you out, for real this time, considering that we technically have no relationship with each other inside the school?”

You knew that this was coming and every cell in your body was screaming at you to decline his offer. You knew what that might entail if one nosy parent or student caught wind of your escapades and eventually traced your relationship with him to the parent-teacher meeting. However, he was attractive. And you would be lying if you said that you didn’t think about kissing him again or doing more.

“I…Yeah. I’d love to go out with you.”

#burt fabelman x reader #the fabelmans #paul dano

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bjfinn · 1 year

Text

MOVIE NIGHT

another Charles Deetz story, for @koberet

Charles was heading to the TV room when Beej came over to him and threw an arm around his shoulders. "Hey, Chuck!" he said. "What'cha up to?"

"I thought I'd watch a movie this evening," Charles replied. He hesitated, and then asked, "Would you care to join me?"

"Yeah, sure!" the demon agreed. He followed Charles into the TV room and sat in one of the armchairs. "What are we gonna watch?"

"Let's see ..." Charles murmured, looking at the DVDs neatly arranged on the shelves of the wooden home entertainment cabinet. "How about ... Jaws? 1975, directed by Stephen Spielberg, starring Robert Shaw, Roy Scheider and Richard Dreyfuss. Based on the novel by Peter Benchley." He knew that a high-seas thriller featuring a mindless killing machine would appeal to Beej -- he was a demon, after all. And it was fast-paced enough that he wouldn't get bored.

"What's it about?"

"Three men hunt down a man-eater," Charles told him.

"A man-eater, huh?" Beej said. "Okay, sounds good."

In truth, the demon had no idea if it would be a good movie or not -- but he and Lydia's father had begun to develop a real relationship since Charles had introduced Beej to bird-watching, and Beej enjoyed spending time with him.

Charles turned on the TV, popped the DVD into the player and settled himself in the other armchair.

The opening credits were followed by a sunset beach party scene that led quickly to Chrissie Watkins' stripping for an evening swim -- something that got Beej's attention immediately. He looked at Charles in surprise.

"I didn't think you were into this kinda thing, Chuck --" he said, wiggling his eyebrows.

Then the actress suddenly screamed in terror, attacked by something under the water, and the demon nearly jumped out of his skin. He leaned forward in his seat, his eyes intently focussed on the screen, trying to get a glimpse of the monster, his breath quickening as he watched her flailing about in the ocean, until ... she was gone. Gone -- just like that.

"What -- what killed her?" he asked.

Charles looked over at him and smiled. "You'll see," he replied.

Beej conjured up a family-sized bucket of hot buttered popcorn and set it on the small table between their chairs. He grabbed a huge handful and shoved it into his mouth. "Help yourself, Chuck," he said, his cheeks stuffed like a hamster's. "Don't be shy -- there's plenty more where that came from!"

"Thanks," Charles replied, taking a smaller handful for himself.

*****

"I think I like Matt Hooper the best," Beej said after a while. "He's funny -- and he's kinda hot. I hope he doesn't get eaten. The other two, well ... they're kinda both assholes -- especially that Quint guy."

"Matt's played by Richard Dreyfuss," Charles told him. "This was his break-out role."

"What'd he break out of?"

"Obscurity."

Beej wasn't sure what that meant, but it didn't sound so good.

The demon had to admit that he was enjoying the movie immensely -- it was always fun seeing breathers get torn to pieces by a monster, after all. But there was one problem with this movie, and it was frustrating the hell out of him.

"When do we get to see the shark?" Beej asked.

"Soon, I promise," Charles replied.

"I hope so -- we've been watching for -- what? Five hours now?"

"An hour and ten minutes," Charles told him, chuckling.

"Okay, but still -- that's a long time to wait for the star of the show!"

*****

"There it is! " Beej exclaimed, pointing excitedly at the TV screen. "There's the shark! " His eyes grew wide, captivated by the appearance of the beast. "I think Brody's right -- they're gonna need a bigger boat!"

Charles laughed.

*****

"Why are they putting Hooper in that cage?" Beej asked, a note of concern in his voice. "He's gonna get eaten - that shark'll tear the cage to pieces!"

He watched, wide-eyed, as the cage was lowered into the water and the shark began its approach. "Get the fuck outta there!" he exhorted. "Whaddya think you're doing, you moron? Hurry! Get --"

The shark hit the cage head-on, and Beej let out a whimper. Charles was intrigued -- the demon was showing empathy for a stranger? And a fictional character to boot?

Beej's breathing was coming in short, sharp bursts as he watched his favourite character's life flash before his eyes. For the first time in his unlife, Beej felt the terror experienced by a breather facing a monster. When Hooper drew his knife and stabbed at the shark, Beej's lip curled in satisfaction - at least the shark wasn't going to get away completely uninjured.

Finally, when Hooper managed to get out of the now-battered cage and swim to a safe hiding place, Beej let out a sigh of relief.

"That was close," he said. "I'm glad he got away."

*****

"So?" Charles asked when the movie ended. "What did you think?"

"Why did they hafta blow it up?" Beej said, his eyes welling up. "Fuckin' bastards!"

Charles smiled ruefully. "It was killing people."

"It was just tryna survive, for crissakes!" A tear rolled down his cheek. "Poor guy -- all he wanted was a snack. At least it ate that guy Quint." He looked at Charles. "Sometimes you breathers suck, you know that?"

Charles nodded. "Sadly, you're right about that," he said. "Sometimes we suck."

"Good movie, though," Beej said. He regarded Charles thoughtfully. "That was me, wasn't it?"

"What do you mean, BJ?"

"I'm the shark. I'm the monster." There was no trace of sorrow in his voice -- in fact, he seemed rather pleased with the idea.

Charles didn't know what to say to that.

"Hey -- it's okay, Chuck," Beej said with a grin. "I'm a demon, remember? I'm supposed to be a monster."

"Yes, well ... you're different," Charles told him. "You're a sentient being -- you have the capacity to learn, to become more than just a killing machine. The shark was driven solely by instinct."

"You gettin' sweet on me, Chuck?" Beej teased.

"I'm ... I'm saying that you can be more than just a monster -- you are more than just a monster. You're part of the family now."

"Thanks," Beej said. "I really appreciate you guys bein' so good to me. Nobody was ever nice to me before. Nobody ever cared about me like you guys do."

Charles nodded. "I can't imagine how hard it was."

"Yeah, you're lucky."

"Did you want to tell me about it?" Charles said. "What it was like?"

Beej looked at him. "You really wanna hear about it?"

"Only if you want to -- and only as much as you're comfortable sharing with me."

And so Beej began telling Charles about growing up in the Netherworld -- resented by his mother, despised and shunned by everyone. He told Charles about Sandy, his pet sandworm, and how she was killed by a bully. He told him about growing up not trusting anyone or anything except himself, how he learned to defend himself -- with both magic and humour.

He told Charles everything. Well, almost everything.

"My God," Charles exclaimed when the demon had finished. "I had no idea. I'm sorry you had to go through all that, BJ."

Beej shrugged. "Yeah, well ... that's all over now," he said. "Now I have you guys."

Charles looked at his watch. "It's getting late," he noted. "I should get to bed." He got to his feet. "I'm glad you enjoyed the movie, BJ. And ... thank you for telling me about your life. If you ever feel the need to talk some more, my door is always open."

"Okay, thanks!" Beej said, grinning and giving Charles a thumb's-up as the breather exited the TV room. "G'night ... Dad."

Charles looked back at the demon, surprised. "Uh ... good night, son." He smiled to himself. "Dad," he said softly as he headed for the bedroom. "I like that." By the time he got into bed, he was grinning from ear to ear.

#beetlejuice #bjtmtmtm #bjtm #beetlejuice the broadway musical #beetlejuice the musical #charles deetz #jaws #jaws 1975 #movie night #bjfinn writing

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aragarna · 1 year

Text

a meme!

tagged by @silverfoxstole, thank youuu <3 <3

Tag someone you want to know better!

Favorite color: red, or green. Depends on things

Last song: There's And The Money Kept Rolling, from the Evita soundtrack, floating around in my head right now. (I rewatched the movie recently and that soundtrack slaps!)

Last movie: During my long and tedious transatlantic flight I watched The Fablemans, by Steven Spielberg, Empire of Light, by Sam Mendes, and Spiderman: Across the Spiderverse. All three excellent.

Currently watching: Finally tackling season 3 of For All Mankind. Not sure why I postponed it for so long, it's such a good show!

Other stuff I watched this year: Good Omens S2, like everyone else. Also just started Foundation.

Shows I dropped this year/didn’t finish: It was so bad that I've already forgotten about it.

Currently reading: Cher Connard, by Virginie Despente. A very post-#MeToo story from one of the fiercest feminist French writers.

Currently listening to: The French radio out of order (I'm currently in the US, but I like keeping up with the news, and I like my daily routine timed on the morning programs, so I'm listening the morning news in the morning, despite them being 9 hours old. Other times of the day, I just pick whatever program of the day I want to listen.)

Currently working on: I have 2 short Zorro one-shots in the work. I have also re-opened the WC/Forever crossover of doom... (also, a multi-chaptered Zorro fic that is on pause for plot reasons, an idea for a sequel to my last fic, AND quite a fun concept for a Disney Zorro/Mask of Zorro crossover)

Current obsession: As you may have noticed, I currently am in a sort of Good Omens phase... (but also my brain can't seem to get over the Zorro obsession, so...)

Tagging with no obligation: @amalthea9 @thesymphonytrue @ascreamintothevoid-blog @theancientvaleofsoulmaking @spinner-sophie @stan-of-many @penna-nomen and any of you who likes to do memes :-)

#a meme!#about me

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guess-my-next-obsession · 2 years

Text

Plastic Hearts

Chapter Four: Hate Me

pairing: dieter bravo x actress!oc (violet)

chapter rating: E (no explicit smut, just tiddies out and penis talk, mentions of insecurity, body image issues, substance use, arguments, angsty ending bc these two are sad bbs)

word count: 4.7k

series masterlist

“Good Morning America, we are back from commercial break with the absolutely stunning Violet Apollo.” The all-too cherry news anchor smiled widely at Violet as she sat across from her and her co-anchor. “How are you doing this morning, Violet? I know you must’ve had a wild night last night after your partner hosted Saturday Night Live.”

“Wasn’t too wild, thankfully. I was back in my bed before midnight, so I’m feeling pretty okay today. I downed a few shots of espresso and now I couldn’t close my eyes if I wanted to.” Violet joked, intentionally leaving out the part where she was woken up in the middle of the night to her “boyfriend” getting sucked off by a model right in front of her.

“Look at you being responsible,” the man playfully teased and she faked a laugh at that. “How about Dieter? He had a lot to celebrate, I bet he’s feeling it today.”

“Uh, yeah. He’s still asleep back at the hotel.” Violet tried not to sound bitter, but she knew that a crack was beginning to form in the carefully crafted mask she’d been wearing her entire career—and all from one little heartbreak. “He was so good on SNL last night, can we give him a moment? So good.”

“He was! I didn’t know he was that funny, he’s always so serious.”

“Yeah, is he always that funny around you? Is that one of the things that drew you to him?” The female anchor asked with a head tilt, Violet feeling the urge to scream building inside of her with every mention of Dieter. But this was a part of the job and she was gonna fucking do it.

“He does alright,” she chuckled and shrugged. “I’m definitely more of the comedian, I’d say. But truthfully, we’re both just talkers. I think that’s what makes us so good together. We love talking to each other.”

“You know what they say, communication is key.” The man chimed in with a winning smile before looking down at his notes. “Alright, enough about boys—” Cringe. “Let’s talk your new film.”

“Yes, let’s.” Violet nodded and gave them both a more genuine smile, glad to be off the subject of Dieter for a bit.

“Violet stars in Steven Spielberg’s new epic based on the ancient Greek love story of Persephone and Hades, titled: Pomegranate. Violet, you play Persephone in the film alongside Thomas Doherty as Hades. What was it like embodying a character like that?”

“I’ve always loved Persephone and have found the many iterations of their love story captivating long before I ever took on this role, but stepping into her shoes a bit, it sort of just felt like I was playing myself in a way.” Violet shrugged and smiled bashfully. “She’s sort of this tragic yet fierce character that I think a lot of the time is sort of underestimated and misunderstood and seen as someone almost needing to be saved from this underworld, but, at least in the film and in my own idea of her, it couldn’t be further from the truth. She’s an incredibly strong and fierce woman and I think the audience is going to love seeing that portrayed on screen, or at least I hope they do.”

“How was it working with Thomas? I saw him in The Invitation and fell head over heels in love with him,” the woman confessed, earning a chuckle from Violet.

“He’s so sweet and kind, and very good looking, obviously. He was just the absolute best scene partner, and neither of us have worked with someone as big as Spielberg before, so it was nice to sort of go through that experience together.”

“Well, we can’t wait to see it. Thank you for stopping by, Violet, we loved having you here this morning.” Violet nodded and gave them her best smiles, mumbling a shy ‘thank you’. “When we come back—is it possible your dog sees you as it’s parent? A new study shows it’s more likely than you might think. More when we return.”

“Alright, thank you both so much for having me.” Violet shook both of the news anchors hands before being rushed off backstage by her manager, Maria. “Did you get breakfast?”

“Yeah, it’s waiting in your dressing room.”

“I meant for yourself! You’ve been running around all morning, I haven’t even seen you stop to get a coffee.” Violet eyed the older woman, the bags under her eyes, the stress weighing down her shoulders. She tried not to ask for much or weigh her down any further with any demands or unnecessary drama, but it didn’t matter. The woman was a non-stop workaholic.

“I’m fine,” she assured with a smile, opening Violet’s dressing room for her and following her in. Violet got right to work eating her fast food breakfast, not caring about calories or nutrition as she enjoyed her McGriddle. “So how did last night go?”

“It went,” Violet spoke in a dry tone, rolling her eyes. “Dieter had a great show and a good night, that’s all that matters, right?”

“You matter too,” Maria interjected with a maternal look of concern. “Look, I appreciate how drama-free you are as a client, but as a person—you’ve gotta learn to stand up for yourself. For the way you feel.”

“I stood up for myself, I promise. Now, no more lectures or talking about Dieter. I just wanna eat my McDonalds in peace before I go back to the hotel. Okay?” Violet gave her a pleading look, Maria nodding and letting it go, choosing to scroll through her emails for the remainder of Violet’s breakfast before walking her out to the car waiting for her and seeing her off for the day.

To say that Dieter Bravo lived rent free in her mind would be an understatement. Dieter owned it—wrecked it. All that she could think about was him and his stupid fucking penis and what he was doing with it and why it wasn’t her he’d been doing it with.

It should’ve disgusted her, seeing Dieter with another woman, the way his hands stroked over her hair as she sat on her knees for him, but when she replayed the scene in her head, it was almost as though the other woman was never there to begin with.

All she could imagine was herself down on the ground in front of him, pleasing him, taking everything he had to give, hearing him moan her name just like he had on accident. That one little sentence had been lodged inside her fucking ears, replaying all morning as she tried to tune it out.

Oh fuck, Violet. Over and over. Nonstop. The cracked moan of her name punctuating the sentence she never thought she’d get to hear.

Violet knew that sex with Dieter should be off the table, scrapped completely and burned, and yet, she was still just a woman. She had needs—deep, longing, shameful needs—and the more she thought about his girth, his length, the fat tip of his cock, the way it curved up like it was designed to please, the harder it was to keep those needs at bay.

Perhaps there was a way that she could get what she wanted while not having to deal with her lack of trust for the dude. They could fuck sometimes the same way that they kiss sometimes, when one of them needed it, the other provided a friendly service, no strings attached. But every time she played out the fantasy in her mind, she could feel her imaginary self slipping up, forgetting her place, falling for a man unable to love her the way she craved. The sex could never be worth the ache of his rejection—so, celibacy it was.

For now.

•••

Dieter woke up with a startle as polite knocks sounded on the door to the fake couple’s penthouse suite, his head throbbing with each thud on the wood. He groaned as though he was an ancient vampire forced into daylight after centuries of rest, rubbing his temples and reaching for his sunglasses as he stood upright. He swayed a bit, still drunk and high, but carried himself forward, knowing that if he didn’t stop the housekeepers from entering, they’d do it on their own accord.

Dieter swallowed the vomit creeping up his esophagus before cracking the door open and sticking his face in it, hardly able to make out the housekeeper’s face through his own turmoil. “Please…no more knocking…I’m begging you.”

“W-would you like me to change the linens or leave them at the door, sir?” The woman seemed to recognize him, her eyes looking everywhere but directly at him. Dieter usually thought it was pretty funny to see people try to play off their starstruck panic, but today it only irritated him.

“Just—“ He stopped himself from speaking as the first word came out too harsh. No need to fuck her day up just because he was having a hard time. Dieter accepted the new linens and set them down on the bench right inside the entryway, reaching into the pocket of his robe and grabbing his wallet, flicking through smaller bills to find a hundred dollar bill and handing it over to her. “Thanks.”

“No, thank you, sir,” she gave him a grateful smile but he couldn’t be bothered to show any more kindness than he already had. Dieter closed the door on her and slugged his way over to the sofa, plopping down too hard, reigniting his headache.

Dieter sat facing Violet’s closed bedroom door, stuck in a daze as he thought back to the night before. He had no idea that she was standing there, watching him, but to say that it hadn’t been his inebriated intention for her to find them would be a lie. Of course he knew better than to get his dick sucked in their common space, the lewd sounds registering in his mind the entire time as too loud, but perhaps a part of him wanted her to see. Wanted to see that he was desirable.

Now, the name slip—that hadn’t been planned.

Overwhelmed by his regrets and the desire that still lingered inside of him, he pulled out his phone and ordered way too much takeout—pizza, Chinese, a bit of sushi, way too many fucking cookies from his favorite spot in the city—hoping that if he indulged himself enough, the itch to add her to the list would go away.

But just to be sure, Dieter pulled out his stash and went to town, smoking bowl after bowl, joint after joint, until he’d reached the ceiling of how high he could get.

…And then he reached for the decanter of whiskey in the kitchen. Just to be sure.

•••

It was around noon when Violet finally willed herself to stop stalling at Sephora, binge shopping her emotions away. Carrying two of the largest black and white striped bags she’d ever seen, she unlocked the door to the suite and was immediately hit with the smell of weed and takeout.

“Jesus,” she whispered as she spotted Dieter passed out on the sectional, a cup of whiskey in one hand and a piece of pizza on his bare stomach. “Dieter?”

She was surprised he didn’t wake up at the sound of his name being called, her voice far from quiet. “Dieter? Hello? Are you fucking alive?”

Still, no movement from the actor. In a last bid attempt at waking him without having to go over and touch him, Violet walked over to her bedroom door, opening it before slamming it closed again.

Dieter sprang to life, breathing in a quick inhale through his nose as he looked over the rim of his sunglasses at her. Violet stood with a disappointed look on her face, arms crossed over her chest.

“Could you slam it any louder? I’m not sure they heard you in Brooklyn.” Dieter grumbled as his headache set back in, the high now only making him exhausted. He peeled the piece of pizza off his stomach and slapped it down on top of the box, eyes remaining in a squint even with his sunglasses shielding most of the light.

“This is disgusting, Dieter.” Violet felt obligated to help sort this mess out—literally, at least. With a suck of her teeth, she set down her bags and walked into the kitchen, pulling out a black trash bag and carrying it over to the living room.

“You don’t have to clean up my mess,” Dieter sighed and reached for the bag but she withheld it, this stern, almost warning glare on her face the entire time. Dieter watched as she shoved the pizza box into the bag last, tying it up and leaving it by the door.

Surprisingly, Violet didn’t stop there. No, she needed it to be spotless.

“You gonna talk or just pretend like nothing happened?” Dieter probed as Violet wiped down the coffee table with disinfectant wipes, the smell of citrus slowly replacing the smell of weed and marinera sauce. When he was met with no response, he chuckled and shook his head. “Look, I’ll start. I shouldn’t have been doing that in our common area—“

“Can you lift that?” She pointed to a book on the coffee table, her hand holding the wipe waiting next to it. Dieter scoffed as he lifted the book, Violet wiping over it a few times before he set it back down again.

“Violet, I’m trying to apologize,” he reasoned, eyes glued to her every feature to try and get a read on her but she was too fucking good at hiding behind a mask.

“You don’t need to apologize, Dieter. Shit happens.” Violet tossed the used wipes into the trash bag before grabbing one of his joints and leaving him alone to go smoke on the balcony. Dieter didn’t last long before he got up and walked outside to join her, the sound of the glass door sliding open making Violet groan. “Dieter, I’m begging—“

“I shouldn’t have fucked someone else—“ Violet quirked an eyebrow at him, causing him to panic and blurt out an unplanned second half of the sentence. “…in our common area.”

“Right. Whatever. Fuck who you want, where you want, Dieter.” Violet chuckled, rolling her eyes as she handed the joint over to him. “I’m going out.”

“Or you could stay and we could talk about things. I once had an overpriced therapist tell me that’s important in relationships!” Dieter called out but Violet pretended not to hear him, simply grabbing her purse and leaving the suite without another word. Dieter let his eyes close as the door thumped closed, sighing as he stood alone on the balcony with a half-smoked joint in hand. “Way to fucking go, Bravo.”

•••

“So…Dieter Bravo, huh?” Sam, one of Violet’s childhood friends and current broadway actress sat on the opposite side of her sofa, Violet groaning at the mention of the man she was attempting to avoid. “How the hell’d that happen?”

“It’s not…not for real,” she confessed, knowing that if there were only one person in this world she could trust, it would be Sam. “Just until my movie comes out and his reputation is salvaged.”

“That’s Hollywood, baby!” Sam chuckled as she stood up and walked into her kitchen, the small studio layout allowing Violet to continue the conversation.

“Sometimes I feel like I should’ve never left New York. Should’ve stayed here and did theater with you. Maybe then I’d be happier—“

“You’re not sad because of where you live, babe. You’re sad because of how you’re living.” She brought back two glasses of wine, handing one to Violet before sitting down. “At some point you’re going to break, and this pretty little mask you’ve made for yourself is gonna crack. It’s too much pressure for a person to pretend to be as perfect as you try to be constantly.”

“Yes,” she sighed, chuckling at her own problems. “It’s fucking exhausting. Every single part of it. And what fucking sucks is that for the first time in so fucking long, I started to feel like maybe someone understood me. And then I woke up to the fucker getting head in the kitchen.”

“What?” She gasped and nearly choked on her wine, placing her hand over her heart. “You didn’t tell me about that!”

“Yeah, I’ve been actively trying to avoid talking about myself, Samantha.” Violet chuckled and shrugged, looking off to the side as she tried to word herself right. “I have feelings for Dieter fucking Bravo. I can admit that to you because I know you won’t judge me.”

“I’m more so curious as to what’s drawing you in? I mean, a handsome face only goes so far.”

“Exactly! That’s—yes!” Violet shouted enthusiastically, laughing at her theatrics as she stood up with her wine glass in hand. “He’s a fucking little raccoon of a man and I want to fuck him so bad. None of it makes sense. The fucker is nice to me sometimes. That’s it. No other redeemable qualities besides his dick.”

“Is it nice?” Sam asked, raising her eyebrows with a grin. Violet groaned loudly and flopped back down onto the sofa.

“So nice. It’s huge. Although, that doesn’t necessarily mean it’ll be good, right?” Violet asked with a bit of hopefulness in her tone, earning another laugh from her friend.

“Right. It could be huge and mouthwatering and absolutely terrible at pleasing you. That’s totally possible.” Violet squinted at her as Sam weighed her head to the side and took a sip of her wine. “Or it could be the best dick you’ll ever have.”

“Fuck you. No. Definitely not.” Violet frowned as she faced forward, her mind now filled with images of his cock coming all over the tile of their kitchen floor. “Well—maybe.”

•••

“Hey,” Dieter practically jumped onto his feet as Violet walked into the suite around 8 p.m., a timid smile on his face as he eyed her carefully.

“‘Sup,” Violet nodded her head at him casually as she grabbed the untouched shopping bags from Sephora and carried them into her room without another word.

“Sup?” Dieter repeated with an irritated scrunch of his face, looking around the room at nobody with his palms up in disbelief. “Fuck it. She’s done, then so am I.”

Dieter had longed to take a line of the powdery white substance sitting in his coat pocket all day long, but out of desire to be better for her, he’d refrained. But now that it was as clear as day that Violet was through with even engaging with him as an acquaintance, he had nothing to abstain for.

Walking into his bedroom, he let the door slam as he reached into his coat pocket and set out three neat lines for himself in the bathroom, taking in a deep breath before snorting them off the countertop.

It didn’t take long for Dieter’s pity party to turn into an actual party—of one.

Dieter spun around in his bedroom to Madonna’s hit single, “Express Yourself”, the song blaring on the hotel’s impressive speaker system. Dieter was as high as a kite, holding a glass of whiskey in one hand that was surely spilling everywhere but he didn’t care.

“Come on, girls! Do you believe in love? 'Cause I've got something to say about it. And it goes something like this,” Dieter shouted along to the intro, twirling around the room, using the belt to his robe as a boa of sorts. “Don't go for second best, baby. Put your love to the test. You know, you know you've got to make him express how he feels and maybe then you'll know your love is real.”

Violet was drunk when she got back to the hotel, Dieter’s attempt at conversation squashed immediately over the simple fact that she couldn’t form a coherent sentence.

She tried to take her mind off both her drunken state and her desire to weep by smoking a little bit more and practicing some of the yoga she once made a resolution to do every single day but hadn’t attempted since the second week of January.

Starting off slow, she tried to tap into her spirituality, or what little remained of it, taking mindful breaths, trying to tune out the blaring 90’s pop from the other side of the suite. All her efforts to find peace and meditation were futile, Dieter’s pitchy singing now doubling the volume of the music.

Violet let out a deep, guttural groan at his antics, the mask slipping finally and exposing the tangled web of emotions beneath it. With a huff and a determined stare, Violet left her bedroom and stomped over to his, pounding on the door.

“Bravo!” She called over the blaring music, fist beating on the door until it opened.

Dieter stood there with a wide grin, his sunglasses tipped low on his nose. He was wearing just a pair of boxers underneath his fluffy, brown coat. Seeing him so at ease ignited something inside her—anger seemed too soft of a word to use for the way her skin burned with irritation, both at him and herself.

“Hi—“

“You are the most selfish, insufferable, dirty little man I have ever had the punishment of having to be around! All you do is think of yourself and do whatever you want, not giving a shit about anybody else! I wish I could properly articulate how fucking irritating you are, Dieter!” Violet screamed over “Groove Is In The Heart”, Dieter staring blankly at her with parted lips and glassy eyes. “God, and you just stand there and look so fucking stupid! Are you even fucking listening?”

“Yeah—“

“Ugh, I hate your smug little fucking voice and—“ She eyed him up, her anger quickly beginning to feel like arousal as she scanned the exposed skin of his torso, or perhaps her self-control had just snapped completely and she was now fully at the mercy of every one of her irresponsible desires. “Fuck it.”

Dieter grunted as Violet’s body clashed with his, her lips kissing his searingly as she walked him backwards to the armchair in the corner of his bedroom. Her tongue battled with his for dominance as she straddled his lap, Dieter’s hands frozen in place as his brain short-circuited.

“God, you’re so fucking frustrating. Just touch me,” Violet grabbed his hands and placed them on her hips, Dieter’s grip tightening as he forced himself of his disbelief and back into the moment.

Violet Apollo was sitting on his lap, kissing him, biting him, moaning for him. No matter how many times he imagined his first time with her, he never imagined her so…animalistic.

He always figured she’d be soft, gentle, romantic, but here she was tugging on his lip so hard he was whimpering for her, her hips grinding down against his lap. When she took her top off, unhooked her bra and revealed herself to him, he swore he’d reached heaven—but of course, something had to ruin it.

“Uh,” Violet ran her hand over his lap and furrowed her brows, not feeling anything hard at all no matter how hard she searched.

She’d seen his cock, if it was hard, she wouldn’t have even needed to reach for it to know it was there.

“Well that’s humbling,” she chuckled at herself and quickly scrambled off his lap, avoiding his eyes as she gathered her bra and top before rushing out of the room.

Violet couldn’t help but feel sickeningly embarrassed, quickly turning the lock on her bedroom door before she rushed into the shower still in her skirt and tights. The hot water rained down on her as she sobbed on the floor, her knees tucked close to her chest.

She’d finally put herself out there, exposing more of herself to him than she ever thought she would. And he couldn’t have been less into it, apparently.

Althroughout her childhood, adolescence, and even early adulthood, Violet struggled with the extra plushness she carried around her stomach—so much so that it wasn’t until she was twenty-three that she allowed a partner to see her naked with the lights on.

Violet knew it wasn’t Dieter’s fault that he wasn’t attracted to her, and she tried to reason with herself that he had every right to like the supermodel build rather than her curvy one, but no matter how many times she repeated it in her head, she couldn’t help the sting in her heart from the rejection.

Perhaps she read it all wrong between them, and all the kisses and flirting and long conversations were simply just something to do for him. Something to keep him from getting bored. Or, more depressing, maybe he was only attracted to her with her clothes on? Perhaps he hadn’t realized how curvy she was, and now that he’d seen it, he changed his mind?

Quickly shaking her head to clear her mind of her intrusive thoughts, she took a shaky but deep breath, gathering her composure. She stood up and peeled off her wet clothes, letting them slap against the floor of the shower before carrying on like normal, washing her hair and shaving her legs like nothing had ever happened at all. The mask was back on, and after tonight, it would likely never come off again.

•••

Dieter was left frozen and speechless, staying still long after he’d watched her run off to her bedroom and lock the door behind her, the sound of his 90’s dance playlist blaring in the background mostly washing away her sobs, but he could still hear them clear enough to ache for her.

Never in his life had he not been able to get it up. No matter the amount he had to drink, the amount of substances in his system, nothing had ever prevented him from performing. So why now?

He knew the answer, and god, did he wish he was simply just an old man with erectile dysfunction. His life would be a whole lot easier if that was the case, but of course, it wasn’t.

Dieter knew that the reason he couldn’t get hard for her was because he was panicking. Panicking because it was finally happening for them. Panicking because he was high during it. Panicking because he wasn’t ready like he wanted to be for her when they finally crossed that line. Panicking because he didn’t want to lose her over something as fucking silly as sex.

A part of him wanted to go over and apologize, try to explain himself to her, but the thought of confessing even a single one of those fears to her made him freeze all over again. He couldn’t open up, at least not now, not in this state of mind.

Dieter sat there, staring blankly ahead through his opened door and at her closed one, his music still playing, his body not having moved an inch, wondering why the fuck he couldn’t just be easy to love like everyone else seemed to be. He craved destruction too much, and feared anything too good to be true, preferring to ruin it before it could ruin him.

He’d gone so long without having to face the reality of his brokenness, but never in his life had he longed to love someone properly like this. It consumed him—his inadequacy mixing with his yearning. He wanted her, but every time he looked into her pretty brown eyes, he could only see all the reasons he shouldn’t have her.

In an act of determination, and a rare show of self-care and responsibility, Dieter reached for his phone and searched through his contacts until he found the number to his old therapist, the only one that he felt treated him like a human rather than a star.

DB: Need to make an appointment. I think I’m getting bad again.

Dr. Bradford: Hello, Dieter. I’m glad you reached out. Let’s set up a call tomorrow afternoon and you can tell me more about it.

DB: Sounds good, doc.

DB: Do I need to be sober?

Dr. Bradford: Yes, Dieter. Have a good night.

DB: Fine.

Even if he wasn’t good enough for her right now, it didn’t mean it needed to stay that way. And until he got better, Dieter vowed to try and salvage his friendship with her. Starting in the morning.

Right now he needed to cry in the shower to some Whitney Houston.

•••

dieter taglist: @browneyes-issac @wildemaven @laureliciousdefinition @trinkets01 @paulalikestuff @toomanystoriessolittletime @alwayslurkinginthebackground @pastelnap @fishingforpike @littlemisspascal @pedropascalsx (please let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist!)

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #dieter bravo series #dieter bravo bubble #dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo angst #dieter bravo fluff #dieter bravo x oc #dieter bravo smut #dieter bravo #plastic hearts

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xenodisparity · 22 days

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What is Black Film?

If you were to ask for an answer immediately, I wouldn’t know. I’d probably say something stupid like “The Color Purple” (dir. Steven Spielberg). But with further analysis, I’d be honest. I don’t know. I don’t know what “Black Film” is. Is it the connection a movie holds within the culture? Does an all black crew necessitate the “Black Film” tagline?

I’m going to regurgitate a phrase I’ve heard very often. “Black People are not a Monolith”, and with that being said, not everything NEEDS to be a black film. But that rhetoric is harmful. Bear with me here. My personal perspective on Black culture in film & tv is entirely warped. Astray. Discombobulated. Any word you wanna used to describe…f**ked up. I give credit to the lack of positive representation of myself in media as a growing black boy, all the way to a young man.

What do I mean by this? Why am I so confusing right now? Because I’m confused. Because I myself don’t know how I feel about this topic. But I am not ignorant. I am not complacent. I know that there is more to the world that I can learn. I know that there is more to the culture than what I’ve seen so far, and at this point, it is my duty to make sure I see through.

Fourteen year old me would have sucked his teeth and rolled his eyes at the thought of having a conversation about the idea of Black Film. Particularly because he believed that it wasn’t necessary. He believed that not everything needed to involve Black people. “The world doesn’t revolve around you” is the phrase he consistently said to himself. He was tired of the internet. He was tired of social media pages such as “The Shaderoom” and “Worldstar”, which popularized gossip & instigation within the black community. He thought it was ignorant.

Let me switch gears real quick and talk about a movie I’ve recently watched titled, “American Fiction”. It was written, produced, and directed by Cord Jefferson. A black man. American Fiction tells the story of Thelonius ‘Monk’ Ellison, a black author who is fed up with Black stories in entertainment always including pain, or negativity. Monk is played by Jeffery Wright. Opposite of Jeffery Wright is Issa Rae, who plays Sintara Golden, a popular author who writes stories about the black experience, whether it be negative or positive.

In the movie, Monk goes through a series of events fueled by envy, disdain, hypocrisy, and jealousy. He wants his novels to become popular. He’s a black man creating stories. To him, that’s a “Black story” Experiencing his novel is the “Black experience” because he is the black man who wrote it. He doesn’t want to “feed” into the stereotypes and create a story centered around black trauma.

But that’s not what makes the bread. It’s even more apparent when Monk’s sister dies suddenly, the caretaker for his mother. His sisters death is the catalyst for this movie. It creates his motives. He doesn’t even grieve the loss of her life. He can’t accept it. His mother’s health rapidly declines after her daughter’s death. He still cannot accept it. Monk closes himself off internally from everyone. He has a complex.

Monk is getting anxious. He needs money to pay for his mother’s care. Their family has a maid, but she found love. She wants to leave and get married. Monk lets her leave. Throughout the movie, Monk questions why isn’t he in love, why isn’t he married. Why is he so much like his father, but not at the same time. Did I mention Monk’s father committed suicide by gunshot when he was younger? Oh I didn’t? Sorry. Monk is going through a lot as you can see. I didn’t even need to add that part.

Are you noticing something? Has your brain flipped? No? Yes? Maybe so?

Monk succumbs to his desires and writes a book titled “Fuck”, written by a fictional character, “Stagg R. Leigh”. Stagg is a fugitive on the run, but he wanted to write a book and share his terrible, no good, dirty black experience. Monk uses this pen name and fictional character to garner millions of dollars in revenue. He can finally pay for his mother’s care.

But now here comes the next battle…Internalized Racism!! Monk is shocked that “Fuck” is critically acclaimed. Monk denounces the work in private, but he secretly loves the attention. He got what he wanted. He got his popularity, he got his coin. But at what cost? He had to dig into the stereotypes he hates so much. Here’s the kneeslapper, Monk himself IS a stereotype.

Monk & Sintara Golden are chosen to join three white judges on a panel for the literary awards. But Monk doesn’t care about black stories because he only allows himself to see the negativity in them. He doesn’t allow himself to understand the representation, to be empathetic and realize that the world doesn’t revolve around his ideals. Monk thinks that Issa Rae’s character, Sintara Golden, is fetishizing and exploiting black trauma.

He called her work “Black trauma porn”. Monk believes that Black people have the potential to be more, to create better stories. Sintara tells him “Potential is what people see when they think what’s infront of this isn’t good enough.” This silences Monk. The jury for the awards ends in the three white voices declaring that “Fuck” by Stagg R. Leigh is essential to black voices. Much to Sintara & Monk’s dismay.

At the literary awards ceremony, “Fuck” is revealed to be the winner of this year’s award. The crowd applauses as they look around for Stagg R. Leigh. Monk’s anxiety is at an all time high. He decides to go on stage. Monk reveals he has a confession to make, but right before he speaks, we smash to black.

What? Excuse me? Is that how it ends? These are all the thoughts I had until we opened again on Monk reading off a script while speaking with a movie director played by Adam Brody. They’re on the set of “Plantation Annihilation”. The director criticizes Monk for the smash to black ending, calling it boring. He needs to bring “more”.

Has this entire movie been a screenplay Monk has been writing? Is Monk really the man we know? The conversation with Brody’s character ends when him and Monk come to a conclusion. Right as Monk goes to the stage and proclaims his pen name, a SWAT team runs in and points weapons at him. At Stagg R. Leigh. They then shoot him down, proclaiming the award trophy was a gun.

The director loves this ending, and Monk sighs. Shortly before he leaves, he comes face to face with an actor dressed as an enslaved man. The actor throws up a peace sign, and Monk nods. He drives away & we finally cut to black. The End.

In this movie we had a man by the name of Thelonius ‘Monk’ Ellison battle his own internalized racism in regard to what a “Black story” is. I saw my fourteen year old self in Monk. I related to how Monk felt about the negativity within Black stories. The difference is, I didn’t let myself become ignorant, I didn’t turn my head at the sight of stereotypes, and I most certainly did not become a hypocrite.

The thematic elements of “American Fiction” are plain as day. Yet, they’re so complex, so nuanced, that I am itching to watch it again. I want to see what else I can uncover. The standard of Black entertainment is always under a lens. From Spike Lee to John Singleton…and even…..Tyler Perry. Black stories are plentiful, despite the content. Representation matters. Getting more Black faces on screen matters.

With this watch of “American Fiction”, and my personal opinions aside, I can finally answer the original question.

What is Black Film?

Black film is an amalgamation of collaborative effort between several Black entertainers to tell a story about the Black experience.

#filmmaking #black films #american fiction #spike lee #issa rae #tyler perry #black entertainment

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all-souls-matinee · 11 months

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Quick-bite reviews: Lady in White (1988) dir. Frank LaLoggia

Writer Frankie Scarlatti reflects on his idyllic 1960s childhood, which changed the Halloween night he witnessed a ghost reenact her own murder, and was nearly killed himself.

This is one of the weirdest movies I have ever seen. I was going to compare it to Spielberg in that it handles dark topics through the lens of something very saccharine and nostalgic, but halfway through realized a more apt comparison is Stephen King. I don't want to give the impression that LaLoggia doesn't have a unique voice (you don't get 'weird' without that), but King is all over individual story beats and character relationships; elements being autobiographical and its being based on a local legend only add to that. I do think the funniest difference is that while King imbues his writing with a christian system of morality and spirituality he's extremely critical of the church, whereas LaLoggia adheres to that same system but is extremely Italian Catholic.

(fig.1- sure.)

I mention Spielberg and King, maybe the most popular living American filmmaker and writer, to give an idea of the tone and stress that this is a well-crafted, commercially-minded movie. The weirdness rears its head in two ways:

It's violent in a way I've never seen before. Not something at odds with the movie's goals, but other artists working in this subgenre would probably shy away from actually showing children be stalked, harmed, or killed, and here it's done in a way that lingers and feels uncomfortably real. Most would also probably shy away from the civil rights subplot that goes nowhere and ends with a graphic hate crime. I'm guessing it was a topic on LaLoggia's mind (understandably so growing up in NY in the 60s and working there in the 80s), but it causes trouble in that it starts to call attention to African American absence and systemic racism within the movie's warm depictions of American life, and then doesn't follow through on that attention. I'm honestly still trying to parse it and I wonder if LaLoggia was too; it seems like he realized it was more suited for a central conflict than a subplot so tries to quietly drop it altogether.

It's a mystery that's not on a schedule. To focus on atmosphere over plot gives it the feeling of an indie drama,* which is fine, but the driving force is two concurrent mysteries, so we get scenes where a character will discover a vital piece of information and then instead of following up on it they go to have fun outside with whimsical autumnal music (there's even an early scene that feels so oddly placed it immediately comes to mind as a clue.) Whereas the violence confused me in a negative way this confused me in a very positive one; I kind of loved it. I don't think the solution to either mystery is bad, and I like that the guy wrote a bittersweet coming-of-age novel that's fighting for its life to be an HBO serial killer miniseries.

I mostly just appreciated that Lady in White is so memorable. No idea if it's 'good,' jury's still out, but it has a concrete sense of place and purpose, and that does a lot of heavy lifting in storytelling.

Buy a ticket? I think you have to already like 80s movies and be willing to put up with a lot of bullshit (not mutually exclusive), but if that's the case then yes.

*It was the first and only occasion that a single, feature film was financed [through a penny stock offering.]!

#I don't normally address the director by name so much in these reviews #but since he was also the single writer/ one of two storyboarders/#the main character is Literally Him (plays the adult frank for the framing device) /and this is his only movie #it felt fair to do so lol

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alexalblondo · 5 months

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What is your all-time favorite race in your favorite motorsport? 🤔✨️

Sofia, that‘s a really good question and I have no idea … tbh I don’t even know what my fave motorsport is right now?

So let‘s just go category for category, I guess

I don’t have a fave Indycar race yet, cause after 2 seasons it‘s still too chaotic and fast paced for me to really know what‘s going on … like I mainly watch it for the vibes (I‘m usually half asleep watching it)

In DTM? it‘s probably both Nürburgring Races in 2021 and I do think Zolder 2021 race 1? Possibly the Spielberg 2021 races cause I truly love the track for the views. It‘s home. Also the first half of 2022 as a whole was fun

In Formula E obviously Valencia EPrix Race 1 2021, it‘s the reason I started watching FE. Before that, Idk, no race kept my attention. Generally every Rome race is special to me but especially 2022. Mitch Evans masterclass. And the 2022 London Races. The 2023 Monaco race was funky.

In F1 nothing keeps my attention like watching old Schumi races Idk, like every single one was the best race ever! Apart from that Fuji 2007 and obviously Monza 2008. The first half of 2009, Jenson in Brawn was magic. Similar to Seb in Japan always being magic to me. And Lewis in Brazil. Brazil 2021 is … yeah. That bitch. Also Spa 2022. Alex just hitting quali lap after quali lap. I stopped breathing. Abu Dhabi 2010. Malaysia 2015 is my Seb race. Canada 2011 is just that race period. Also the Turkey 2020 just cause (my track and my drivers).

Yeah. Probably incomplete but those are the races I can think of of the top of my head sooooo

#conceptually dtm is my fave category but in actuality most of the drivers suck so it‘s not #i mean suck as in i don’t like them not as in they are bad drivers #this is such a nice question sofia i love it #sofia <333 #no ask tags just vibes

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smokeybrandreviews · 5 months

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Riding the Eye of the Storm

I am an unapologetic shill for Transformers, specifically Generation One. It was a pillar of my childhood. I’ve spoken about this at length because, like Spider-Man and Godzilla, this franchise shaped my taste in media for years to come. It was my love for transforming robots which lead me to Voltron, which spring boarded me to Robotech, that caused me to stumble down the cyberpunk rabbit hole and come to rest at the foot of Evangelion. Without Transformers, I wouldn’t have given Voltron a second look and probably missed out on my all-time favorite anime. Obviously, that’s hyperbole, kind of. I would have found EVA eventually, especially how saturated that franchise has become, but I would like to think my openness to it stemmed from my love for Optimus and his rag-tag bunch of freedom fighters. I’ve defended my little long form toy commercial for years, knowing that, as an Eighties product to move re-branded Diaclone and Micro Man content here in the States, there was no lore or cohesive story content to be had. I mean, there was, broad strokes of a eons long war, dead planets, Unicron, and whatever else, but not enough to really sink your teeth into. This was a kids show. No one needs character development or world building. Kids are dumb and won’t appreciate any of that. And then BtaS happened and all that sh*t changed. Transformers saw the value of narrative and gave us Beast Wars. From that point on, story and character finally took precedence. Every US developed Transformers show going forward, made it a point to build a lore around their core characters and, for a time, it was glorious. Animated and Prime gave us something really special. The War for Cybertron, with all of their faults, really put in the effort to build out that world. Even Cyberverse and Earthspark are out here, shining way more bright than they have any right to be. Hasbro has finally given proper due to the Transformers on the small screen and I am living for it. That said, theatrically? Theatrically, it’s been rough.

I hate Bayformers. Hate. Viscerally. Michael Bay is a terrible director. He’s great at action set pieces and has a brilliant eye for visual effects, but the man has no idea how to develop a character to save his life. He makes movies from the effects out. The spectacle is the point of his films, not the narrative content. So, for me, as a fan of this franchise for almost four goddamn decades, it was rough seeing the stark decline from the first to the last. Let’s be real right now, the Marky Mark Bayformers films are absolute nonsense. One of them didn’t even have the f*cking Decepticons transform, just explode into amorphous squares and sh*t. Bro, how you have a Transformers film without and transforming? Plus, they replaced the only actual character with an arc in the entire franchise, because Spielberg was offended she likened working for Mike Bay to serving under Hitler. Yo, if you knew how Megan Fox was treated on those sets, you’d know exactly why she said what she said. Ma got stories of the sexist bullsh*t she had to suffer through, going back to Bad Boys 2, when she was an extra on set at sixteen years old. The f*ck? And the way they wrote her out is just lazy. That chick Carly in the third? That was Mikaela, all day. Legitimately that’s the resolution to HER arc. After Fox got released in the off-season, Bay and his braintrust of writers just did a search-and-replace for anything that said Mikaela with Carly, and printed “revised” scripts. Lazy. Just f*cking lazy. I hate the Bayformers films so much, especially because they started with so much potential.

After The Last Knight deservedly flopped (Knights? In my Transformers movie? Really?), we got Bumblebee, which was basically the Iron Giant with our adorable, slug bug, mascot. And it was good. Travis Knight got a shot at this one and you can tell he wanted to do right by G1 and he did. I loved Bumblebee. Obviously, it wasn’t perfect. The aforementioned Iron Giant narrative is a thing but is that terrible? I loved the Iron Giant. It was dope. If you’re going to crib notes from something, make it a proven narrative, right? Avatar stole it’s entire goddamn identity from Dances with Wolves. Skyfall, my favorite Bond film, is just The Dark Knight. I can forgive Bumblebee basically lifting its entire vibe from The Iron Giant, especially with those opening scene on Cybertron. Believe me when I tell you, seeing my G1 inspired designs, mixed with the photo realism of that Bayformers aesthetic, I shrieked aloud. That one scene, was everything I wanted in my Transformers film. That was more than enough to satiate my very bias, very nostalgic, Millennial heart. I saw that sh*t three times in theaters and loved every second. I thought Bumblebee was a strong step forward in the right direction. That is until Rise of the Beasts dropped. Believe me when I say, RotB, was such a letdown after the high of Bumblebee. That sh*t was basically just a Bayformers entry without the goddamn Bayhem. The Bayhem is the point! You can’t make Bayformers with the Bayhem. Trying to imitate that sh*t halfheartedly, especially trying your best to bring in the Beast Wars fans and not alienate the goodwill you garnered from the excellent Bumblebee, was a goddamn mistake. I hate Bayformers because it’s a loud, disjointed, mess of admittedly beautiful visuals. The stories sucked, the Transformers designs are the worst in the franchise, and there story is so f*cking convoluted, it makes X-Men comics look like Emerson, but I was never bored watching them. Rise of the Beasts is boring. It takes the worst aspects of Bayformers and Bumblebee, mashes them together, and sh*ts out a very corpo curated product, with an eye toward a future cinematic universe. You can’t do that. You have to make sure your first entry is strong enough to stand on its own. That’s how the MCU did it. That’s how the Monsterverse did. That’s how it’s done. Which brings me to the point of this essay, Transformers One looks like that entry point.

When I heard we were getting an origin story for Transformers, roughly following the IDW and Prime origin of the Megs-Prime conflict, I was hesitant. That story is so good, and has been told excellently several times, but never in the theater, never in “serious” media. Then the cast was announced. Chris Hemsworth as Orion Pax? Bryan Tyree Hill as pre-despot Megatron? Word? The only one that made any sense to me was Scarlett Johansson as Elite-1 because of course. I figured Hasbro f*ckded up again but then something happened. I saw the character designs. They reminded me of that first five minutes from Bumblebee. Then a trailer dropped. It WAS the first five minutes of Bumblebee, mixed with a little bit of Beast Machines, and a whole lot of Transformers Prime. There was humor. There was levity. There was pathos and characterization. You can tell there is strong chemistry within the cast, something that wasn’t necessarily a thing in Bayformers, RotB, but was definitely there in Bumblebee. There was color, life, enthusiasm, and genuine warmth. That short three minutes, sold me immediately on this film and I need so much more. It felt authentic to Transforms, an extension of the very best the franchise has to offer, and really hammered home how this theatrical franchise should have been full CG from the very beginning. I mean, the theatrical continuity for Transformers is an absolute mess now, but this origin film has the potential to clean that up. As long as it’s good. So far, I am loving what I’ve seen. So far, I have hope. It’s weird to say, but I have optimism for a good theatrical Transformers film again.

#Transformers #Hasbro #Transformers One

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